cottage under the high beech woods, to a
well-thumbed Boswell, and to a garden where I shall mulch my rose-trees and
watch the buds coming with as rich a satisfaction as any that the hot
battle of the day has given me. But there is another thing I shall ask for.
On the lower shelf of the bookcase, close to the Boswell, there will have
to be a box of chessmen and a chessboard, and the men who were boys when I
was a boy, and who come and sit with me, will be expected after supper to
set out the chessmen as instinctively as they fill their pipes. And then
for an hour, or it may be two, we shall enter into that rapturous realm
where the knight prances and the bishop lurks with his shining sword and
the rooks come crashing through in double file. The fire will sink and we
shall not stir it, the clock will strike and we shall not hear it, the pipe
will grow cold and we shall forget to relight it.

Blessed be the memory of him who gave the world this immortal game. For the
price of a taxicab ride or a visit to the cinema, you may, thanks to that
unknown benefactor, possess a world of illimitable adventures. When Alice
passed through the Looking Glass into Wonderland, she did not more
completely leave the common day behind than when you sit down before the
chessboard with a stout foe before you and pass out into this magic realm
of bloodless combat. I have heard unhappy people say that it is "dull."
Dull, my dear sir or madam? Why, there is no excitement on this earth
comparable with this kingly game. I have had moments at Lord's, I admit,
and at the Oval. But here is a game which is all such moments, where you
are up to the eyes in plots and ambuscades all the time, and the fellow in
front of you is up to his eyes in them, too. What agonies as you watch his
glance wandering over the board. Does he suspect that trap? Does he see the
full meaning of that offer of the knight which seems so tempting?... His
hand touches the wrong piece and your heart thumps a Te Deum. Is he?... yes
... no ... he pauses ... he removes his hand from the piece ... oh,
heavens, his eye is wandering back to that critical pawn ... ah, light is
dawning on him ... you see it illuminating his face as he bends over the
board, you hear a murmur of revelation issuing from his lips ... he is
drawing back from the precipice ... your ambuscade is in vain and now you
must start plotting and scheming all over again.

Nay, say it is anything you like, but do not say