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EDWARD BELLAMIY.




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A Nantucket Idgll," &C., &C.
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PRE FACE.


HISTORICAL SECTION SHAWMUT COLLEGE, BOSTON,
DECEMBER 28, 2000.
LIVING as we do in the closing year of the twentieth
century, enjoying the blessings of a social order at
once so simple and logical that it seems but the
triumph of common sense, it is no doubt difficult for
those whose studies have not been largely historical
to realise that the present organization of society is,
in its completeness, less than a century old. go
historical fact is, however, better established than that
till nearly the end of the nineteenth century it was the
general belief that the ancient industrial system, with
all its shocking social consequences, was destined to
last, with possibly a little patching, to the end of time.
How strange and well nigh incredible does it seem
that so prodigious a moral and material transformation as has taken place since then could have been
accomplished in so brief an interval! The readiness
with which men accustom themselves, as matters of




iv


PREFACE.


course, to improvements in their condition, which
when anticipated seemed to leave nothing more to be
desired, could not be more strikingly illustrated. What
reflection could be better calculated to moderate the
enthusiasm of reformers who count for their reward
on the lively gratitude of future ages!
The object of this volume is to assist persons who,
while desiring to gain a more definite idea of the
social contrasts between the nineteenth and twentieth
centuries, are daunted by the formal aprt of 'thehistories which treat of the sbjet. Warned by a
teacher's experience that learning is accounted a
weariness to the flesh, the author has sought to
alleviate the instructive quality of $he book by casting
it in the form of a romantc narrative, which he would
be glad to fancy not wholly devoid of interest on its
own account.
The reader, to whom modern social institutions and
their underlying principles are matters of course, may
at times find Dr. Leete's explanations of them rather
trite,-but it must be remembered that to Dr. Leete's
guest they were not matters of course, and that this
book is written for the express purpose of inducing
the reader to forget for the nonce that they are so
to him. One word more. The almost universal theme
of the writers and orators who have celebrated this
bi-millenial epoch has been the future rather than the
\past, not the advance that has been made, but the
progress that shall be made, ever onward and upward,




PREF.ACE,.


V


till the race shall achieve its ineffable destiny. This
is well, wholly well, but it seems to me that nowhere
can we find more solid ground for daring anticipations
of human development during the next one thousand
years, than by " Looking Backward" upon the progress
of the last one hundred.
That this volume may be so fortunate as to find
readers whose interest in the subject shall incline
them to overlook the deficiencies of the treatment,
is the hope in which the author steps aside and leaves
Mr. Julian West to speak for himself.


2




I
I




LOOKING                BACKWARD.
CHAPTER I.
I FIRST saw the light in the city of Boston in the
year I857. "What," you say, "eighteen fiftyseven? That is an odd slip. He means nineteen
fifty-seven of course." I beg pardon, but there is no
mistake.  It was about four in the afternoon of
December the 26th, one day after Christmas, in the
year 1857, not 1957, that I first breathed the east
wind of Boston, which I assure the reader, was at
that remote period marked by the same penetrating
quality characterizing it in the present year of grace,
2000.
These statements seem so absurd on their face,
especially when I add that I am a young man apparently of about thirty years of age, that no person
can be blamed for refusing to read another word ot
what promises to be a mere imposition upon his.
credulity. Nevertheless I earnestly assure the reader
that no imposition is intended, and will undertake, if
he shall follow me a few pages, to entirely convince
him of this. If I may, then, provisionally assume,
with the pledge of justifying the assumption, that I
know better than the reader when I was born, I will
go on with my narrative. As every schoolboy knows,
in the latter part of the nineteenth century the civili



8


LOOKING BACKWARD.


sation of to-day, or anything like it, did not exist,
although the elements which were to develop it were
already in ferment. Nothing had, howdver, occurred
to modify the immemorial division of society into the
four classes, or nations, as they may be more fitly
called, since the differences between /them were far
greater than those between any nations nowadays of
the rich and the poor, the educated and the ignorant.
I myself was rich and also educated, and possessed,
therefore, all the elements of happiness enjoyed by
the most fortunate in that age. Living in luxury,
and occupied only with the pursuit of the pleasures
and refinements of life, I derived the means of my
support from the labour of others, rendering no sort
of service in return. My parents and grand-parents
had lived in the same way, and I expected that my
descendants, if I had any, would enjoy a like easy
existence.
But how could I live without service to the world?
you ask. Why should the world have supported in
utter idleness one who was able to render service?
The answer is that my great-grandfather had accumulated a sum of money on which his descendants had
ever since lived. The sum, you will naturally infer,
must have been very large not to have been exhausted
in supporting three generations in idleness. This, however, was not the fact. The sum had been originally
by no means large. It was, in fact, much larger now
that three generations had been supported upon it in
idleness, than it was at first. This mystery of use
without consumption, of warmth without combustion,
seems like magic, but was merely an ingenious application of the art now happily lost but carried to great
perfection by your ancestors, of shifting the burden of
one's support on to the shoulders of others. The man
X[ho had accomplished this, and it was the end all
sought, was said to live on the income of his invest,
[lents. To explain at this point how the ancient




LOOKING BACKWARD.


9


methods of industry made this possible, would delay
us too much.  I shall only stop now to say that
interest on investment was a species of tax in perkpetuity upon the product of those engaged in industry
which a person possessing or inheriting money was'
able to levy.  It must not be supposed that an
arrangement which seems so unnatural and preposterous according to modern notions was never
criticized by your ancestors. It had been the effort of
lawgivers and prophets from the earliest ages to
abolish interest, or at least to limit it to the smallest
possible rate. All these efforts, had, however, failed,
as they necessarily must so long as the ancient social
organization prevailed. At the time of which I write,
the latter part of the nineteenth century, governments
had generally given up trying to regulate the
subject at all.
By way of attempting to give the reader some
general impression of the way people lived together
in those days, and especially of the relations of the
rich and poor to one another, perhaps I cannot do
better than compare society as it then was to a prodigious coach which the masses of humanity were
harnessed to and dragged toilsomely along a very
hilly and sandy road. The driver was hunger, and
permitted no lagging, though the pace was necessarily
very slow., Despite the difficulty of drawing the coach
at all along so hard a road, the top was covered with
passengers who never got down, even at the steepest
ascents.  The seats on top were very breezy andc
comfortable. Well up out of the dust their occupant:;
could enjoy the scenery at their leisure, or critically
discuss the merit of the straining team. Naturally
such places were in great demand and the competition
for them was keen, every one seeking as the first
end in life to secure a seat on the coach for himself
and to leave it to his child after him. By the rule of
the coach a man could leave his seat to whom he
I




la


LOOKING BACKWARD.


wished, but on the other hand there were many
accidents by which it might at} any time be wholly
lost. For all that they were so easy, the seats were
very insecure, and at every sudden jolt of the coach
persons were slipping out of them and falling to the
ground, where they where instantly compelled to take
hold of the rope and help to drag the coach on which
they had before ridden so pleasantly. It was naturally regarded as a terrible misfortune to lose one's
seat, and the apprehension that this might happen
to them or their friends was a constant cloud upon
the happiness of those who rode.
But did they think only of themselves? you ask.
Was not their very luxury rendered intolerable to
them by comparison with the lot of their brothers
and sisters in the harness, and the knowledge that
their own weight added to their toil! Had they no
compassion for fellow being from whom fortune only
distinguished them? Oh yes; commiseration was
frequently expressed by those who rode for those who
had to pull the coach, especially when the vehicle
came to a bad place in the road, as it was constantly
doing, or to a particularly steep hill. At such times,
the desperate straining of the team, their agonized
leaping and plunging under the pitiless lashing ot
hunger, the many who fainted at the rope and were
trampled in the mire, made a very distressing spectacle, which often called forth highly creditable displays of feeling on the top of the coach. At such
times the passengers would call down encouragingly
to the toilers of the rope, exhorting them to patience,
and holding out hopes of possible compensation in
anot1 er world for the hardness of their lot, while
others contributed to buy salves and liniments for the
crippled and injured.  It was agreed that it was a
great pity that the coach should be so hard to pull,
and there was a sense ofwg                the
specially bad piece of road was gotten over. This




LOOKING BACKWARD


II


relief was not, indeed, wholly on account of the team,
for there was always some danger at these bad places
of a general overturn in which all would lose their
seats.
It must in truth be admitted that the main effect
of the spectacle of the misery of the toilers at the
rope was to enhance the passengers' sense of the value
of their seats upon the coach, and to cause them to
hold on to them more desperately than before.
If the passengers could only have felt assured that
neither they nor their friends would ever fall from
the top, it is probable that, beyond contributing to
the funds for liniments and bandages, they would
have troubled themselves extremely little abo* those
who dragged the coach.
I am well aware that this will appear to the men
and women of the twentieth century an incredible
inhumanity, but there are two facts, both very curiou,,
which partly explain it. In the first place, it was
firmly and sincerely believed that there was no other
way in w      Society could get alon  except the.
many pulled at therope an   the lew rode, and not
only this, but that no very radical improvement even
was possible, either in the harness, the coach, the
roadway, or the distribution of the toil. It had always
been as it was, and it would always be so. It was a
pity, but it could not be helped, and philosophy forbade wasting compassion on what was beyond
remedy.
The other fact is yet more curious, consisting in a
singular hallucination which those on the top of the
coach generally shared, that they were not exactly
like their brothers and sisters who pulled at the rope,
but of finer clay, in some way belonging to a higher
order of beings who might justly expect to be drawn.
This seems unaccountable, but, as I once rode on this
very coach and shared that very hallucination, I
ought to be believed. The strangest thing about the




12


LOOKING BACKWARD.


hallucination was that those who had but just climbed
up from the ground, before they had outgrown the
marks of the rope upon their hands, began to fall
under its influence. As for those whose parents and
grandparents before them had been so fortunate as to
keep their seats on the top, the conviction they
cherished of the essential difference between their sort
of humanity and the common article, was absolute.
he effect of such a delusion in moderating fellow
\feeling for the sufferings of the mass of men into a
\distant and philosophical compassion, is obvious. To
-Ir'efer as the only extenuation I can offer for the
indifference which, at the period I write of, marked
my own attitude toward the misery of my brothers.
In 1887 I came to my thirtieth year. Although
still unmarried, I was engaged to wed Edith Bartlett.
She, like myself, rode on the top of the coach. That
is to say, not to encumber ourselves further with an
illustration which has, I hope, served its purpose of
giving the reader some general impression of how we
lived then, her family was wealthy.  In that age,
when money alone commanded all that was agreeable
and refiled in life, it was enough for a woman to be
rich to have suitors; but Edith Bartlett was beautiful
and graceful also.
My lady readers, I am aware, will protest at this.
"Handsome she might have been," I hear them
saying, "but graceful never, in the costumes which
were the fashion at that period, when the head covering was a dizzy structure a foot tall, and the almost
incredible extension of the skirt behind, by means of
artificial contrivances, more thoroughly dehumanized
the form than any former device of dressmakers.
Fancy any one graceful in such a costume!" The
point is certainly well taken, and I can only reply
that while the ladies of the twentieth century are
lovely demonstrations of the effect of appropriate
drapery in accenting feminine graces, my recollection




LOOKING BACKWARD.


