Tracks Of A Rolling Stone by Henry J. Coke (top ten books of all time .TXT) 📕

Was Astir,  I Went Out One Morning About Half-Past Eight. 

Seeing What I Took To Be A Mausoleum,  I Walked Up To It, 

Found The Door Opened,  And Peeped In.  It Turned Out To Be A 

Museum Of Roman Antiquities,  And The Emperor Was Inside, 

Arranging Them.  I Immediately Withdrew,  But He Called To Me

To Come In.

He Was At This Time Busy With His Life Of Caesar; And,  In His

Enthusiasm,  Seemed Pleased To Have A Listener To His

Instructive Explanations; He Even Encouraged The Curiosity

Which The Valuable Collection And His Own Remarks Could Not

Fail To Awaken.

Not Long Ago,  I Saw Some Correspondence In The Times' And

Other Papers About What Heine Calls 'Das Kleine

Welthistorische Hutchen,' Which The Whole Of Europe Knew So

Well,  To Its Cost.  Some Six Or Seven Of The Buonaparte Hats, 

So It Appears,  Are Still In Existence.  But I Noticed,  That

Though All Were Located,  No Mention Was Made Of The One In

The Luxembourg.

When We Left Compiegne For Paris We Were Magnificently

Furnished With Orders For Royal Boxes At Theatres,  And For

Admission To Places Of Interest Not Open To The Public.  Thus

Provided,  We Had Access To Many Objects Of Historical

Interest And Of Art - Amongst The Former,  The Relics Of The

Great Conqueror.  In One Glass Case,  Under Lock And Key,  Was

The 'World-Historical Little Hat.'  The Official Who

Accompanied Us,  Having Stated That We Were The Emperor's

Guests,  Requested The Keeper To Take It Out And Show It To

Us.  I Hope No Frenchman Will Know It,  But,  I Put The Hat

Upon My Head.  In One Sense It Was A 'Little' Hat - That Is

To Say,  It Fitted A Man With A Moderate Sized Skull - But The

Flaps Were Much Larger Than Pictures Would Lead One To Think, 

And Such Was The Weight That I Am Sure It Would Give Any

Ordinary Man Accustomed To Our Head-Gear A Still Neck To Wear

It For An Hour.  What Has Become Of This Hat If It Is Not

Still In The Luxembourg?

Some Few Years Later,  While Travelling With My Family In

Switzerland,  We Happened To Be Staying At Baveno On Lago

Maggiore At The Same Time,  And In The Same Hotel,  As The

Crown Prince And Princess Of Germany.  Their Imperial

Highnesses Occupied A Suite Of Apartments On The First Floor. 

Our Rooms Were Immediately Above Them.  As My Wife Was Known 

To The Princess,  Occasional Greetings Passed From Balcony To

Balcony.

One Evening While Watching Two Lads Rowing From The Shore In

The Direction Of Isola Bella,  I Was Aroused From My

Contemplation Of A Gathering Storm By Angry Vociferations

Beneath Me.  These Were Addressed To The Youths In The Boat. 

The Anxious Father Had Noted The Coming Tempest; And,  With

Hands To His Mouth,  Was Shouting Orders To The Young

Gentlemen To Return.  Loud And Angry As Cracked The Thunder, 

The Imperial Voice O'ertopped It.  Commands Succeeded

Admonitions,  And As The Only Effect On The Rowers Was Obvious

Recalcitrancy,  Oaths Succeeded Both:  All In Those Throat-

Clearing Tones To Which The German Language So Consonantly

Lends Itself.  In A Few Minutes The Boat Was Immersed In The

Down-Pour Which Concealed It.

The Elder Of The Two Oarsmen Was No Other Than The Future

Firebrand Peacemaker,  Miching Mallecho,  Our Fierce Little

Tartarin De Berlin.  One Wondered How He,  Who Would Not Be

Ruled,  Would Come In Turn To Rule?  That Question Is A

Burning One; And May Yet Set The World In Flames To Solve It.

A Comic Little Incident Happened Here To My Own Children. 

There Was But One Bathing-Machine.  This,  The Two - A

Schoolboy And His Sister - Used In The Early Morning.  Being

Rather Late One Day,  They Found It Engaged; And Growing

Impatient The Boy Banged At The Door Of The Machine,  With A

Shout In Schoolboy's Vernacular:  'Come,  Hurry Up; We Want To

Dip.'  Much To The Surprise Of The Guilty Pair,  An Answer, 

Also In The Best Of English,  Came From The Inside:  'Go Away, 

You Naughty Boy.'  The Occupant Was The Imperial Princess. 

Needless To Say The Children Bolted With A Mingled Sense Of

Mischief And Alarm.

About This Time I Joined A Society For The Relief Of

Distress,  Of Which Bromley Davenport Was The Nominal Leader. 

