Here we cannot trace any co-mixture of science and scepticism, and in vain shall we look for the spawn of infidel doctrine.  The same excellent feeling breathes throughout Salmonia, one of the most delightful labours of leisure we have ever seen.  Not a few of the most beautiful phenomena of Nature are here lucidly explained, yet the pages have none of the varnish of philosophical unbelief or finite reasoning.  “In my opinion,” says one of the characters in the Dialogue, (to be identified as the author,) “profound minds are the most likely to think lightly of the resources of human reason; and it is the pert superficial thinker who is generally strongest in every kind of unbelief.  The deep philosopher sees changes of causes and effects, so wonderfully and strangely linked together, that he is usually the last person to decide upon the impossibility of any two series of events being independent of each other; and in science, so many natural miracles, as it were, have been brought to light,—­such as the fall of stones from meteors in the atmosphere, the disarming a thundercloud by a metallic point, the production of fire from ice by a metal white as silver, and referring certain laws of motions of the sea to the moon,—­that the physical inquirer is seldom disposed to assert, confidently, on any abstruse subjects belonging to the order of natural things, and still less so on those relating to the more mysterious relations of moral events and intellectual natures."[7]

Many other passages in Salmonia gush forth with great force and beauty, and sometimes soar into sublime truths.  Thus says the eloquent author: 

“A full and clear river is, in my opinion, the most poetical object in nature.  Pliny has, as well as I recollect, compared a river to human life.  I have never read the passage in his works, but I have been a hundred times struck with the analogy, particularly amidst mountain scenery.  The river, small and clear in its origin, gushes forth from rocks, falls into deep glens, and wantons and meanders through a wild and picturesque country, nourishing only the uncultivated tree or flower by its dew or spray.  In this, its state of infancy and youth, it may be compared to the human mind in which fancy and strength of imagination are predominant—­it is more beautiful than useful.  When the different rills or torrents join, and descend into the plain, it becomes slow and stately in its motions; it is applied to move machinery, to irrigate meadows, and to bear upon its bosom the stately barge;—­in this mature state, it is deep, strong, and useful.  As it flows on towards the sea, it loses its force and its motion, and at last, as it were, becomes lost and mingled with the mighty abyss of waters.”