13


of their great grandmothers enables me to maintain
that no deformity of costume can wholly disguise
them.
Our marriage only waited on the completion of the
house which I was building for our occupancy in one
of the most desirable parts of the city, that is to say,
a part chiefly inhabited by the rich. For it must be
understood that the comparative desirability of different parts of Boston for residence depended then, not
on natural features but on the character of the neighbouring population. Each class or nation lived by itself, in quarters of its own. A rich man living among
the poor, an educated man among the uneducated
was like one living in isolation among a jealous and
alien race. When the house had been begun, its completion by the winter of 1886 had been expected.
The spring of the following year found it, however,
yet incomplete, and my marriage still a thing of the
future.  The cause of a delay calculated to be particularly exasperating to an ardent lover, was a series of
strikes, that is to say, concerted refusals to work on
the part of the bricklayers, masons, carpenters,
painters, plumbers, and other trades concerned in
house building. What the specific causes of these
strikes were I do not remember. Strikes had become,A
so common at that period that people had ceased to  9
inquire into their particular grounds. In one department of industry or another, they had been nearly
incessant ever since the great business crisis of I873.i
In fact it had come to be the exceptional thing  sec
any class of labourers pursue their avocation steadily
for more than a few months at a time.
The reader who observes the dates alluded to will
of course recognize in these disturbances of industry
the first and incoherent phase of the great movement
whic endedn the establishment oftem      indusyste       with all tssoc  consequences. This is
all so plain in the retrospect that a child can under



14


LOOKING BACKWARD.


stand it, but not being prophets, we of that day had
no clear idea what was happening to us. What we
did see was that industrially the country was in a very
queer way. The relation between the working-man and
the employer, between labour and capital, appeared in
someunaccountable manner to have becomedislocated.
The working classes had quite suddenly and very
generally become infected with a profound discontent
with their condition, and an idea that it could be
greatly bettered if they only knew how to go about it.
On every side, with one accord, they preferred
demands for higher pay, shorter hours, better dwellings, better educational advantages, and a share in the
refinements and luxuries of life, demands which
it was impossible to see the way to granting unless
tle world were to become a great deal richer than
it'then was. Though they knew something of what
they wanted, they knew nothing of how to accomplish
j and the eager enthusiasm with which they thronged
about anyone who seemed likely to give them any
light on the subject lent sudden reputation to many
would-be-leaders, some of whom had little enough
light to give. However chimerical the aspirations of
the labouring classes might be deemed, the devotion
with which they supported each other in the strikes,
which were their chief weapon, and the sacrifices which
they underwent to carry them out, left no doubt of
their dead earnestness.
As to the final outcome of the labour troubles,
which was the phrase by which the movement I have
described was most commonly referred to, the opinions
of the people of my class differed according to individual temperament. The sanguine argued very
forcibly that it was in the very nature of things impossible that the new hopes of the working men could
be satisfied, simply because the world had not the
wherewithal to satisfy them. It was only because the
masses worked very hard and lived on short commons




LOOKING BACKWVARD.


I5


that the race did not starve outright, and no considerable improvement in their condition was possible
while the world, as a whole, remained so poor. It
was not the capitalists whom the labouring-men were
contending with, these maintained but the iron-bound
environment of humanity, and it was merely a question
of the thickness of their skulls when they would discover the fact and make up their minds to endure
what they could not cure.
The less sanguine admitted all this. Of course the
working men's aspirations were impossible of fulfilment for natural reasons, but there were grounds to fear
that they would not discover this fact until they had
made a sad mess of society. They had the votes and
the power to do so if they pleased, and their leaders
meant they should. Some of these desponding observers went so far as to predict an impending social
cataclysm. Humanity, they argued, having climbed
to the top round of the ladder of civilization, was about
to take a header into chaos, after which it would
doubtless pick itself up, turn round, and begin to climb
again. Repeated experiences of this sort in historic
and prehistoric times possibly accounted for the
puzzling bumps on the human cranium. Human
history, like all great movements, was cyclical, and
returned to the point of beginning. The idea of indefinite progress in a right line was a chimera of the
imagination, with no analogue in nature. The parabola of a comet was perhaps a yet better illustration
of the career of humanity. Tending upward and
sunward from the aphelion of barbarism, the race
attained the perihelion of civilization only to plunge
downward once more to its nether goal in the regions
of chaos.
This, of course, was an extreme opinion, but 1
remember serious men among my acquaintances who,
in discussing the signs of the times, adopted a very
similar tone. It was no doubt the common opinion




I6


LOOKING BACKWARD.


of thoughtful men that society was approaching a
critical period which might result in great changes.
The labour troubles, their causes, course, and cure,
took lead of all other topics in the public prints, and
in serious conversation.
The nervous tension of the public mind could not
have been more strikingly illustrated than it was by
the alarm resulting from the talk of a small band of
men who called themselves anarchists, and proposed
to terrify the American people into adopting their
ideas by threats of violence, as if a mighty nation
which had but just put down a rebellion of half its
own numbers, in order to maintain its political system
were likely to adopt a new social system out of fear.
As one of the wealthy, with a large stake in the
existing order of things, I naturally shared the apprehensions of my class, The particular grievance I had
against the working classes at the time of which I
write, on account of the effect of their strikes in postponing my wedded bliss, no doubt lent a special animosity to my feeling toward them.




lOOKING BACKWARD.


17


CHAPTER II.
THE thirtieth day of May, 1887, fell on a Monday.
It was one of the annual holidays of the nation
in the latter third of the nineteenth century, being set
apart under the name of Decoration Day, for doing
honour to the memory of the soldiers of the North who
took part in the war for the preservation of the union
of the States. The survivors of the war, escorted by
military and civic processions and bands of music,
were wont on this occasion to visit the cemeteries and
lay wreaths of flowers upon the graves of their dead
comrades, the ceremony being a very solemn and
touching one. The eldest brother of Edith Bartlett
had fallen in the war, and on Decoration Day the
family was in the habit of making a visit to Mount
Auburn, where he lay.
I had asked permission to make one of the party,
and, on our return to the city at nightfall remained
to dine with the family of my betrothed.  In the
drawing-room, after dinner, I picked up an evening
paper and read of a fresh strike in the building trades,
which would probably still further delay the completion of my unlucky house. I remember distinctly
how exasperated I was at this, and the objurgations,
as forcible as the presence of the ladies permitted,
which I lavished upon workmen in general, and these
strikes in particular.  I had abundant sympathy
from those about me, and the remarks made in the
desultory conversations which followed upon the
unprincipled conduct of the labour agitators, were
calculated to make those gentlemen's ears tingle. It
was agreed that affairs were going from bad to
worse very fast, and that there was no telling what we




18


LOOKING BACKWARD.


should come to soon. " The worst of it," I remember
Mrs. Bartlett's saying, "is that the working classes
all over the world seem to be going crazy at once. In
Europe it is far worse even than here. I am sure I
should not dare to live there at all. I asked Mr.
Bartlett the other day where we should emigrate to if
all the terrible things took place which those socialists
threaten. He said he did not know any place now
where society could be called stable except Greenland,
Patagonia, and the Chinese Empire." " Those Chinamen knew what they were about," somebody added,
" when they refused to let in our western civilization.
They knew what it would lead to better than we did.
They saw it was nothing but dynamite in disguise."
After this, I remember drawing Edith apart and
trying to persuade her that it would be better to be
married at once, without waiting for the completion of
the house, spending the time in travel till our home
was ready for us. She was remarkably handsome that
evening, the mourning costume that she wore in recognition of the day setting off to great advantage the
purity of her complexion. I can see her even now
with my mind's eye just as she looked that night.
When I took my leave she followed me into the hall,
and I kissed her good-bye as usual. There was no
circumstance out of the common to distinguish this
parting from previous occasions when we had bade
each other good-bye for a night or a day. There
was absolutely no premonition in my mind, or I am
sure in hers, that this was more than an ordinary
separation.
Ah, well!
The hour' at which I had left my betrothed was a
rather early one for a lover, but the fact was no
reflection on my devotion. I was a confirmed sufferer
from insomnia, and although otherwise perfectly well
had been completely fagged out that day, from having
slept scarcely at all the two previous nights. Edith




LOOKING BACKWARD.


19


knew this, and had insisted on sending me home by
nine o'clock, with strict orders to go to bed at once.
The house in which I lived had been occupied by
three generations of the family of which I was the
only living representative in the direct line. It was
a large, ancient wooden mansion, very elegant in an
old-fashioned way within, but situated in a quarter
that had long since become undesirable for residence,
from its invasion by tenement houses and manufactories. It was not a house to which I could think of
bringing a bride, much less so dainty a one as Edith
Bartlett. I had advertised it for sale, and meanwhile
merely used it for sleeping purposes, dining at my
club. One servant, a faithful coloured man by the
name of Sawyer, lived with me and attended to my
few wants. One feature of the house I expected to
miss greatly when I should leave it, and this was the
sleeping chamber which I had built under the foundations. I could not have slept in the city at all, with
its never-ceasing nightly noises, if I had been obliged
to use an upstairs chamber. But to this subterranean
room no murmur from the upper world ever penetrated. When I had entered it and closed the door, I
was surrounded by the silence of the tomb. In order
to prevent the dampness of the subsoil from penetrating the chamber, the walls had been laid in hydraulic
cement, and were very thick, and the floor was likewise protected. In order that the room might serve
also as a vault equally proof against violence and
flames, for the storage of valuables, I had roofed it
with stone slabs hermetically sealed, and the outer
door was of iron with a thick coating of asbestos. A
small pipe, communicating with a wind-mill on the
top of the house, insured the renewal of air.
It might seem that the tenant of such a chamber
ought to be able to command slumber, but it was rare
that I slept well, even there, two nights in succession.
So accustomed was I to wakefulness that I minded




20


LOOKING BACKWARD.


little the loss of one night's rest. A second night,
however, spent in my reading chair instead of my
bed, tired me out, and I never allowed myself to go
longer than that without slumber, from fear of nervous
disorder. From this statement it will be inferred that
I had at my command some artificial means for inducing sleep in the last resort, and so in fact I had.
If after two sleepless nights I found myself on the
approach of the third without sensations of drowsiness,
I called in Dr. Pillsbury.
He was a doctor by courtesy only, what was called
in those days an " irregular " or " quack " doctor. He
called himself a "Professor of Animal Magnetism."
I had come across him in the course of some amateur
investigations into the phenomena of animal magnetism. I don't think he knew anything about medicine,
but he was certainly a remarkable  A t. It was
for the purpose of being put to sleep by is manipulations that I used to send for him when I found a
third night of sleeplessness impending.  Let my
nervous excitement or mental preoccupation be however great, Dr. Pillsbury never failed, after a short time,
to leave me in a deep slumber, which continued till I
was aroused by a reversal of the mrnu.ng process.
The process for awaking the sleeper was much simpler
than that for putting him to sleep, and for convenience
I had made Dr. Pillsbury teach Sawyer how to do it.
My faithful servant alone knew for what purpose
Dr. Pillsbury visited me, or that he did so at all. Of
course, when Edith became my wife I should have
to tell her my secrets. I had not hitherto told her
this, because there was unquestionably a slight risk in
the mesmeric sleep, and I knew she would set her face
against my practice. The risk, of course, was that it
might become too profound and pass into a trance
beyond the mesmerizer's power to break, ending in
death. Repeated experiments had fully convinced
me that the risk was next to nothing if reasonable




LOOKING BACKWARD.


21


precauitons were exercised, and of this I hpped,
though doubtingly, to convince Edith. I went directly
home after leaving her, and at once sent Sawyer to
fetch Dr. Pillsbury. Meanwhile I sought my subterranean sleeping chamber, and exchanging my costume
for a comfortable dressing gown, sat down to read the
letters by the evening mail which Sawyer had laid on
my reading table.
One of them was from the builder of my new house,
and confirmed what I had inferred from the newspaper item. The new strikes, he said, had postponed
indefinitely the completion of the contract, as neither
masters nor workmen would concede the point at issue
without a long struggle. Caligula wished that the
Roman people had but one neck that he might cut it
off, and as I read this letter I am afraid that for a
moment I was capable of wishing the same thing concerning the labouring classes of America. The return
of Sawyer with the doctor interrupted my gloomy
meditations.
It appeared that he had with difficulty been able to
secure his services, as he was preparing to leave the
city that very night. The doctor explained that since
he had seen me last he had learned of a five professional
opening in a distant city, and decided to take prompt
advantage of it. On my asking, in some panic, what
I was to do for some one to put me to sleep, he gave
me the names of several mesmerizers in Boston, who
he averred, had quite as great powers as he.
Somewhat relieved on this point, I instructed Sawyer
to rouse me at nine o'clock next morning, and, lying
down on the bed in my dressing gown, assumed a
comfortable attitude, and surrendered myself to the
manipulations of the mesmerizer. Owing, perhaps, to
my unusually nervous state, I was slower than common
in losing consciousness, but at length a delicious
drowsiness stole over me.


