'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 salmon. I'll give you a letter, any of you, to my friend.
He'll be d----d glad to see you; and then you may convince yourselves.
Take my word for it, if once you eat salmon that way, you will never
eat it any other."
We all said we thought that very likely.
The champagne corks flew as fast and as loud as his shells at Acre;
but we were particularly reserved, depending entirely on his tongue
for our amusement; and, finding the breeze of conversation beginning
to freshen, I artfully turned the subject to Egypt, by asking one of
my friends to demolish a pyramid of jelly, which stood before him, and
to send some of it to the captain.
This was enough: he began with Egypt, and went on increasing in the
number and magnitude of his lies, in proportion as we applauded them.
A short-hand writer ought to have been there, for no human memory
could do justice to this modern Munchausen.
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