198 THE SALMON 



each other below the bridge ; to the Shannon at 

 Castle Connel and Killaloe, the birthplace of Phineas 

 Phinn ; and by a coincidence Trollope's brilliant 

 political parve?iu bears the name of a celebrated 

 Edinburgh rod-maker. Nor dare we go on to the 

 Blackwater or cross over to the Severn, although the 

 ingredients of that 'memory sauce' are inexhaustible, 

 and in them is a prononce flavour of the actual and 

 prosaic. We recall the simple impromptu menu of 

 many an unpretentious hostelry in the Highlands. 

 Salmon, venison or grouse, cranberry tart with 'the 

 rich plain cream,' so heartily appreciated by Dr. 

 Redgill when he dined with the Nabob of St. 

 Ronan's — all corrected by the Olenlivet or Tal- 

 lisker, undiluted or in tumblers of steaming toddy. 

 Also 'we have memory,' as M. Beaujeu of the 

 Ordinary remarked to Lord Glenvarloch, of the crisp, 

 crimped, curdy slices, which used to be a speciality 

 of the breakfasts at Perth Railway Station before it 

 became more bustling than Paddington or King's 

 Cross, and when the morning express from the South 

 steamed in about 8.30. We know not if we have ever 

 enjoyed anything so much, save the matutinal cup 

 of cafe au lait when the fast night train from Paris to 

 Neuchatel pulled up on the heights of the Jura beyond 

 Pontarlier. 



