VOL. XI. No. 6

WHOLE No. 66

WHEN I reached Europe I found only ships running, carriages driving, men moving, shops plying, theatres going on, Parliament in session,-in fact, everything on the move. In everything, great and small, a vast endeavour was busily asserting itself day and night to an extreme point; all were rushing on in concert with tireless energy to attain the extreme limit of human powers.

The sight oppressed my Indian nature; but at the same time I cried out in admiration too, "Yes, these are indeed an Imperial race! What we look upon as much more than enough is but a miserable pittance in their eyes. For the sake of their meanest comfort, for the sake of their most fleeting pleasure, man's powers are toiling with nerves and muscles strained to the utmost."

During the voyage I used to reflect :This ship is incessantly advancing with its iron bosom thrown forward; on the deck countless men and women are engaged, some cosily reposing, others amusing themselves. But there is a fire burning for ever low down in its secret bowels, at which innocent coal-black damned ones are constantly grilling and shortening their lives. Oh! the unbearable strain, hard toil, and pitiless waste of human life incessantly goinig on there! But it cannot be helped. His Majesty MAN is making his royal progress; he will not halt, he will consent to lose his time or bear any hardship, if it can be avoided.

not

It is not enough for him that distance has been annihilated by the ceaseless working of machinery; on the way he will not bear the least curtailment of the comfort and splendour to which he is accustomed in his palace. Hundreds of servants are ever engaged in waiting on him; his dining saloon and music hall are finely decorated, painted with gold, covered with marble, and lighted up by hundreds of electric

lamps. His table groans under every

possible variety of dish.

How many

regulations, how many arrangements for keeping the ship tidy! What careful attention to the minutest detail! Every bit of rope is kept neatly coiled in its proper place. place. As in the ship, so everywhere else,in the streets, the rivers, the shops, theatres, -there is no end of arrangements. Everywhere the senses of His Imperial Majesty MAN are being offered sacrifices with full

pomp of ritual. For years we toil and toil in advance that he may enjoy even a moment's pleasure!

My subjective Oriental nature looked upon this machine of civilisation, worked at extreme strain, as a source of affliction. Even a single voluptuous despot in a country requires thousands of wretches to wear their lives out in contributing to his pleasure; but when the kings of society are counted in tens of thousand, the human race is crushed under an intolerable burden. Hood's Song of the Shirt is the pathetic cry of that oppressed humanity.