3




22


LOOKING BACKWARD.


CHAPTER IIL
J E is going to open his eyes. He had better see
but one of us at first."
"Promise me, then, that you will not tell him."
The first voice was a man's, the second a woman's,
and both spoke in whispers.
"I will see how he seems," replied the man.
"No, no, promise me," persisted the other.
"Let her have her way," whispered a third voice,
also a woman.
"Well, well, I promise, then," answered the man
"Quick, go! He is coming out of it."
There was a rustle of garments, and I opened my
eyes. A fine looking man of perhaps sixty was
bending over me, an expression of much benevolence
mingled with great curiosity upon his features. He
was an utter stranger. I raised myself on my elbow
and looked around. The room was empty. I certainly
had never been in it before, or one furnished like it.
I looked back at my companion. He smiled.
"How do you feel? " he inquired.
"Where am I? " I demanded.
"You are in my house," was the reply.
" How came I here? "
" We will talk about that when you are stronger.
Meanwhile, I beg you will feel no anxiety, You are
among friends, and in good hands. How do you
feel? "
" A bit queerly," I replied, " but I am well, I
suppose. Will you tell me how I came to be indebted to your hospitality? What has happened to
me?   How came I here? It was in my own house
that I went to sleep."




LOOKING BACKWARD.


23


" There will be time enough for explanations later,"
my unknown host replied with a reassuring smile.
" It will be better to avoid agitating talk until you are
a little more yourself. Will you oblige me by taking
a couple of swallows of this mixture? It will do you
good. I am a physician."
I repelled the glass with my hand and sat up on
the couch, although with an effort, for my head was
strangely light.
" I insist upon knowing at once where I am and
what you have been doing with me," I said.
" My dear sir," responded my companion, " let me
beg that you will not agitate yourself  I would
rather that you did not insist upon explanations so
soon, but if you do, I will try to satisfy you, provided
you will first take this draught, which will strengthen
you somewhat."
I thereupon drank what he offered me. Then he
said, " It is not so simple a matter as you evidently
suppose to tell you how you came here. You can tell
me quite as much on that point as I can tell you.
You have just been roused from a deep sleep, or, more
properly, trance. So much I can tell you. You say
you were in your own house when you fell into that
sleep. May I ask you when that was? "
"When?" I replied, "when? Why, last evening,
of course, at about ten o'clock.  I left my man
Sawyer orders to call me at nine o'clock. What has
become of Sawyer? "
"I can't precisely tell you that," replied my companion, regarding me with a curious expression, "but
I am sure that he is excusable for not being here.
And now can you tell me a little more explicitly
when it was that you fell into that sleep, the date I
mean? "
" Why, last night, of course; I said so, didn't I?
that is, unless I have overslept an entire day. Great
heavens! that cannot be possible; and yet I have an




24


LOOKING BACKWARD.


odd sensation of having slept a long time. It was
Decoration Day that I went to sleep."
" Decoration Day?"
"Yes, Monday, the 30th."
" Pardon me, the 30th of what?"
" Why, of this month, of course, unless I have slept
into June, but that can't be."
" This month is September."
"September! You don't mean that I've slept since
May! God hi heaven! Why, it is incredible."
"We shall see," replied my companion; "you say
that it was May 30th when you went to sleep?"
" Yes."
" May I ask of what year?"
I stared blankly at him, incapable of speech, for
some moments.
" Of what year?" I feebly echoed at last.
"Yes, of what year, if you please? After you
have told me that I shall be able to tell you how long
you have slept"
" It was the year I887," I said.
My companion insisted that I should take another
draught from the glass, and felt my pulse.
"My dear sir," he said, "your manner indicates that
you are a man of culture, which I am aware was by
no means the matter of course in your day it now is.
No doubt, then, you have yourself made the observation that nothing in this world can be truly said to be
more wonderful than anything else. The causes of
all phenomena are equally adequate, and the results
equally matters of course.  That you should be
startled by what I shall tell you, is to be expected;
but I am confident that you will not permit it to affect
your equanimity unduly. Your appearance is that of
a young man of barely thirty, and your bodily condition seems not greatly different from that of one
iust roused from a somewhat too long and profound
sleep, and yet thiisi the tenth _-Spt dyber in




LOOKING BACKWARD.


the year 2000, and you have slept exactly one.huntred andtireen years, three mont: Ti'd-elveni
Feeling partially dazed I drank a cup ot some sort
of broth at my companion's suggestion, and, immediately afterwards becoming very drowsy, went off into a
deep sleep.
When I awoke it was broad daylight in the room,
which had been lighted artificially when I was awake
before. My mysterious host was sitting near. He
was not looking at me when I opened my eyes, and
I had a good opportunity to study him and meditate
upon my extraordinary situation, before he observed
that I was awake. My giddiness was all gone, and
my mind perfectly clear. The story that I had been
asleep one hundred and thirteen years, which, in my
former weak and bewildered condition, I had accepted
without question, recurred to me now only to be
rejected as a preposterous attempt at an imposture,
the motive of which it was impossible remotely to
surmise.
Something extraordinary had certainly happened
to account for my waking up in this strange house
with this unknown companion, but my fancy ewas
utterly impotent to suggest more than the wildest
guess as to what that something might have been.
Could it be that I was the victim of some sort of
conspiracy?  It looked so, certainly; and yet, if
human lineaments ever gave true evidence, it was
certain that this man by my side, with a face so
refined and ingenuous, was no party to any scheme of
crime or outrage. Then it occurred to me to question
if I might not be the butt of some elaborate practical
joke on the part of friends who had somehow learned
the secret of my underground chamber and taken this
means of impressing me with the peril of mesmeric
experiments. There were great difficulties in the way
of this theory; Sawyer would never have betrayed




26


LOOKING BACKWARD.


me, nor had I any friends at all likely to undertake
such an enterprise; nevertheless the supposition that
I was the victim of a practical joke seemed on the
whole the only one tenable. Half expecting to catch
a glimpse of some familiar face grinning from behind
a chair or curtain, I looked carefully about the room.
When my eyes next rested on my companion, he
was looking at me.
" You have had a fine nap of twelve hours," he said
briskly, "and I can see that it has done you good.
You look much better. Your colour is good and your
eyes are bright. How do you feel? "
"I never felt better," I said, sitting up.
"You remember your first waking, no doubt," he
pursued, " and your surprise when I told you how long
you had been asleep."
" You said, I believe, that I had slept one hundred
and thirteen years."
"Exactly."
"You will admit," I said, with an ironical smile,
" that the story was rather an improbable one."
"Extraordinary, I admit," he responded, "but given
the proper conditions, not improbable nor inconsistent
with what we know of the trance state. When complete, as in your case, the vital functions are absolutely
suspended, and there is no waste of the tissues. No
limit can be set to the possible duration of a trance
when the external conditions protect the body from
physical injury. This trance of yours is indeed the
longest of which there is any positive record, but
there is no known reason wherefore, had you not
been discovered and had the chamber in which we
found you continued intact, you might not have
remained in a state of suspended animation till, at the
end of indefinite ages, the gradual refrigeration of the
earth had destroyed the bodily tissues and set the
spirit free."
I had to admit that, if I were indeed the victim of




LOOKING BACKWARD.


27


a practical joke, its authors had chosen an admirable
agent for carrying out their imposition. The impressive and even eloquent manner of this man would
nave lent dignity to an argument that the moon was
made of cheese. The smile with which I had regarded
him as he advanced his trance hypothesis, did not
appear to confuse him in the slightest degree.
" Perhaps," I said, "you will go on and favour me
with some particulars as to the circumstances under
which you discovered this chamber of which you
speak, and its contents. I enjoy good fiction."
"In this case," was the grave reply, "no fiction
could be so strange as the truth. You must know
that these many years I have been cherishing the
idea of building a laboratory in the large garden
beside this house for the purpose of chemical experiments for which I have a taste. Last Thursday the
excavation for the cellar was at last begun. It was
completed by that night, and Friday the masons were
to have come. Thursday night we had a tremendous
deluge of rain, and Friday morning I found my cellar
a frog-pond and the walls quite washed down. My
daughter, who had come out to view the disaster with
me, called my attention to a corner of masonry laid
bare by the crumbling away of one of the walls. I
cleared a little earth from it and, finding that it seemed
part of a large mass, determined to investigate it.
The workmen I sent for unearthed an oblong vault
some eight feet below the surface and set in the corner
of what had evidently been the foundation walls of
an ancient house.  A  layer of ashes and charcoal
on the top of the vault showed that the house above
had perished by fire. The vault itself was perfectly
intact, the cement being as good as when first applied.
It had a door, but this we could not force and found
entrance by removing one of the flagstones which
formed the roof. The air which came up was stagnant,
but pure, dry, and not cold. Descending with a




28


LOOKING BACKWARD.


lantern, I found myself in an apartment fitted up aa bedroom in the style of the nineteenth century. On
the bed lay a young man. That he was dead and
must have been dead a century, was of course to be
taken for granted; but the extraordinary state of preservation of the body struck me and the medical
colleagues whom I had summoned with amazement.
rhat the art of such embalming as this had ever been
known we should not have believed, yet here seemed
conclusive testimony that our immediate ancestors
had possessed it. My medical colleagues, whose
curiosity was highly excited, were at once for undertaking experiments to test the nature of the process
employed, but I withheld them. My motive in so
doing, at least the only motive I now need speak of,
was the recollection of something I had once read
about the extent to which your contemporaries had
cultivated the subject of animal magnetism. It had
occurred to me as just conceivable that you might be
in a trance, and that the secret of your bodily integrity
after so long a time was not the craft of an embalmer,
but life. So extremely fanciful did this idea seem,
even to me, that I did not risk the ridicule of my fellow
physicians by mentioning it, but gave some other
reason for postponing their experiments. No sooner,
however, had they left me, than I set on foot a systematic attempt at resuscitation, of which you know
the result."
Had its theme been yet more incredible, the circumstantiality of this narrative, as well as the impressive manner and personalty of the narrator, might
have staggered a listener, and I had begun to feel
very strangely, when, as he closed, I chanced to catch
a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror hanging on the
wall of the room. I rose and went up to it. The
face I saw was the face to a hair and a line and not a
day older than the one I had looked at as I tied my
cravat before going to Edith that Decoration Day,




LOOKING BACKWARD.


