easy to shout out of a cab window. It should
be familiar, but by no means vulgar; intelligible,
and not wanting in dignity.

Whether any of these names given above, or
any in turn suggested by them, meet all or any
of these numerous requirements, it is not for me
to say. They are but "random arrows from the
brain," and may, at least, even if the bull's-eye
has been missed, serve to show in what direction
the target lies, for the benefit of other
archers.

You see, my dear father, what a protracted
disquisition I have been betrayed into by that
simple question of yours, "What is the Thames
Embankment to be called?" I am half afraid
that some of the remarks which your inquiry
has called forth will not be entirely to your
liking. I am acquainted with your high Tory
sentiments, and I shrewdly suspect that you
have not the keen dread of the introduction of
the Court Circular into a matter of this kind
by which I am actuated. Believe me, sir, it
wouldn't do. No individual name, however
illustrious, should be attached to this, the work
of a nineteenth-century public. It is a work likely
to last as long as the town of which it is to be so
important a feature. Let it have a name belonging
to all time, which change cannot render
obsolete or unfit, and which shall commend
itself to posterity as at least meaning and
rational. Let that common sense which, as we
hope, is a distinguishing characteristic of our
age, come into play here, and let this great road,
which connects the two extremities of our town
together, be simply called by the name which
best indicates its use and nature.

P. CHESTERFIELD, JUNIOR.

GHOSTS IN COURT.

Whether or not the defective ventilation of
our courts of law be inimical to the subtle fluid
of which phantoms are composed, or whether
these sensitive essences, oppressed with the
absurdities of forensic costume and manners,
take fright at the first glimmer of a
counsellor's wig, or at the titter that follows a
counsellor's joke, there can be no question of
the extreme difficulty that has always been
experienced in bringing a spectre fairly to judicial
book.

So long as the proceedings retain an extra
judicial character, no gentleman on the extensive
roll of attorneys could devote his time and abilities
more zealously to the getting up of a case
than has your unfee'd film. Not content with
fulfilling the office of detective, the
indefatigable phantom has suggested needful
testimony, indicated lines of prosecution,
collected witnesses, and—all being ready—
marched, so to speak, up to the very door of
the judgment-hall. There, however, for one
of the reasons above stated, or for some
other, the spectre has invariably come to a
stand. An objection to be sworn, in that
impressive manner so familiar to the frequenters
of English courts of justice, may have
something to do with it. The prospect of a
cross-examination by a sceptical person in horse-hair,
whose incredulity goes the length of
doubting one's very existence, and whose questions,
in any case, must look one's substance
through and through, may be sufficiently alarming.
Still, it is clear that such coquetting with
the forms of legal procedure is, as Dogberry
observes, most tolerable, and not to be
endured. We need not, therefore, be surprised
that a tacit understanding has been arrived at
to eliminate the accusing shade altogether. If
flesh and blood, that can speak well up to a
jury, and stand bullying, cannot convict a man,
shall a skulking shadow have that power? No.
The ghost's word—appraised by the Prince of
Denmark at "a thousand pound"—is now, in
the eye of the law, literally not worth one
dump.

Respect, however, for the fallen. It is one
of the evil results of the "Spiritualism," which
has spread like a rabies through society, that,
in dealing with those wizards who are medium
one day and conjuror the next, according to the
amount of detection brought to bear on them,
or to the tone of the opinion-market, we are apt
to acquire a habit of speaking with over-familiarity
of things that lie beyond the hitherto
ascertained limit of natural laws. This is surely
a mistake. Nothing, in this educated age,
astonishes one more than the extreme narrowness of
that district which separates absolute scepticism
from blind belief. So close are these neighbours,
that, without risk of offending one or the other,
the reasonable mind has scarcely space to stir.
With the former, the mere act of inquiry
seems to involve a sort of abandonment of
principle; with the latter, the most superficial
examination suffices.

Without in the least challenging the wisdom
of that arrangement which has outlawed the
ghost, it is singular to trace the manner in
which, within the memory of this generation,
what must be called, for fault of other phrase,
supernatural interference, has, to all appearance,
contributed to the ends of justice.

Thus, in the case of a notorious murder near
Brighton some thirty years ago, a dream, and a
dream alone, led to the discovery of the crime,
and of the victim's remains.

A curious instance of what, in Scotland, would
have been termed second-sight, occurred, within
the writer's recollection, in a midland county,
and, though of course suppressed at the trial,
was (an unusual circumstance) attested upon
oath at the preceding inquest. A market
gardener, known, from his fine presence, as
''Noble Eden," was murdered while at work
in the fields at a long distance from his dwelling.
His wife, ironing at a dresser by the
kitchen window, saw him run swiftly past,
pursued by another man, who brandished a stone
hammer, as if threatening to strike. Aware that
it was a spectral illusion, and impressed with an
idea that some evil had befallen her husband,