It is very curious, by the bye, how deserted all public places become
whenever a stage character is about. It would seem as though ordinary
citizens sought to avoid them. We have known a couple of stage
villains to have Waterloo Bridge, Lancaster Place, and a bit of the
Strand entirely to themselves for nearly a quarter of an hour on a
summer's afternoon while they plotted a most diabolical outrage.

As for Trafalgar Square, the hero always chooses that spot when he
wants to get away from the busy crowd and commune in solitude with his
own bitter thoughts; and the good old lawyer leaves his office and
goes there to discuss any very delicate business over which he
particularly does not wish to be disturbed.

And they all make speeches there to an extent sufficient to have
turned the hair of the late lamented Sir Charles Warren White with
horror. But it is all right, because there is nobody near to hear
them. As far as the eye can reach, not a living thing is to be seen.
Northumberland Avenue, the Strand, and St. Martin's Lane are simply a
wilderness. The only sign of life about is a 'bus at the top of
Whitehall, and it appears to be blocked.

How it has managed to get blocked we cannot say. It has the whole
road to itself, and is, in fact, itself the only traffic for miles
round. Yet there it sticks for hours. The police make no attempt to
move it on and the passengers seem quite contented.

The Thames Embankment is an even still more lonesome and desolate
part. Wounded (stage) spirits fly from the haunts of men and, leaving
the hard, cold world far, far behind them, go and die in peace on the
Thames Embankment. And other wanderers, finding their skeletons