29


which, as this man would have me believe, was celebrated one hundred and thirteen years before. At
this, the colossal character of the fraud which was
being attempted on me, came over me afresh. Indignation mastered my mind as I realized the outrageous
liberty that had been taken.
"You are probably surprised," said my companion.
"to see that, although you are a century older than
when you lay down to sleep in that underground
chamber, your appearance is unchanged. That should
not amaze you.  It is by virtue of the total arrest of
the vital functions that you have survived this great
period of time.  If your body could have undergone
any change during your trance, it would long ago
have suffered dissolution."
" Sir," I replied turning to him, " what your motive
can be in reciting to me with a serious face this remarkable farrago, I am utterly unable to guess; but
you are surely yourself too intelligent to suppose that
anybody but an imbecile could be deceived by it.
Spare me any more of this elaborate nonsense; and
once for all tell me whether you refuse to give me an
intelligible account of where I am and how I came
here.  If so, I shall proceed to ascertain my whereabouts for myself, whoever may hinder."
"You do not, then, believe that this is the year
2,000?"
"Do you really think it necessary to ask me that?"
I returned.
" Very well," replied my extraordinary host. " Since
I cannot convince you, you shall convince yourself.
Are you strong enough to follow me upstairs?"
" I am as strong as ever I was," I replied angrily,
" as I may have to prove if this jest is carried much
farther."
" I beg, sir," was my companion's response, " that
you will not allow yourself to be too fully pursuaded
that you are the victim of a trick, lest the reaction,




30


LOOKING BACKWARD


when you are convinced of the truth of my statements,
should be too great."
The tone of concern, mingled with commiseration.
with which he said this, and the entire absence of any
sign of resentment at my hot words, strangely
daunted me, and I followed him from the room with
an extraordinary mixture of emotions. He led the
way up two flights of stairs and then up a shorter
one, which landed us upon a belvedere on the housetop. "Be pleased to look around you," he said as we
reached the platform, "and tell me if this is the
Boston of the nineteenth century."
At my feet lay a great- t Miles of broad streets,
shaded by trees andjinekd-.ith-fne —buildings.for-t-he
most-part-rrot'inf continuous blocks, but set in larger
or smalTerinc — oes,. stretched in every direction.
Every — quarter contained large open squares filled
with trees, -among which. statues giistened and fountains flashed in the late afternoon sun. Public buildings of a colossal size -and"iarr-architectural grandeur
unparalleled in my day, raised their stately piles on
every side. Surely I had never seen this city nor one
comparable to it before. Raising my eyes at last
towards the horizon, I looked westward.  That blue
ribbon winding away to the sunset, was it not the
sinuous Charles?  I looked east; Boston harbour
stretched before me within its headlands, not one of
its green islets missing.
I knew then that I had been told the truth concerning the prodigious thing which had befallen me.




LOOKING BACKWARD.


31 -

CHAPTER IV.
T DID not faint, but the effort to realise my position
made me very giddy, and I remember that my
companion had to give me a strong arm as he conducted me from the roof to a roomy apartment on
the upper floor of the house, where he insisted on my
drinking a glass or two of good wine and partaking
of a light repast.
"I think you are going to be all right now," he
said cheerily. " I should not have taken so abrupt a
means to convince you of your position if your course,
while perfectly excusable under the circumstances,
had not rather obliged me to do so. I confess," he
added laughing, " I was a little apprehensive at one
time that I should undergo what I believe you used
to call a knockdown in the nineteenth century, if I
did not act rather promptly. I remembered that the
Bostonians of your day were famous pugilists, and
thought best to lose no time. I take it you are
now ready to acquit me of the charge of hoaxing
you."
" If you had told me," I replied, profoundly awed,
"that a thousand years instead of a hundred had
elapsed since I last looked on this city, I should now
believe you."
" Only a century has passed," he answered, "but
many a millenium in the world's history has seen
changes less extraordinary."
" And now," he added, extending his hand with an
air of irresistible cordiality, " let me give you a hearty
welcome to the Boston of the twentieth century and
to this house. My name is Leete; Dr. Leete they
call me."




32


LOOKING BACKWARD.


" My name," I said as I shook his hand, "is Julian
West."
"I am most happy in making your acquaintance,
Mr. West," he responded. " Seeing that this house is
built on the site of your own, I hope you will find it
easy to make yourself at home in it."
After my refreshment Dr. Leete offered me a bath
and a change of clothing, of which I gladly availed
myself.
It did not appear that any very startling revolution
in men's attire had been among the great changes my
host had spoken of, for, barring a few details, my new
habiliments did not puzzle me at all.
Physically, I was now myself again. But mentally,
how was it with me, the reader will doubtless wonder.
What were my intellectual sensations, on finding myself so suddenly dropped as it were into a new world?
In reply let me ask him to suppose himself suddenly,
in the twinkling of an eye, transported from earth, say,
to Paradise or Hades. What does he fancy would be
his own experience? Would his thoughts return at
once to the earth he had just left, or would he, after
the first shock, wellnigh forget his former life for
awhile, albeit to be remembered later, in the interest
excited by his new surroundings? All I can say is,
that if his experience were at all like mine in the transition that I am describing, the latter hypothesis would
prove the correct one. The impressions of amazement
and curiosity which my new surroundings produced
occupied my mind, after the first shock, to the exclusion of all other thoughts. For the time the memory
of my former life was, as it were, in abeyance.
No sooner did I find myself physically rehabilitated
through the kind offices of my host, than I became eager
to return to the housetop: and presently we were comfortably established there in easy chairs, with the city
beneath and around us. After Dr. Leete had responded
to numerous questions on my part, as to the ancient




LOOKING BACKWARD.


33


landmarks I missed and the new ones which had replaced them, he asked me what point of the contrast
between the new and the old city struck me most forcibly.
"To speak of small things before great," I responded, " I really think that the complete absence
of chimneys and their smoke is the detail that first
impressed me."
"Ah!" ejaculated my companion with an air u,
much interest, " I had forgotten the chimneys, it is sc(D
long since they went out of use. It is nearly a century since the crude method of combustion on which
you depended for heat became obsolete."
"In general," I said, "what impresses me most
about the city, is the material prosperity on the part
of the people which its magnificence implies."
~' I would give a great deal for just one glimpse of
the Boston of your day," replied Dr. Leete. " No
doubt, as you imply, the cities of that period were
rather shabby affairs. If you had the taste to make
them splendid, which I would not be so rude as to
question, the general poverty resulting from your extraordinary industrial system would not have given
you the means. Moreover, the excessive individualism which then prevailnc.with
"muc   u lc s in      hat little wealth you had
seems almost wholly to have been lavished in private
luxury. Nowadays, on the contrary, ther, is no dcs,
tinationof h slrplusN we  h SO opular as the adorn.
nent of the city, which all enjoy in equal degree."
The sun had been setting as we returned to the.
housetop, and as we talked night descended upon the
city.
"It is growing dark," said Dr. Leete. "Let us
descend into the house; I want to introduce my wife
and daughter to you."                         +
His words recalled to rne the feminine voices which
I had heard whispering about me as 7T as enming




34


LOOKING BACKWARD.


back to conscious life; and, most curious to learn
what the ladies of the year 2,000 were like, I assented
with alacrity to the proposition. The apartment in
which we found the wife and daughter of my host, as
well as the entire interior of the house, was filled with
a mellow light, which I knew must be artificial, although I could not discover the source from which it
was diffused. Mrs. Leete was an exceptionally fine
looking and well preserved woman of about her husband's age, while her daughter, who was in the first
blush of womanhood, was the most beautiful girl I
had ever seen. Her face was as bewitching as deep
blue eyes, delicately tinted complexion and perfect
features could make it, but even had her countenance
lacked special charms, the faultless luxuriance of her
figure would have given her place as a beauty among
the women of the nineteenth century. Feminine softness and delicacy were in this lovely creature deliciously combined with an appearance of health and
abounding physical vitality too often lacking in the
maidens with whom alone I could compare her. It
was a coincidence trifling in comparison with the
general strangeness of the situation, but still striking
that her name should be Edith.
The evening that followed was certainly unique in
the history of social intercourse, but to suppose that
our conversation was peculiarly strained or difficult,
would be a great mistake. I believe indeed that it is
under what may be called unnatural, in the sense of
extraordinary, circumstances that people behave most
naturally, for the reason no doubt that such circumstances banish artificiality. I know at any rate that
my intercourse that evening with those representatives
of another age and world was marked by an ingenuous sincerity and frankness such as but rarely
crown long acquaintance. No doubt the exquisite
tact of my entertainers had much to do with this. Of
course there was nothing we could talk of byr the




LOOKING BACKWARD.


35


strange experience by virtue of which I was there, but
they talked of it with an interest so naive and direct
in its expression as to relieve the subject to a great
degree of the element of the weird and the uncanny
which might so easily have been overpowering. One
would have supposed that they were quite in the
habit of entertaining waifs from    another century, sc
perfect was their tact.
For my own part, never do I remember the operations of my mind to have been more alert and acute
than that evening, or my intellectual sensibilities more
keen. Of course I do not mean that the consciousness
of my amazing situation was for a moment out of
mind, but its chief effect thus far was to produce a
feverish elation, a sort of mental intoxication.*
Edith Leete took little part in the conversation, but
when several times the magnetism of her beauty drew
my glance to her face, I found her eyes fixed on me
with an absorbed intensity, almost like fascination.
It was evident that I had excited her interest to an
extraordinary degree, as was not astonishing, supposing
her to be a girl of imagination. Though I supposed
curiosity was the chief motive of her interest, it could
but affect me as it would not have done had she been
less beautiful.
Dr. Leete, as well as the ladies, seemed greatly
interested in my account of the circumstances under
which I had gone to sleep in the underground chamber.
All had suggestions to offer to account for my having
been forgotten there, and the theory which we finally
* In accounting for this state of mind it must be remembered that
except for the topic of our conversations there was in my surroundings
next to nothing to suggest what had befallen me. Within a block of my
home in the old Boston I could have found social circles vastly more
foreign to me. The speech of the Bostonians of the twentieth century
differs even less from that of their cultured ancestors of the nineteenth
than did that of the latter from the language of Washington and Franklin,
while the differences between the style of dress and furniture of the two
epochs are not more marked than I have known fashion to make in the
time of one generation.




LOOKING BACKWARD.


agreed on offers at least a plausible explanation,
although whether it be in its details the true one,
nobody, of course, will ever know. The layer of ashes
found above the chamber indicated that the house had
been burned down. Let it be supposed that the conflagration had taken place the night I fell asleep. It
only remains to assume that Sawyer lost his life in
the fire or by some accident connected with it, and
the rest follows naturally enough. No one but he and
Dr. Pillsbury either knew of the existence of the
chamber or that I was in it, and Dr. Pillsbury, who
had gone that night to New Orleans, had probably
never heard of the fire at all. The conclusion of my
friends, and of the public, must have been that I had
perished in the flames. An excavation of the ruins,
unless thorough, would not have disclosed the recess
in the foundation walls connecting with my chamber.
To be sure, if the site had been again built upon, at
least immediately, such an excavation would have
been necessary, but the troublous times and the undesirable character of the locality might well have prevented rebuilding. The size of the trees in the garden
now occupying the site indicated, Dr. Leete said, that
for more than half a century at least it had been open
grotnd.




