cherishing fetich stones
(instead of marbles, like other boys) and adoring that green insect in
the glass bottle! Oh Science,' he added rapturously, 'what will Mr. Max
Mueller say now? The Infinite! Bosh, it's a butterfly!'

'It is my own Dala, come to play with me,' said the boy.

'It is a fairy,' exclaimed the poet, examining Mab through his eyeglass.
This he said, not that he believed in fairies any more than publishers
believed in him, but partly because it was a pose he affected, partly to
'draw' the professor.

The professor replied that fairies were unscientific, and even
unthinkable, and the divine declared that they were too heterodox even
for the advanced state of modern theology, and had been condemned by
several councils, which is true. And the professor ran through all
the animal kingdoms and sub-kingdoms very fast, and proved quite
conclusively, in a perfect cataract of polysyllables, that fairies
didn't belong to any of them. While the professor was recovering breath,
the divine observed, in a somewhat aggrieved tone, that he for his part
found men and women enough for him, and too much sometimes. He also
wished to know whether, if his talented but misguided friend required
something ethereal, angels were not sufficient, without his having
recourse to Pagan mythology; and whether he considered Pagan mythology
suitable to the pressing needs of modern society, with a large surplus
female population, and to the adjustment of the claims of reason and
religion.

The poet replied, 'Oh, don't bother me with your theological conundrums.
I give it up. See here, I am going to write a sonnet to this creature,
whatever it is. Fair denizen--!'

'Of a glass bottle!' interrupted the professor somewhat rudely, and the
divine laughed.

'No. Of deathless ether, doomed.'

'And that reminds me,' said the professor, turning hastily, 'I must
examine it under the microscope carefully, while the light lasts.'

'Oh father!' cried the child, 'don't touch it, it is alive!'

'Nonsense!' said the professor, 'it is as dead as a door-nail. Just
reach me that lens.'

He raised the glass stopper unsuspiciously, then turned to adjust his
instrument And even as he turned his captive fled.

'There!' cried the boy.

Like a flash of sunshine, Queen Mab darted upwards and floated through
the open window. They saw her hover outside a moment, then she was
gone--back into her deathless ether.

'I told you so!' exclaimed the poet