mple of the Survival of the Fittest. He
worked his way, by means of native moral superiority and pure chocolate
composed of mortar and molasses tinted with sepia, right from the
gallery into one of the very best reserved seats, and now has little
books written on himself, as exemplifying the reward of virtue, and
exhorts everybody to go in and do likewise. The pamphlets conclude:

'"If your vocation furnishes only the trivial round and the common task;
if it does not fall to your lot to invent a new pure chocolate, you can
at least buy Mr. Tubbs's pure chocolate, and reverence the benefactors
of humanity."

'He sends copies to all the dukes, and earls, and archbishops, and the
result is an immense sale of the pure chocolate. He has never missed a
chance of advertising it; he takes boxes to the meetings of the Church
Missionary Society for propagation among the heathen, and so has managed
to get large profits from the Zunis, and the Thlinkeets, and the Mikado,
and the Shah. He nearly got into difficulty with the Low Church party
once by writing privately to the Pope to solicit orders--not holy
orders; orders for pure chocolate, I mean. I hope he won't carry it too
far. His wife's uncle, who was a wholesale draper, seized one golden
opportunity too many, and never recovered from the effects.'

'How was that?' asked Mab.

'It was an incident that took place in the Strand one day,' said the
Owl with a modest air, 'of which I learned the particulars from two City
sparrows. It struck my fancy, and I wrote a few stanzas upon it. The
kingfisher, in fact, did me the honour to say that I had wedded the
circumstance to immortal verse; but that was his partiality. I will,
however, repeat the little poem to you.' And with becoming diffidence
the Owl recited:

'The Seraph and the Snob.

It was a draper eminent,
A merchant of the land,
On lofty calculations bent,
Who raised his eyes, on cent, per cent.

From pondering, in the Strand.
He saw a Seraph standing there,
With aspect bright and sainted,
Ethereal robe of fabric fair,
And wings that might have been the pair
Sir Noel Paton painted.

A real Seraph met his gaze--
There was no doubt of that--
Irradiate with celestial rays.
Our merchant viewed him with amaze,
And then he touched his hat.

I own, before he raised his hand,
A moment he reflected,
Because in this degenera