LOOKING BACKWARD.              37
CHAPTER V.
LTVHEN, in the course of the evening the ladies
retired, leaving Dr. Leete and myself alonei
he sounded me as to my disposition for sleep, saying
that if I felt like it my bed was ready for me; but if I
'was inclined to wakefulness nothing would please him
better than to bear me company. "I am a late bird
myself," he said, " and, without suspicion of flattery, I
may say that a companion more interesting than
yourself could scarcely be imagined. It is decidedly
not often that one has a chance to converse with a
man of the nineteenth century."
Now I had been looking forward all the evening
with some dread to the time when I should be alone,
on retiring for the night. Surrounded by these most
friendly strangers, stimulated and supported by their
sympathetic interest, I had been able to keep my
mental balance. Even then, however, in pauses of the
conversation I had had glimpses, vivid as lightning
flashes, of the horror of strangeness that was waiting
to be faced when I could no longer command diversion.
I knew I could not sleep that night, and as for lying
awake and thinking, it argues no cowardice, I am sure,
to confess that I was afraid of it. When, in reply to
my host's question, I frankly told him this, he replied,
that it would be strange if I did not feel just so, but
that I need have no anxiety about sleeping; whenever
I wanted to go to bed, he would give me a dose which
would insure me a sound night's sleep without faiL
Next morning, no doubt, I would awake with the
feeling of an old citizen.
" Before I acquire that," I replied, " I must know a
little more about the sort of Boston I have come back
4




38


LOOKING BACKWARD.


to. You told me when we were upon the housetop
that though a century only had elapsed since I fell
asleep, it had been marked by greater changes in
the conditions of humanity than many a previous
millenium. With the city before me I could well
believe that, but I am very curious to know what
some of the changes have been. To make a beginning
somewhere, for the subject is doubtless a large one,
what solution, if any, have you found for the labour
question? It was the Sphinx's riddle of the nineteenth century, and when I dropped out the Sphinx
was threatening to devour society, because the answer
was not forthcoming.  It is well worth sleeping a
hundred years to learn what the right answer was, if,
indeed, you have found it yet."
"As no such thing as the labour question is known
nowadays," replied Dr. Leete, " and there is no way in
which it could arise, I suppose we may claim to have
solved it. Society would indeed have fully deserved
being devoured if it failed to answer a riddle so
entirely simple. In fact, to speak by the book, it was
not necessary for society to solve the riddle at all. It
may be said to have solveditsfEl  The solution came
a; l  Esrtt-r roces s of industriaT evWoHion wch
— ou-        etemiatd       rwise. A-l tat society
hatd~tdo dwas- toecognide and-c - operate with that
evolution, when its tendency had become unmistakeable."
" I can only say," I answered, "that at the time I
fell asleep no such evolution had been recognized."
" It was in 1887 that you fell into this sleep, I think
you said."
"Yes, May 30th, 1887."
My companion regarded me musingly for some
moments. Then he observed, "And you tell me that
even then there was no general recognition of the
nature of the crisis which society was nearing? Of
course, I fully credit your statement. The singular




LOOKING BACKWARD.


39


blindness of your contemporaries to the signs of the
times is a phenomenon commented on by many of our
historians, but few facts of history are more difficult
for us to realize, so obvious and unmistakable as we
look back seem the indications, which must have also
come under your eyes, of the transformation about to
come to pass. I should be interested, Mr. West, if
you would give me a little more definite idea of the
view which you and men of your grade of intellect
took of the state and prospects of society in 1887.
You must at least have realized that the wide-spread...
industrial and social troubles, and the underlying
dissatisfaction o all classes with the ineual
s'ciety,~ar the nera misery of mankind,_were
portents of gre      soomc.sort.
"We did, indeed, fully realize that," I replied.
"We felt that society was dragging anchor and in
danger of going adrift. Whither it would drift nobody
could say, but all feared the rocks."
"Nevertheless," said Dr. Leete, "the set of the,
current was perfectly perceptible if you had but taken
pains to observe it, and it was not toward the rocks,
but toward a deeper channel."
"We had a popular proverb," I replied, "that
'hindsight is better than foresight,' the force of which
I shall now, no doubt, appreciate more fully than
ever. All I can say is, that the prospect was such
when I went into that long sleep that I should not
have been surprised had I looked down from your
housetop to-day on a heap of charred and moss-grown
ruins instead of this glorious city."
Dr. Leete had listened to me with close attention,
and nodded thoughtfully as I finished speaking.
"What you have said, he observed, " will be regarded
as a most valuable vindication of Storiot, whose
account of your era has been generally thought exaggerated in its picture of the gloom and confusion of
men's minds. That a period of transition like that




40


LOOKING BACKWARD.


should be full of excitement and agitation was indeed
to be looked for, but seeing how plain was the tendency of the forces in operation, it was natural to
believe that hope rather than fear would have been
the prevailing temper of the popular mind."
" You have not told me what was the answer to the
riddle which you found," I said. " I am impatient to
know by what contradiction of natural sequence the
peace and prosperity which you now seem to enjoy
could have been the outcome of an era like my own."
"Excuse me," replied my host, "but do you
smoke?" It was not till our cigars were lighted and
drawing well that he resumed. " Since you are in the
humour to talk rather than to sleep, as I certainly am,
perhaps I cannot do better than to try to give you
enough idea of our modern industrial system to dissipate at least the impression that there is any mystery
about the process of its evolution. The Bostonians
of your day had the reputation of being great askers
of questions, and I am going to show my descent by
asking you one to begin with. What should you
name as the most prominent feature of the labour
troubles of your day?"
"Why, the strikes, of course," I replied.
"Exactly; but what made the strikes so formidable?"
" The great labour organizations."
"And what was the motive of these great organizations? "
" The workmen claimed they had to organize to get
their rights from the big corporations," I replied.
"That is just it," said Dr. Leete, "the oranization
of labour and the strikes were an effeitieI? f_ _ he
c-bncentraion of capital i greater masses tlan had
ever                                       onfe f..
began, wile as yetrcommerce and industry were conducted by innumerable petty concerns with small capital, instead of a small number of great concerns with




LOOKING BACKWARD.


4t


vast capital, the individual workman was relatively
important and independent in his relations to the
employer. Moreover, when a little capital or a new
idea was enough to start a man in business for himself,
working men were constantly becoming employers,
and there was no hard and fast line between the two
classes.  Labour unions were needless then, and
general strikes out of the question. But when the era
of small concerns with small capital was succeeded by
that of the great aggregations of capital, all this was
changed. The individual labourer who had been relatively important to the small employer was reduced
to insignificance and powerlessness over against the
great corporation, while, at the same time, the way
upward to the grade of employer was closed to him.
Self-defence drove him to unite with his fellows.
"The records of the period show that the outcry
against the concentration of capital was fuiiu7-Ven
ablieved that it threatened society with a form of
tyranny more abhorrent than it had ever endured.
They believed that the great corporations were-preparing foratd the yoke of a baser servitude than
ever been imposed on the race, servitude not to
mien but-to soulless machines incapable of any motive
but in-satiable greed. Looking back, we cannot wo-n'dr
at  -'des-pedration, for certainly humanity was never
confronted with a fate more sordid and hideous than
would have been the era of corporate tyranny which
they anticipated.
" Meanwhile, without being in the smallest degree
checked by the clamour against it, the absorption of
business by ever larger monopolies continued. In the
tjnited States, where this tendency was later in developing than in Europe, there was not, after the
beginning of the last quarter of the century, any
opportunity whatever for individual enterprise in any
important field of industry, unless backed by a great
capital. During the last decade of the century, such




42


LOOKING BACKWARD.


small businesses as still remained were fast failing
survivals of a past epoch, or mere parasites on the
great corporations, or else existed in fields too small
to attract the great capitalists. Small businesses, ar
far as they still remained, were reduced to the condition
of rats and mice, living in holes and corners, and
counting on evading notice for the enjoyment of
existence. The railroads had gone on combining till a
few great syndicates controlled every rail in the land.
In manufactures, every important staple was controlled
by a syndicate. These syndicates, pools, trusts, or
whatever their name, fixed prices and crushed all
competition except when combinations as vast as
themselves arose. Then a struggle, resulting in a still
greater consolidation ensued. The great city bazaar
crushed its country rivals with branch stores, and in
the city itself absorbed its smaller rivals till the
business of a whole quarter was concentrated under
one roof with a hundred former proprietors of shops,
serving as clerks. Having no business of his own to
put his money in, the small capitalist, at the same
time that he took service under the corporation, found
no other investment for his money but its stocks and
bonds, thus becoming doubly dependent upon it.
"The fact that the desperate popular oposition to
the consolidation of business in a few powerful_hands
had no effect to check it, provesT f -lat treTmsthave
bee-n stronecon- om- arfreas6 ono-r-i^. The small
capistalists,~ itheir innimerale petty concerns,
had, in fact, yiel1ed th fdtothe gratarenations
of capital, because the belonged to a day of, small
thTfings an were totally incompetent -rotiedemands
-of-e_ -fag       nd i  LS    ~        -ggr, ptic
saie of its enterpdses. To restore the former order
of things, even if possible, would have involved
returning to the day of stage-coaches.  Oppressive
and intolerable as was the regime of the great consolidations of capital, even its victims, while they.....




LOOKING BACKWARD.


43


Cursed it, were ftoc.  dmiithe  pro.digious ixcrease
of efficncyw__hihad been imparted to. the national
idi-ustriesthe vast economies effected by concentrafion of management and unity of organization, and to
confess that since the new system had taken the
place of the old, the wealth of the world had increased at a rate before undreamed of. To be sure
this vast increase had gone chiefly to make the rich
richer, increasing the gap between them and the
poor; but the fact remained that, as a means merely
of producing wealth, capital had be-en proved efficient
in proportion to its consolidtiotn: —te-r eforai of
the old system with the subdivision of capital, if it
were possible, might indeed bring back a greater
equality of conditions with more individual dignity
and freedom, but it would be at the price of general
poverty and the arrest of material progress.
" Was there, then, no way of commanding the services of the mighty wealth-producing principle of
consolidated capital, without bowing down to a plutocracy like that of Carthage? As soon as men began
to ask themselves these questions, they found the
answer ready for them. The movement toward the
conduct of business by larger and larger aggregations
of capital, the tendency toward monopolies, which
had been so desperately and vainly resisted, was
recognized at last, in its true significance, as a process
which only needed to complete its logical evolution
to open a golden future to humanity.
"Early in the last century the evolution wa s corn
pleted by theial consolidation of the entirecapita
the nation  The industry and commerce of the
country, ceasing to be conducted by a set of irresponsible corporations and syndicates of private persons at their caprice and for their profit, were intrusted to a single syndicate representing the people, to
be conducted in the common interest for the common
profit The nation, that is to sav, organized as the




44


LOOKING BACKWARD.


one  rat business corporation in which all other
'corporations were absor bd  it  amethe one capiflistl n-rFti e place of all other ca-pit-a l~sts e'-sole
e-mpiyer, th    -namfi —onopoly in which all previous
and lesser monopolies were swallowed up, a monopoly
in the profits and economies of which all citizens
shared. In a word, the people of the United States
concluded to assume the conduct of their own
business, just as one hundred odd years before they
had assumed the conduct of their own government,
organizing now for industrial purposes on precisely
the same grounds on which they had then organized
for political ends.  At last, strangely late in the
world's history, the obvious fact was perceived that
no business is so essentially the public business as
the industry and commerce on which the people's
livelihood depends, and that to entrust it to private
persons to be managed for private profit, is a folly
similar in kind, though vastly greater in magnitude,
to that of surrendering the functions of public government to kings and nobles to be conducted for their
personal glorification."
"Such a stupendous change as you describe," said
I, " did not, of course, take place without great bloodshed and terrible convulsions."
"On the contrary," replied Dr. Leete, "'there —'s
absolutely no violence. The change had been long
"foYtesee. - ubic opinion had become fully ripe for it,
and the whole mass of the people was behind it.
There was no more possibility of opposing it by force
than by argument. /iOn the other hand the popular
sentiment toward the great corporations and those
identified with them had ceased to be one of bitterness,
as they came to realize their necessity as a link, a
transition phrase, in the evolution of the true industrial
system. The most violent foes of the great private
monopolies were now forced to recognize how invaluable and indispensable had been their office in




LOOKING BACKWARD.


