only lost half-a-dozen
dogs--fact, by----; only ask Sir Sydney Smith, he'll tell you the same,
and a ---- sight more." * * * * He continued his lies, and dragged in as
usual the name of Sir Sydney Smith to support his assertions. "If you
doubt me, only ask Sir Sydney Smith; he'll talk to you about Acre for
thirty-six hours on a stretch, without taking breath; his cockswain at
last got so tired of it, that he nick-named him '_Long Acre_.'" * * *
"Capital salmon this," said the captain; "where does Billet get it from?
By the by, talking of that, did you ever hear of the pickled salmon in
Scotland?" We all replied in the affirmative. "Oh, you don't take. Hang
it, I don't mean dead pickled salmon; I mean live pickled salmon,
swimming about in tanks, as merry as grigs, and as hungry as rats." We
all expressed our astonishment at this, and declared we never heard of it
before. "I thought not," said he, "for it has only lately been introduced
into this country by a particular friend of mine, Dr. Mac--. I cannot
just now remember his----, jaw-breaking, Scotch name; he was a great
chemist and geologist, and all that sort of thing--a clever fellow, I can
tell you, though you may laugh. Well, this fellow, sir, took Nature by
the heels, and capsized her, as we say. I have a strong idea that he had
sold himself to the d--l. Well, what does he do, but he catches salmon
and puts them into tanks, and every day added more and more salt, till
the water was as thick as gruel, and the fish could hardly wag their
tails in it. Then he threw in whole pepper-corns, half-a-dozen pounds at
a time, till there was enough. Then he began to dilute with vinegar until
his pickle was complete. The fish did not half like it at first; but
habit is every thing; and when he showed me his tank, they were swimming
about as merry as a shoal of dace: he fed them with fennel, chopped
small, and black pepper-corns. 'Come, doctor,' says I, 'I trust no man
upon tick; if I don't taste I won't believe my own eyes, though I _can_
believe my _tongue_.' (We looked at each other.) 'That you shall do in a
minute,' says he; so he whipped one of them out with a landing-net; and
when I stuck my knife into him, the pickle ran out of his body like wine
out of a claret-bottle, and I ate at least two pounds of the rascal,
while he flapped his tail in my face. I never tasted such salmon as that.
Worth your while to go to Scotland, if it's only for the sake of eating
live pickled