The 'Managing Director,' So To Speak,  Was Dr. Gilbert,  Father

Of Mr. W. S. Gilbert.  To Him I Went For Instructions.  I

Told Him I Wanted To See The Worst.  He Accordingly Sent Me

To Bethnal Green.  For Two Winters And Part Of A Third I

Visited This District Twice A Week Regularly.  What I Saw In

The Course Of Those Two Years Was Matter For A Thoughtful -

Ay,  Or A Thoughtless - Man To Think Of For The Rest Of His

Days.

My System Was To Call First Upon The Clergyman Of The Parish, 

And Obtain From Him A Guide To The Severest Cases Of

Destitution.  The Guide Would Be A Scripture Reader,  And,  As

Far As I Remember,  Always A Woman.  I Do Not Know Whether The

Labours Of These Good Creatures Were Gratuitous - They

Themselves Were Certainly Poor,  Yet Singularly Earnest And

Sympathetic.  The Society Supplied Tickets For Coal, 

Blankets,  And Food.  Needless To Say,  Had These Supplies Been 

A Thousand-Fold As Great,  They Would Have Done As Little

Permanent Good As Those At My Command.

In Bethnal Green The Principal Industry Is,  Or Was,  Silk-

Weaving By Hand Looms.  Nearly All The Houses Were Ancient

And Dilapidated.  A Weaver And His Family Would Occupy Part

Of A Flat,  Consisting Of Two Rooms Perhaps,  One Of Which

Would Contain His Loom.  The Room Might Be About Seven Feet

High,  Nearly Dark,  Lighted Only By A Lattice Window,  Half Of

The Panes Of Which Would Be Replaced By Dirty Rags Or Old

Newspaper.  As The Loom Was Placed Against The Window The

Light Was Practically Excluded.  The Foulness Of The Air And

Filth Which This Entailed May Be Too Easily Imagined.  A

Couple Of Cases,  Taken Almost At Random,  Will Sample Scores

As Bad.

It Is One Of The Darkest Days Of December.  The Thames Is

Nearly Frozen At Waterloo Bridge.  On The Second Floor Of An

Old House In - Lane,  In An Unusually Spacious Room (Or Does

It Only Look Spacious Because There Is Nothing In It Save

Four Human Beings?) Are A Father,  A Mother,  And A Grown-Up

Son And Daughter.  They Scowl At The Visitor As The Scripture

Reader Opens The Door.  What Is The Meaning Of The Intrusion? 

Is He Too Come With A Bible Instead Of Bread?  The Four Are

Seated Side By Side On The Floor,  Leaning Against The Wall, 

Waiting For - Death.  Bedsteads,  Chairs,  Table,  And Looms

Have Been Burnt This Week Or More For Fuel.  The Grate Is

Empty Now,  And Lets The Freezing Draught Blow Down The

Chimney.  The Temporary Relief Is Accepted,  But Not With

Thanks.  These Four Stubbornly Prefer Death To The Work-

House.

One Other Case.  It Is The Same Hard Winter.  The Scene:  A

Small Garret In The Roof,  A Low Slanting Little Skylight,  Now

Covered Six Inches Deep In Snow.  No Fireplace Here,  No

Ventilation,  So Put Your Scented Cambric To Your Nose,  My

Noble Dives.  The Only Furniture A Scanty Armful Of - What

Shall We Call It?  It Was Straw Once.  A Starving Woman And A

Baby Are Lying On It,  Notwithstanding.  The Baby Surely Will

Not Be There To-Morrow.  It Has A Very Bad Cold - And The

Mucus,  And The - Pah!  The Woman In A Few Rags - Just A Few -

Is Gnawing A Raw Carrot.  The Picture Is Complete.  There's

Nothing More To Paint.  The Rest - The Whole Indeed,  That Is

The Consciousness Of It - Was,  And Remains,  With The Unseen.

You Will Say,  'Such Things Cannot Be'; You Will Say,  'There

Are Relieving Officers,  Whose Duty,  Etc.,  Etc.'  May Be.  I

Am Only Telling You What I Myself Have Seen.  There Is More

Goes On In Big Cities Than Even Relieving Officers Can Cope

With.  And Who Shall Grapple With The Causes?  That's The

Point.

Here Is Something Else That I Have Seen.  I Have Seen A

Family Of Six In One Room.  Of These,  Four Were Brothers And 

Sisters,  All Within,  None Over,  Their Teens.  There Were

Three Beds Between The Six.  When I Came Upon Them They Were

Out Of Work,  - The Young Ones In Bed To Keep Warm.  I Took

Them For Very Young Married Couples.  It Was The Scripture

Reader Who Undeceived Me.  This Is Not The Exception To The

Rule,  Look You,  But The Rule Itself.  How Will You Deal With

It?  It Is With Nature,  Immoral Nature And Her Heedless

Instincts That You Have To Deal.  With What Kind Of Fork Will

You Expel Her?  It Is With Nature's Wretched Children,  The

Betes Humaines,

Quos Venerem Incertam Rapientes More Ferarum,

That Your Account