45


educating the people up to the point of assuming
control of their own business. Fifty years before, the
consolidation of the industries of the country under
national control would have seemed a very daring
experiment to the most sanguine. Bnt by a series of
object lessons, seen and studied by all men, the great
corporations had taught the people an entirely new
set of ideas on this subject. They had seen for many
years syndicates handling revenues greater than those
of states, and directing the labours of hundreds of
thousands of men with an efficiency and economy
unattainable in smaller operations. It had come to'
be recognizedas an axiom that the larger te business
the simpler the prmcpe- that     eapped     it;  I
that, as the machine is tr-eri tan the hand, so the
system, which in a great concern does the work of the /
master's eye in a small business, turns out more
accurate results. Thus it came about that, thanks to
the corporations themselves, when it was proposed
that the nation should assume their functions, the
suggestion implied nothing which seemed impracticable even to the timid. To be sure it was a step
beyond any yet taken, a broader generalization, but
the very fact that the nation would be the sole
corporation in the field would, it was seen, relieve the
undertaking of many difficulties with which the
partial monopolies had contendedl."




40


LOOKING BACKWARD.


CHAPTER VI.
DR. LEETE      ceased speaking, and I remained
silent, endeavouring to form some general conception of the changes in the arrangement of society
implied in the tremendous revolution which he had
described.
Finally I said, "The idea of such an extension of
the functions of government is, to say the least, rather
overwhelming." -
"Extension 1" he repeated, "where is the extension?"
"In my day," I re lied "'t- -"    ideredthat
the pro.peruJjnctions of ovrnment srictly speaking,
were limited to keeping the peace and defending the
people against the public enemy, that is, to the
military and police powers."
" And in heaven's name, who are the public
enami.s?" exclaimed Dr. Leete. 7  Are they France,
En         - l    or hunger, cold an-ftiakedness?
In your clay gov      ernmn customed.on the
%slightes- intrnatirnln mieundersfan1i  -se   upon
thli- bo[ sf -fcitiz_   and deliver_themB~ver-by hundieds oLt lioands to death and mutilation, wasting
their treasures the while like water; and all this
oftenest for no imaginable profit to the victims. We
have no wars now, and our government no war
powers, but in order to protect every citizen against
hunger, cold and nakedness, and provide for all his
physical and mental needs, the function is assumed of
directinfg his industry for a term of years. No, Mr.
West, I am sure on reflection you will perceive that it
was in your age, not in ours, that the extension of the
functions of governments was extraordinary. Not




LOOKING BACKWARD.               47y
even for the best ends would men now allow their
governments such powers as were then used for the
most maleficent.
"Leaving comparisons aside," I said, "the demagoguery and corruption of our public men would have
been considered, in my day, insuperable objections to
any assumption by government of the charge of the
national industries. We should have thought that no
arrangement could be worse than to entrust the politicians with control of the wealth-producing machinery
of the country. Its material interests were quite too
much the football of parties as it was."
"No doubt you were right," rejoined Dr. Leete,
"but all that is changed now. We have no parties or
politicians, and as for demagoguery, and corruption,
they are words having only an historical significance."
"Human nature itself must have changed very
much," I said.
" Not at all," was Dr. Leete's reply, "but the conditions of human life have changed and-w'ifIhem
the motives of humar-aaction. The organization of
societ'y no longer offers a premium on baseness. But
these are matters which you can only understand as
you come, with time, to know us better."
"But you have not yet told me how you have
settled the labour problem.  It is the problem of
capital which we have been discussing," I said.
" After the nation had assumed conduct of the mills,
machinery, railroads, farms, mines and capital in
general of the country, the labour question still remained. In assuming the responsibilities of capital,
the nation  has uid';te djffileties of the capitalmoment the nation assumed the responsibilities of capital, those difficulties vanished, replied
Dr. Leete.  "The national organization of labour
under one direction was the complete solution of what
was, in your Jay and under your system, justly




48


LOOKING BACKWARD.


regarded as the insoluble labour problem. When the
nation became  the sole eployer, all the citizens by
virtue                    eam   mployes,     be
distributed according to the needs of industry."
/   "That is," I suggested, "you  avve-srinpl applied. the principle of universal military service, as it was
\ nderstood in our day, to the labour question."
"Yes," said Dr. Leete, "that was something which
followed as a matter of course as soon as the nation
had become the sole capitalist.  The people were
already accustomed to the idea that the obligation of
every citizen, not physically disabled, to contribute his
military services to the defence of the nation, was
equal and absolute. That it was equally the duty of
every citizen to contribute his quota of industrial or
intellectual services to the maintenance of the nation,
was equally evident, though it was not until the nation
became the employer of labour that citizens were able
to render this sort of service with any pretence either
of universality or equity. No organization of labour
was possible when the employing power was divided
among hundreds or thousands of individuals and corporations, between which concert of any kind was
neither desired, nor indeed feasible.  It constantly
happened then that vast numbers who desired to
labour could find no opportunity, and on the other
- hand, those who desired to evade a part or all of their
debt could easily do so."
" Service, now, I suppose, is compulsory upon all,"
I suggested.
" It is rather a matter of course than of compulsion," replied Dr. Leete. "It is regarded as so
absolutely natural and reasonable that the idea of its
being compulsory has ceased to be thought of. He
would be thought to be an incredibly contemptible
person who should need compulsion in such a case.
Nevertheless, to speak of service being compulsory
would be  C weak way to state its acsolute inevitable



LOOKING BACKWARD.


49


ness. Our entire social order is so wholly based upon
and deduced from it that if it were conceivable that a
man could escape it, he would be left with no possible
way to provide for his existence. He would have
excluded himself from the world, cut himself off from
his kind, in a word, committed suicide."
"Is the term of service in this industrial army for
life?"
" Oh, no; it both begins later and ends earlier than
the average working period in your day. Your workshops were filled with children and old mien,~but we
Todthe perio of yout sacred to education, and the
period of maturity, when the physical forces begin to
flag, equally sacred to ease and agreeable relaxation.
The period of industrial service is twenty-fouryears,
bginning at the close of the course of education at
twenty-one and- rm'  tgg t-fir _ — er t  forty'five, while dischafged from labour, the citizen still
remains liable to special calls, in case of emergencies
causing a sudden great increase in the demand for
labour, till he reaches the age of fifty-five, but such
calls are rarely, in fact almost never made. The
fifteenth day of October of every year is what we call
Muster Day, because those who have reached the age
of twenty-one are then mustered into the industrial
service, and at the same time those who, after twentyfour years service, have reached the age of forty-five,
are honourably mustered out. It is the great event of
the year with us, whence we reckon all other events,
our Olympiad, save that it is annual."




50


LOOKING BACKWARsD,


CHAPTER VII.
"IT is after you have mustered your industrial army
into service," I said, "that I should expect the
chief difficulty to arise, for there its analogy with a
military army must cease. Soldiers have all the same
thing, and a very simple thing, to do, namely, to
practice the manual of arms, to march and stand
guard.  But the industrial army must learn and
follow two or three hundred diverse trades and avocations. What administrative talent can be equal to
determining wisely what trade or business every individual in a great nation ishi pursue -      ---
-Teh —.ministriation has rothing to do with determining that point."
"Who does determine it then?" I asked.
"Every man for himself, in accordance with his
natural aptitude, the utmost pains being taken to
enable him to find out what his natural aptitude
really is. The rinciple on which our industrial arm
is organized Is that a mans naural enowments,
enta- determine what hcan work at
mosi     blyto the nation and most satisfactoiy
to- i-nself. While the obligation of service In some
form is not to be evaded, voluntary election, subject
only to necessary regulation, is depended on to determine the particular sort of service every man is to
render. As an individual's satisfaction during his
term of service depends on his having an occupation
to his taste, parents and teachers watch from early
years for indications of special aptitudes in children.
Manual industrial training is no part of our educational system, which is directed to general culture and
the humanities, but a theoretical knowledge of the pro



LOOKING BACKWARD.


5I


cesses of various industries is given, and our youth are
constantly encouraged to visit the workshops, and are
frequently taken on long excursions to acquire familiarity with special industries.  Usually long before
he is mustered into service, a young man if he has
a taste for any special pursuit, has found it out and
probably acquired a great deal of information about
it. If, however, he has no special taste, and makes nc
election when opportunity is offered, he is assigned to
any avocation among those of an unskilled character
which may be in need of men."
" Surely," I said, "it can hardly be that the number
of volunteers for any trade is exactly the number
needed in that trade. It must be generally either
under or over the demand."
"The supply of volunteers is always excepted to
fully equal the demand," replied Dr. Leete.  "It is
the business of the administration to see that this is
the case. The rate of volunteering for each trade is
closely watched.  If there be a noticeably greater
excess of volunteers over men needed in any trade, it
is inferred that the trade offers greater attractions
than others. On the other hand, if the number of
volunteers for a trade tends to drop below the
demand, it is inferred that it is thought more arduou
It is the business of the administration to seek constantly to equalize the attractions of the trades so far
as the conditions of labour in them are concerned, so
that all trades shall be equally attractive to persons
having natural tastes for them.  This is done by
making the hours of labour in different trades to differ
according to their arduousness.  The lighter trade
prosecuted under the most agreeable circumstances,
have in this way the longest hours, while an arduous
trade, such as mining, has very short hours. There is
no theory, no a priori rule, by which the respective
attractiveness of industries is determined. The administration, in taking burdens off one class of




52


LOOKING BACKWARD.


workers and adding them to other classes, siimply
follows the fluctuations  of opinions among the
workers themselves as indicated by the rate of volunteering. The principle is that no man's work ought
Ao be, on the whole, harder for him than any other
man's for him, the workers themselves to be the
judges. There are no limits to the application of this
rule.  If any particular occupation is in itself so
arduous or so oppressive that, in order to induce volunteers, the day's work in it had to be reduced to ten
minutes, it would be done. If even then, no man was
willing to do it, it would remain undone. But of course,
in point of fact, a moderate reduction in the hours of
labour, or addition of other privileges, suffices to secure
all needed volunteers for any occupation necessary to
men.  If, indeed, the unavoidable difficulties and
dangers of such a necessary pursuit were so great that
no inducement of compensating advantages would
overcome men's repugnance to it, the administration
would only need to take it out of the common order
of occupations by declaring it 'extra hazardous,' and
those who pursued it especially worthy of the national
gratitude, to be overrun with volunteers. Our young
men are very greed -of honpouraani. do fitJiliip
suchopport-uhiiTles. Of course you X\ 1 see that dep    he    the r..rely voluntary choi, e of avocations
involves the abolition in all of anything like unhygienic
conditions or special peril to life and limb. Health
and safety are conditions common to all industries.
The nation d  not maim and slghter its workmer
byFthousands, as did the  rivate capitalists ano -copora-tons o your day."
-     e  thee are more who want to enter a particular trade than there is room for, how do you decide
between the applicants?" I enquire.
X Preference is given to those with the best general
records in their preliminary service as unskilled labourers, and as yrutijs in their educational course. No




LOOKING BACKWARD.


