other's hands. Look at these watches making themselves.'

He pointed to an arrangement of ropes and wheels and pulleys and
electricity, directing the movements of a few human assistants with
admirable dexterity and precision.

'You don't have anything like that in Polynesia!' said the Owl with
pardonable pride.

'No, I should think not,' said Queen Mab. 'Why, we haven't any watches
at all there. We look at the sun.'

'Ah yes,' returned the Owl. 'But the sun is rather unreliable, after
all. He has the Ecliptic to go round, and the whole of the Solar System
to attend to, and one must make allowances for him. But, for purposes
of strict chronology, watches are better, especially these watches! They
wind themselves up punctually every night, and if their owners break the
mainsprings of them, they pack themselves up to go by Parcels Post back
to the Company, and then they direct the parcel--or so I hear. Oh! they
are very intelligent watches!'

'Is that true? 'inquired Mab doubtfully.

'I believe so,' said the Owl.

There seemed to Queen Mab something rather too preternatural about this,
though she could well believe it, as she looked at the wonderful manner
in which the watches turned themselves out. It frightened her, and they
proceeded farther on, and came to much artillery, carefully constructed
by the higher civilisation for the purpose of turning the lower
civilisation, or the non-civilisation, or the alien civilisation, from
the error of its ways.

'These,' said the Owl, pointing at random to a collection of elegantly
polished torpedoes, cannons of superior excellence, gunpowder and
gun-cotton of all descriptions and colours, arranged artistically in
cases, to resemble sugar-candy and other confectionery, 'are the weapons
of our philanthropy, the agents by which we disseminate truth, charity,
and freedom, among tribes and races as yet imperfectly supplied with
cardinal virtues and general ideas. They cost a great deal, but we would
sacrifice anything for such a purpose. There is nothing mean about the
British public. "What are a few bales of gun-cotton,' it cries--" a few
tons of paltry bullets, in comparison with the march of civilisation and
humanity and open markets? We do but give them of our best, our finest
Bessemer steel, our latest thing in torpedo-boats--nothing is too good
for them. What are we, if not magnanimous?' says the British public.
I always like that about it--it never grudges a few million