etire 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 unknown--the
possible--within its boundaries. New continents were still to be
discovered: we dreamt of gian