53


man, however, who through successive years remains
persistent in his desire to show what he can do at any
particular trade, is in the end denied an opportunity.
I should add, in reference to the counter-possibility of
some sudden failure of volunteers in a particular trade,
or some sudden necessity of an increased force, that
the administration, while depending on the voluntary
system for filling up the trades as a rule, holds always
in reserve the power to call for special volunteers, or
draft any force needed from any quarter. Generally,
however, all needs of this sort can be met by details
from the class of unskilled or common labourers."
" How is this class of common labourers recruited?"
I asked. " Surely nobody voluntarily enters that."
" It is the grade to which all new recruits belong
for the first three years of their service. It is not till
after this period, during which he is assignable to any
work at the discretion of his superiors, that the young
man is allowed to elect a special avocation. These
three years of stringent discipline none are exempt
from."
" As an industrial system, I should think this might
be extremely efficient," I said, " butJI don't see that
it makes any rovision for the  rofessional classes.
t  en who serve the nation with brains instead ohands. Of course you can't get along without the
brain-workers.  How, then, are they selected from
those who are to serve as farmers and mechanics?
That must require a very delicate sort of sifting process, I should say."
" So it does," replied Dr. Leete, " the most delicate
possible test is needed here, and so we leave the question whether a man shall be a brain or hand worker
entirely to him to settle. At the end of the term of
three years as a common labourer, which every man
must serve, it is for him to choose in accordance to
his natural tastes whether he will fit himself for an
art or profession, or be a farmer or mechanic. If he
5




54


LOOKING BACKWARD.


feels that he can do better work with his brains than
his muscles he finds every facility provided for testing
the reality of his supposed bent, of cultivating it, and
if fit, of pursuing it as his avocation. The schools of
technology, of medicine, of art, of music, of histrionics
and of higher liberal learning, are always open to
aspirants without condition."
"Are not the schools flooded with young men
whose only motive is to avoid work?"
Dr. Leete smiled a little grimly.
" No one is at all likely to enter the professional
schools for the purpose of avoiding work, I assure
you," he said. "They are intended for those with
special aptitude for the branches they teach, and any
one without it would find it easier to do double hours
at his trade than try to keep up with the classes. Of
course many honestly mistake their vocation, and
finding themselves unequal to the requirements of the
schools, drop out and return to the industrial service;
no discredit attaches to such persons, for the public
policy is to encourage all to develop suspected talents.which only actual tests can prove the reality of. The
professional an      f  schools of your day de\pended on the _atronageofir pupiPs orsupport,
( an~~tteipractice appears to have been common of
giving diplomas to unfit persons, who afterwards found
their way into the professions.  Our schools are
national institutions, and to have passed their tests
\,is a proof of special abilities not to be questioned."
"This opportunity for a professional training," the
doctor continued, "remains open to every man till the
age of thirty-five is reached, after which students are
not received, as there would remain too brief a period
before the age of discharge in which to serve the
nation in their professions. In your day young men
had to choose their professions very young, and therefore in a large proportion of instances, wholly mistook
their vocations. It is recognized now-a-days that the




LOOKING BACKWARD.


55


natural aptitudes of some are later than those of
others in developing, and therefore, while the choice
of a profession may be made as early as twenty-four,
it remains open for eleven years longer. I should add
that the right of transfer, under proper restrictions,
from a trade first chosen to one preferred later in life,
also remains open to a man till thirty-five."
A question which had a dozen times before been on
my lips, now found utterance, a question which
touched upon what, in my time, had been regarded
the most vital difficulty in the way of any final settlement of the industrial problem. " It is an extraordinary thing," I said, "that you should not yet have
said a word about the method of adjusting wages.
Since the nation is the sole employer the government
must fix the rate of wages and dete e-jttthow
much everybod   sall _ar _afa-trm-the-doctors-to
fhe diggers. All I can say is, that this plan would
never have worked with us, and I don't see how it
can now unless human nature has changed. In my
day, nobody was satisfied with his wages or salary.
Even if he felt he received enough he was sure his
neighbour had too much, which was as bad. If the
universal discontent on this subject, instead of being
dissipated in curses and strikes directed against innumerable employers, could have been concentrated
upon one, and that the government, the strongest ever
devised would not have seen two pay days."
Dr. Leete laughed heartily.
"Very true, very true," he said, "a general strike
would most probably have followed the first pay day,
and a strike directed against a government is a
revolution."
"How, then, do you avoid a revolution every pay
day?" I demanded. "Has some prodigious philoso.
pher devised a new system of calculus satisfactory to
all for determining the exact and comparative value
of all sorts of service, whetbe'; by brawn or brain, by




;6           LOOKING BACKWARD.
hand or voice, by ear or eye? Or has human nature
itself changed, so that no man looks upon his own
things but 'every man upon the things of his neighbour?" One or the other of these events must be the
explanation."
" Neither one nor the other, however, is," was my
host's laughing response. "And now, Mr. West," he
continued, "you must remember that you are my
patient as well as my guest, and permit me to prescribe sleep for you before we have any more convrsation. It is after three o'clock."
"The prescription is, no doubt, a wise one," I said,
I only hope it can be filled."
" I will see to that," the doctor replied, and he did,
for he gave me a wine glass of something or other
which sent me to sleep as soon as my head touched
the pillow.




LOOKING BACKWARD


57


CHAPTER VIII.
WHEN I awoke I felt greatly refreshed and lay a
considerable time in a dozing state, enjoying
the sensation of bodily comfort. The experiences of
the day previous, my waking to find myself in the
year 2000, the sight of the new Boston, my host and
his family, and the wonderful things I had heard,
were a blank in my memory. I thought I was in my
bedchamber at home, and the half dreaming, half
waking fancies which passed before my mind related
to the incidents and experiences of my former life.
Dreamily I reviewed the incidents of Decoration Day,
my trip in company with Edith and her parents to
Mount Auburn, and my dining with them on our
return to the city. I recalled how extremely well
Edith had looked, and from that fell to thinking of
our marriage; but scarcely had my imagination begun
to develop this delightful theme than my waking
dream was cut short by the recollection of the letter I
had received the night before from the builder,
announcing that the fresh strikes might postpone
indefinitely the completion of the new house. The
chagrin which this recollection brought with it effectually roused me. I remembered that I had an
appointment with the builder at eleven o'clock, to discuss the strike, and opening my eyes, looked up at
the clock at the foot of the bed to see what time it
was. But no clock met my glance, and what was
more, I instantly perceived that I was not in my
room.  Starting up on my couch I stared wi!dly
around the strange apartment.
I think it must have been many seconds that I sat
up thus in bed staring about without being able to




58


LOOKING BACKWARD.


regain the clue to my personal identity. I was no
more able to distinguish myself from pure being
during th~se moments than we may suppose a soul
in the rough to be before it has received the earmarks, the individualizing touches which make it a
person. Strange that the sense of this inability
should be such anguish, but so we are constituted,
There are no words for the mental torture I endured,luring this helpless, eyeless groping for myself in a
boundless void. No other experience of the mind
gives probably anything like the sense of absolute
intellectual arrest from the loss of a mental fulcrum, a
starting point of thought, which comes during such a
momentary obscuration of the sense of one's identity.
I trust I may never know what it is again.
I do not know how long this condition had lasted,
-it seemed an interminable timne,-when, like a flash,
the recollection of everything came back to me. I
remembered who and where I was, and how I had
come here, and that these scenes as of the life of yesterday which had been passing before my mind.concerned a generation long, long ago mouldered to dust.
Leaping from bed, I stood in the middle of the room
clasping my temples with aill my might between my
hands to keep them from bursting. Then I fell prone
on the couch and, burying my face in the pillow, lay
without motion. The redaction which was inevitable,
from the mental elation, the fever of the intellect that
had been the first effect of my tremendous experience,
had arrived. The emotional crisis, which had awaited
the full realization of my actual position and all that
it implied, was upon me, and with set teeth and
labouring chest, gripping the bedstead with frenzied
strength, I lay there and fought for my sanity. In
my mind, all had broken loose, habits of feeling,
associations of thought, ideas of persons and things,
all had dissolved and lost coherence and were seething together in apparently irretrievable chaos. There




LOOKING BACKWARD.


59


were no rallying points, nothing was left stable.
There only remained the will, and was any human
will strong enough to say to such a weltering sea,
"Peace, be still?" I dared not think. Every effort to
reason upon what had befallen me, and realize what
it implied, set up an intolerable swimming of the
brain. The idea that I was two persons, that my
identity was double, began to fascinate me with its
simple solution of my experience.
I knew that I was on the verge of losing my mental
balance. If I lay there thinking, I was doomed.
Diversion of some sort I must have, at least the diversion of physical exertion. I sprang up and, hastily
dressing, opened the door of my room and went down
stairs. The hour was very early, it being not yet
fairly light, and I found no one in the lower part of
the house. There was a hat in the hall, and, opening
the front door, which was fastened with a slightness
indicating that burgl ary was not among the perils of
the modern Boston, I foui1M myself on the street. For
two hours I walked or ran through the streets of the
city, visiting most quarters of the peninsular part of
the town. None but an antiquarian who knows
something of the contrast which the Boston of to-day
offers to the Boston of the nineteenth century, can
begin to appreciate what a series of bewildering surprises I underwent during that time. Viewed from
the housetop the day before, the city had indeed appeared strange to me, but that was only in its general
aspect. How complete the change had been I first
realized now that I walked the streets. The few old
landmarks which still remained only intensified this
effect, for without them I might have imagined myself in a foreign town. A man may leave his native
city in childhood, and return fifty years later, perhaps,
to find it transformed in many features. He is
atonished, but he is not bewildered. He is aware of
a great lapse of time, and of changes likewise occur



60


LOOKING BACKWARD.


ring in himself meanwhile. He but dimly recalls the
city as he knew it when a child. But remember
that there was no sense of any lapse of time with me.
So far as my consciousness was concerned, it was but
yesterday, but a few hours, since I had walked these
streets in which scarcely a feature had escaped a complete metamorphosis. The mental image of the old
city was so fresh and strong that it did not yield to
the impression of the actual city, but contended with
it, so that it was first one and then the other which
seemed the more unreal. There was nothing I saw
which was not blurred in this way, like the faces of a
composite photograph.
Finally I stood again at the door of the house from
which I had come out. My feet must have instinctively brought me back to the site of my old home,
for I had no clear idea of returning thither. It was
no more homelike to me than any other spot in this
city of a strange generation, nor were its inmates less
utterly and necessarily strangers than all the other
men and women now on the earth. Had the door of
the house been locked, I should have been reminded
by its resistance that I had no object in entering, and
turned away, but it yielded to my hand, and advancing
with uncertain steps through the hall, I entered one
of the apartments opening from it. Throwing myself
into a chair, I covered my burning eyeballs with my
hands to shut out the horror of strangeness. My
mental confusion was so intense as to produce actual
nausea. The anguish of those moments, during
which my brain seemed melting, or the abjectness of
my sense of helplessness, how can I describe? In
my despair I groaned aloud. I began to feel that
unless some help should come, I was about to lose my
mind. And just then it did come. I heard the
rustle of drapery, and looked up. Edith Leete was
standing before me. Her beautiful face was full of
the most poignant sympathy.




LOOKING BACKWARD.


6i


" Oh, what is the matter, Mr. West? " she said. "1
was here when you came in. I saw how dreadfully
distressed you looked, and when I heard you groan, I
could not keep silent. What has happened to you?
Where have you been? Can't I do something for
you? "
Perhaps she involuntarily held out her hands in a
gesture of compassion as she spoke. At any rate I
caught them in my own and was clinging to them
with an impulse as instinctive as that which prompts
the drowning man to seize upon and cling to the
rope which is thrown him as he sinks for the last
time. As I looked up into her compassionate face
and her eyes moist with pity, my brain ceased to
whirl. The tender human sympathy which thrilled
in the soft pressure of her fingers had brought me
the support I needed. Its effect to calm and soothe
was like that of some wonder-working elixir.
" God bless you," I said, after a few moments. "He
must have sent you to me just now. I think I was
in danger of going crazy if you had not come." At
this the tears came into her eyes.
"O Qh, Mr. West! " she cried. " How heartless you
must have thought us! How could we leave you to
yourself so long:' But it is over now, is it not? You
are better, surely."
" Yes," I said, " thanks to you. If you will not go
away quite yet, I shall be myself soon."
" Indeed I will not go away," she said, with a little
quiver of the face, more expressive of her sympathy
than a volume of words. " You must not think us sc
heartless as we seemed in leaving you so by yourself.
I scarcely slept last night, for thinking how strange
your waking would be this morning; but father said
you would sleep till late. He said that it would be
better not to show too much sympathy with you at
first, but to try to divert your thoughts and make you
feel that you were among friends."




62,


LOOKING BACKWARD.


