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〃God save the Queen〃 any performer； however poor； could retire in a
whirlwind of applause。 Niggers； having bored us with tiresome songs
about coons and honeys and Swanee Rivers； would； as a last resource；
strike up 〃God save the Queen〃 on the banjo。 The whole house would
have to rise and cheer。 Elderly Sisters Trippet； having failed to
arouse our enthusiasm by allowing us a brief glimpse of an ankle；
would put aside all frivolity； and tell us of a hero lover named
George； who had fought somebody somewhere for his Queen and country。
〃He fell！〃bang from the big drum and blue limelight。 In a
recumbent position he appears to have immediately started singing
〃God save the Queen。〃
＇How Anarchists are made。＇
Sleepy members of the audience would be hastily awakened by their
friends。 We would stagger to our feet。 The Sisters Trippet； with
eyes fixed on the chandelier； would lead us： to the best of our
ability we would sing 〃God save the Queen。〃
There have been evenings when I have sung 〃God save the Queen〃 six
times。 Another season of it； and I should have become a Republican。
The singer of patriotic songs is generally a stout and puffy man。
The perspiration pours from his face as the result of the violent
gesticulations with which he tells us how he stormed the fort。 He
must have reached it very hot。
〃There were ten to one agin us； boys。〃 We feel that this was a
miscalculation on the enemy's part。 Ten to one 〃agin〃 such wildly
gesticulating Britishers was inviting defeat。
It seems to have been a terrible battle notwithstanding。 He shows us
with a real sword how it was done。 Nothing could have lived within a
dozen yards of that sword。 The conductor of the orchestra looks
nervous。 Our fear is lest he will end by cutting off his own head。
His recollections are carrying him away。 Then follows 〃Victory！〃
The gas men and the programme sellers cheer wildly。 We conclude with
the inevitable 〃God save the King。〃
CHAPTER XVI
＇The Ghost and the Blind Children。＇
Ghosts are in the air。 It is difficult at this moment to avoid
talking of ghosts。 The first question you are asked on being
introduced this season is：
〃Do you believe in ghosts？〃
I would be so glad to believe in ghosts。 This world is much too
small for me。 Up to a century or two ago the intellectual young man
found it sufficient for his purposes。 It still contained the
unknownthe possiblewithin its boundaries。 New continents were
still to be discovered： we dreamt of giants； Liliputians； desert…
fenced Utopias。 We set our sail； and Wonderland lay ever just beyond
our horizon。 To…day the world is small； the light railway runs
through the desert； the coasting steamer calls at the Islands of the
Blessed； the last mystery has been unveiled； the fairies are dead；
the talking birds are silent。 Our baffled curiosity turns for relief
outwards。 We call upon the dead to rescue us from our monotony。 The
first authentic ghost will be welcomed as the saviour of humanity。
But he must be a living ghosta ghost we can respect； a ghost we can
listen to。 The poor spiritless addle…headed ghost that has hitherto
haunted our blue chambers is of no use to us。 I remember a
thoughtful man once remarking during argument that if he believed in
ghoststhe silly； childish spooks about which we had been telling
anecdotesdeath would possess for him an added fear： the idea that
his next dwelling…place would be among such a pack of dismal idiots
would sadden his departing hours。 What was he to talk to them about？
Apparently their only interest lay in recalling their earthly
troubles。 The ghost of the lady unhappily married who had been
poisoned； or had her throat cut； who every night for the last five
hundred years had visited the chamber where it happened for no other
purpose than to scream about it！ what a tiresome person she would be
to meet！ All her conversation during the long days would be around
her earthly wrongs。 The other ghosts； in all probability； would have
heard about that husband of hers； what he said； and what he did； till
they were sick of the subject。 A newcomer would be seized upon with
avidity。
A lady of repute writes to a magazine that she once occupied for a
season a wainscotted room in an old manor house。 On several
occasions she awoke in the night： each time to witness the same
ghostly performance。 Four gentlemen sat round a table playing cards。
Suddenly one of them sprang to his feet and plunged a dagger into the
