particular friend of mine, Dr. Mac———. I cannot just now remember his d—d jaw-break ing Scotch name; he was agreat chymist 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 devil. 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 threwn in whole pepper corns, half-adozen 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 shewed 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
