'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, startled by this incident into a momentary conviction of the truth of his own theory. CHAPTER IV. THE POET AND THE PALÆONTO-THEOLOGIST. 'Puis nous fut dit que chose estrange ne leur sembloit estre deux contradictoires Vrayes en mode, en figure, et en temps.' Pantagruel, v. xxii. Moved by an uncontrollable impulse, they all three rushed out into the garden; and far beyond them, in the sunlight, they did indeed catch one parting gleam of gauzy wings, as the fairy vanished. When the professor led the way into the room again, and, rather crestfallen, looked at the tall empty bottle and the stopper, which in his hurry he had thrown down upon the floor. 'She is gone!' sobbed the child. 'My beautiful Dala. I shall never see her again.'