"How do you come here--murdered?"

"No, at least, I don't think so."

"Suicide?

"No--can'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