back of his partner。 The lady does not say so： one presumes it was
his partner。 I have； myself； when playing bridge； seen an expression
on my partner's face that said quite plainly：
〃I would like to murder you。〃
I have not the memory for bridge。 I forget who it was that； last
trick but seven； played the two of clubs。 I thought it was he； my
partner。 I thought it meant that I was to take an early opportunity
of forcing trumps。 I don't know why I thought so； I try to explain
why I thought so。 It sounds a silly argument even to myself； I feel
I have not got it quite right。 Added to which it was not my partner
who played the two of clubs； it was Dummy。 If I had only remembered
this； and had concluded from itas I ought to have donethat my
partner had the ace of diamondsas otherwise why did he pass my
knave？we might have saved the odd trick。 I have not the head for
bridge。 It is only an ordinary headmine。 I have no business to
play bridge。
＇Why not； occasionally； a cheerful Ghost。＇
But to return to our ghosts。 These four gentlemen must now and
again； during their earthly existence； have sat down to a merry game
of cards。 There must have been evenings when nobody was stabbed。
Why choose an unpleasant occasion to harp exclusively upon it？ Why
do ghosts never give a cheerful show？ The lady who was poisoned！
there must have been other evenings in her life。 Why does she not
show us 〃The first meeting〃： when he gave her the violets and said
they were like her eyes？ He wasn't always poisoning her。 There must
have been a period before he ever thought of poisoning her。 Cannot
these ghosts do something occasionally in what is termed 〃the lighter
vein〃？ If they haunt a forest glade； it is to perform a duel to the
death； or an assassination。 Why cannot they； for a change； give us
an old…time picnic； or 〃The hawking party；〃 which； in Elizabethan
costume； should make a pretty picture？ Ghostland would appear to be
obsessed by the spirit of the Scandinavian drama： murders； suicides；
ruined fortunes； and broken hearts are the only material made use of。
Why is not a dead humorist allowed now and then to write the sketch？
There must be plenty of dead comic lovers； why are they never allowed
to give a performance？
＇Where are the dead Humorists？＇
A cheerful person contemplates death with alarm。 What is he to do in
this land of ghosts？ there is no place for him。 Imagine the
commonplace liver of a humdrum existence being received into
ghostland。 He enters nervous； shy； feeling again the new boy at
school。 The old ghosts gather round him。
〃How do you come heremurdered？〃
〃No； at least； I don't think so。〃
〃Suicide？
〃Nocan't remember the name of it now。 Began with a chill on the
liver； I think。〃
The ghosts are disappointed。 But a happy suggestion is made。
Perhaps he was the murderer； that would be even better。 Let him
think carefully； can he recollect ever having committed a murder？ He
racks his brains in vain； not a single murder comes to his
recollection。 He never forged a will。 Doesn't even know where
anything is hid。 Of what use will he be in ghostland？ One pictures
him passing the centuries among a moody crowd of uninteresting
mediocrities； brooding perpetually over their wasted lives。 Only the
ghosts of ladies and gentlemen mixed up in crime have any 〃show〃 in
ghostland。
＇The Spirit does not shine as a Conversationalist。＇
I feel an equal dissatisfaction with the spirits who are supposed to
return to us and communicate with us through the medium of three…
legged tables。 I do not deny the possibility that spirits exist。 I
am even willing to allow them their three…legged tables。 It must be
confessed it is a clumsy method。 One cannot help regretting that
during all the ages they have not evolved a more dignified system。
One feels that the three…legged table must hamper them。 One can
imagine an impatient spirit getting tired of spelling out a lengthy
story on a three…legged table。 But； as I have said； I am willing to
assume that； for some spiritual reason unfathomable to my mere human
intelligence； that three…legged table is essential。 I am willing
also to accept the human medium。 She is generally an unprepossessing
lady running somewhat to bulk。 If a gentleman； he so often has dirty
finger…nails； and smells of stale beer。 I think myself it would be
so much simpler if the spirit would talk to me direct； we could get
on quicker。 But there is that about the medium； I am told； which
appeals to a spirit。 Well； it is h