I can imagine the oyster lecturing a lion on the subject of
morality.
"You never hear me," the oyster might say, "howling round camps and
villages, making night hideous, frightening quiet folk out of their
lives. Why don't you go to bed early, as I do? I never prowl round
the oyster-bed, fighting other gentlemen oysters, making love to
lady oysters already married. I never kill antelopes or
missionaries. Why can't you live as I do on salt water and germs,
or whatever it is that I do live on? Why don't you try to be more
like me?"
An oyster has no evil passions, therefore we say he is a virtuous
fish. We never ask ourselves--"Has he any good passions?" A lion's
behaviour is often such as no just man could condone. Has he not
his good points also?
Will the fat, sleek, "virtuous" man be as Welcome at the gate of
heaven as he supposes?
"Well," St. Peter may say to him, opening the door a little way and
looking him up and down, "what is it now?"
"It's me," the virtuous man will reply, with an oily, self-satisfied
smile; "I should say, I--I've come."
"Yes, I see you have come; but what is your claim to admittance?
What have you done with your three score years and ten?"
"Done!" the virtuous man will answer, "I have done nothing, I assure
you.
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