Mr. Mac Quedy.—Eh! sir, on its own around, your Thames salmon has two virtues over all others; first, that it is fresh; and, second, that it is rare; for I understand you do not take half a dozen in a year.
The Rev. Dr. Folliott.—In some years, sir, not one. Mud, filth, gas-dregs, lock-weirs, and the march of mind, developed in the form of poaching, have ruined the fishery. But, when we do catch a salmon, happy the man to whom he falls.
Mr. Mac Quedy.—I confess, sir, this is excellent: but I cannot see why it should be better than a Tweed salmon at Kelso.
The Rev. Dr. Folliott.—Sir, I will take a glass of Hock with you.
Mr. Mac Quedy.—With all my heart, sir. There are several varieties of the salmon genus: but the common salmon, the salmo salar, is only one species, one and the same everywhere, just like the human mind. Locality and education make all the difference.
The Rev. Dr. Folliott.—Education! Well, sir, I have no doubt schools for all are just as fit for the species salmo salar as for the genus homo. But you must allow that the specimen before us has finished his education in a manner that does honour to his college. However, I doubt that the salmo salar is only one species, that is to say, precisely alike in all localities. I hold that every river has its own breed, with essential differences; in flavour especially. And as for the human mind, I deny that it is the same in all men. I hold that there is every variety of natural capacity from the idiot to Newton and Shakespeare; the mass of mankind, midway between these extremes, being blockheads of different degrees; education leaving them pretty nearly as it found them, with this single difference, that it gives a fixed direction to their stupidity, a sort of incurable wry neck to the thing they call their understanding. So one nose points always east, and another always west, and each is ready to swear that it points due north.
Mr. Crotchet.—If that be the point of truth, very few intellectual noses point due north.
Mr. Mac Quedy.—Only those that point to the Modern Athens.
The Rev. Dr. Folliott.—Where all native noses point southward.
Mr. Mac Quedy.—Eh, sir, northward for wisdom, and southward for profit.