CHAPTER XII--CORONATION DAY.
O thou that sea-walls sever From lands unwalled by seas! Wilt thou endure forever, O Milton's England, these?
Thou that wast his Republic, Wilt thou clasp their knees?
These royalties rust-eaten, These worm-corroded lies That keep thy head storm-beaten, And sun-like strength of eyes From the open air and heaven Of intercepted skies! SWINBURNE.
Vivat Rex Eduardus! They crowned a king this day, and there has been great rejoicing and elaborate tomfoolery, and I am perplexed and saddened.

I never saw anything to compare with the pageant, except Yankee circuses and Alhambra ballets; nor did I ever see anything so hopeless and so tragic.
To have enjoyed the Coronation procession, I should have come straight from America to the Hotel Cecil, and straight from the Hotel Cecil to a five-guinea seat among the washed.

My mistake was in coming from the unwashed of the East End.

There were not many who came from that quarter.

The East End, as a whole, remained in the East End and got drunk.