" You have indeed made me feel that," I answered,
"But you see it is a good deal of a jolt to drop a
hundred years, and although I did not seem to feel it
so much last night, I have had very odd sensations
this morning." While I held her hands and kept my
eyes on her face, I could already even jest a little at
my plight.
"No one thought of such a thing as your going out
into the city alone so early in the morning," she went
on. " Oh, Mr. West, where have you been? "
Then I told her of my morning's experience from
my first waking till the moment I had looked up to
see her before me, just as I have told it here. She
was overcome by distressful pity during the recital,
and, though I had released one of her hands, did not
try to take from me the other, seeing, no doubt, how
much good it did me to hold it. " I can think a little
what this feeling must have been like,"' she said. " It
must have been terrible. And to think that you were
left alone to struggle with it! Can you ever forgive us?"
"But it is gone now. You have driven it quite
away for the present," I said.
"You will not let it return again," she queried
anxiously.
"I can't quite say that," I replied. " It might be
too early to say that, considering how strange everything will still be to me."
"But you will not try to contend with it alone
again, at least," she persisted. " Promise that you
will come to us, and let us sympathize with you, and
try to help you. Perhaps we can't do much, but it
will surely be better than to try to bear such feelings
alone."
" I will come to you if you will let me," I said.
"Oh, yes, yes, I beg you will," she said eagerly. "I
would do anything to help you that I could."
" All you need do is to be sorry for me, as you seem
to be now," I replied.




LOOKING BACKWARD.              63
s It is understood, then," she said, smiling with wet
eyes, "that you are to come and tell me next time,
and not run all over Boston among strangers."
This assumption that we were not strangers seemed
scarcely strange, so near within these few minutes
had my trouble and her sympathetic tears brought us.
" I will promise when you come to me," she added,
with an expression of charming archness, passing, as
she continued, into one of enthusiasm, " to seem as
sorry for you as you wish, but you must not for a
moment suppose that I am really sorry for you at all,
or that I think you will long be sorry for yourself.
I know as well as I know that the world now is heaven
compared with what it was in your day, that the only
feeling you will have after a little while will be one oi
thankfulness to God that your life in that age was so
strangely cut off, to be returned to you in this."




64


LOOKING BACKWARD.


CHAPTER IX.
R. and Mrs. Leete were evidently not a little
startled to learn, when they presently appeared,
that I had been all over the city alono that morning,
and it was apparent that they were agreeably surprised to see that I seemed so little agitated after the
experience.
"Your stroll could scarcely have failed to be a very
interesting one," said Mrs. Leete, as we sat down to
table soon after. "You must have seen a good many
new things."
" I saw very little that was not new," I replied.
But I think what surprised me as much as anything,
was not to find any stores on Washington street, or
any banks on State. What have you done with the
merchants and bankers? Hung them all, perhaps, as
the anarchists wanted to do in my day? "
"Not so bad as that," replied Dr. Leete. "We
have simply dispensed with them. Their functions
are obsolete in the modern world."
"Who sells you things when you want to buy
them?" I enquired.
< here is neither selling nor buying nowadays; the
distribution of goods is effected in another way. As
to the bankers, having no money, we have no use for
Use gentry."
"Miss Leete," said I, turning to Edith, " I am afraid
that your father is making sport of me. I don't blame
him, for the temptation my innocence offers must be
extraordinary. But really, there are limits to my
credulity as to possible alterations in the social
system."
" Father has no idea of jesting, I am sure," she replied, with a reassuring smile.




LOOKING BACKWARD.


65


The conversation took another turn then, the point
of ladies' fashions in the nineteenth century being
raised, if I remember rightly, by Mrs. Leete, and it
was not till after breakfast, when the doctor had invited
me up to the housetop, which appeared to be a
favourite resort of his, that he recurred to the subject
" You were surprised," he said, "at my saying tha
we got along without money or trade, but a moment's
reflection will show that trade existed and money was
needed in your day simply because the business of
production was left in private hands, and that, consequently, they are superfluous now."
" I do not at once see how that follows," I replied.
"It is very simple," said Dr. Leete. " When innumerable, unrelated, and independent persons produced the
various things needful to life and comfort, endless exchanges between individuals were requisite in order
that they might supply themselves with what they
desired. These exchanges constituted trade, and
money was essential as their medium. But as soon as
the nation became the sole producer of all sorts of
commodities, there was no need of exchanges between
individuals that they might get what they required.
Everything was procurable from one source, and
nothing could be procured anywhere else. A system
of direct distribution from the national storehouses
tok the place of trade, and for this money was unneesary
-- " How is this distribution managed?" I asked.
"On the simplest possible plan," replied Dr. Leete.
"A credit correspnding to his shr-f ihe annual
product of the nation is iven to everon the
pubi-c-boks at the beginning of each year, and a
credit card issued him with which he procures at ffipublic storehouses, found in every community, whatever he desires whenever he desires it This arrange' t yu will see totally obviates the necessity for
business transactions of any sort between individuals




66


LOOKING BACKWARD.


and consumers. Perhaps you would like to see what
our credit cards are like."
"You observe," he pursued, as I was curiously examining the piece of pasteboard he gave me,."that
this card is issued for a certain number of dollars. We
have kept the old word but not the substance. The
term, as we use it, answers to no real thing, but merely
serves as an algebraical symbol for comparing the
values of products with one another. For this purpose
they are all priced in dollars and cents, just as in your
day. The value of what I procure on this card is
checked off by the clerk, who pricks out of these tiers
of squares the price of what I order."
" If you wanted to buy something of your neighbour,
could you transfer part of your credit to him as consideration?" I inquired.
"' In the first place," replied Dr. Leete, "our neighbours have nothing to sell us, but in any event our
credit would not be transferable, bring strictlypersonal.
Before the nation could even think of honouring any
such transfer as you speak of, it would be bound to
inquire into all the circumstances of the transaction,
so as to be able to guarantee its absolute equity. It
would have been reason enough, had there been no
other, for abolishing money, that its possession was no
indication of rightful title to it. In the hands of the
man who had stolen it or murdered for it, it was as
good as in those which had earned it by industry.
rPeople nowadays interchange gifts and favours out of
friendship, but buying and selling is considered abso\ lutely inconsistent with the mutual benevolence and
disinterestedness which should prevail between citizens
han-id the sense of community of interests which supports
our social system. Accordin-to-ur ideas, buying
and selling is essetiaJTni-ci  irnale
'- iS an educatio  n iself-seeking at the expense of
others, and no society whose citizens are trained in
such a school can possibly rise above a very low grade
of civilisation."




LOOKING BACKWARD.


6;


" What if you have to spend more than your card
in any one year? " I asked.
" The provision is so ample that we are more likely
not to spend it all," replied Dr. Lcete. " But ii
extraordinary expenses should exhaust it, we can
obtain a limited advance on the next year's credit,
though this practice is not encouraged, and a heavy
discount is charged to check it."
" If you don't spend your allowance, I suppose it
accumulates? "
" That is also permitted to a certain extent, when a
special outlay is anticipated. But unless notice to the
contrary is given, it is presumed that the citizen who
does not fully expend his credit did not have occasion
to do so, and the balance is turned into the general
surplus."
" Such a system does not encourage saving habits
on the part of citizens," I said.
" It is not intended to," was the reply. " The nation
is rich, and does not wish the people to deprive thernmselves of any good thing. In your day, men wers
bound to lay up goods and money against coming
failure of the means of support and for their children,
This necessity made parsimony a virtue. But now it
would have no such laudable object, and, having lost
its utility, it has ceased to be regarded as a virtue. No
man any more has any care for the morrow, either for
himself or his children, for the nation guarantees the
nurture, education, and comfortalETe-m anteiiance of
every citizen, from theocracue to the grave.
-l                  =        -       -aq
"That is a sweeping guarantee!" I said. "What
certainty can there be that the value of a man's labour
will recompense the nation for its outlay on him? On
the whole, society may be able to support all its
members, but some must earn less than enough for
their support, and others more; and that brings us
back once more to the wagTes question, on which you
have hitherto said nothing. It was at just this point,




68


LOOKING BACKWARD.


if you remember, that our talk ended last evening;
and I say again, as I did then, that here I should
suppose a national industrial system like yours would
find its main difficulty. How, I ask once more, can
you adjust satisfactorily the comparative wages or
remuneration of the multitude of avocations, so unlike
and so incommensurable, which are necessary for the
service of society? In our day.th arklt-ate determined the price of labour of all so n    -as of
goods.-...fle-m pp jer paOidLas little as he could, and
the-6woirer got as much. It was not a pretty system
ethically, I admit; but it did, at least, furnish ua a
rough and ready formula for settling a question which
must be settled ten thousand times a day if the world
was ever going to get forward. There seemed to us
no other practicable way of doing it."
"Yes," replied Dr. Leete, " it was the only practi
cable way under a system which made the interests
of every individual antagonistic to those of every
other; but it would have been a pity if humanity
could never have devised a better plan, for yours was
simply the application to the mutual relations of men
of the devil's maxim, "Your necessity is my opportunity." The reward of any service depended not
upon its difficulty, danger, or hardship, for throughout
the world it seems that the most perilous, severe, and
repulsive labour was done by the worst paid classes;
but solely upon the strait of those who needed the
service,"
" All that is conceded," I said. "But, with all its
defects, the plan of settling prices by the market rate
was a practical plan; and I cannot conceive what
satisfactory substitute you can have devised for it.
The Government being the only possible employer,
there is, of course, no labour market or market rate.
Wages of all sorts must be arbitrarily fixed by the
government. I cannot imagine a more complex and
delicate function than that must be, or one, however




LOOKING BACKWARD.


6e9


performed, more certain to breed universal dissatisfaction."
"I beg your pardon," replied Dr. Leete, "but I
think you exaggerate the difficulty. Suppose a board
of fairly sensible men were charged with settling the
wages for all sorts.of trades under a system which,
like ours, guaranteed employment to all, while permitting the choice of avocations. Don't you see that,
however unsatisfactory the first adjustment might be,
the mistakes would soon correct themselves? The
favoured trades would have too many volunteers, and
those discriminated against would lack them till the
errors were set right. But this is aside from the purpose, for, though this plan would, I fancy, be practicable enough, it is no part of our system."
" How, then, do you regulate wages?" I once more
asked.
Dr. Leete did not reply till after several moments
of meditative silence. " I know, of course," he finally
said, " enough of the old order of things to understand
just what you mean by that question; and yet the
present order is so utterly different at this point that
I am a little at loss how to answer you best. You ask
me how we regulate wages: I can only reply that
there is no idea in the modern social economy whir'L
at ail corresponds with what was meant by wages Tn
your day."
" I suppose you mean that you have no money to
pay wages in," said I.  " But the credit given the
worker at the Government storehouse answers to his
wages with us. How is the amount of the credit given
respectively to the workers in different lines determined? By what title does the individual claim his
particular share? What is the basis of allotment?"
"His title," replied Dr. Leete, " is his humanity.
The basis of his claim is the fact that he is a man"
s" The fact that he is a man! J  repeated incredulously. "     u posi      ean- thaa      -a he
same share?"
-_                                     6




7o


LOOKING BACKWARD


' Most assuredly."
lhe rea-ersor tis book never having practically
known any other arrangement, or perhaps very carefully considered the historical accounts of former
epochs in which a very different system prevailed,
cannot be expected to appreciate the stupor of amazement into which Dr. Leete's simple statement plunged
me.
"You see," he said, smiling, "that it is not merely
that we have no money to pay wages in, but, as I
said, we have nothing at all answering to your idea of
wages."
By this time I had pulled myself together sufficiently to voice some of the criticisms which, man of
the nineteenth century as I was, came uppermost in
my mind, upon this to me astounding arrangement.
"Some men do twice the work of others!" I exclaimed. "Are the clever workmen content with a
plan that ranks them with the indifferent? "
"We leave no possible ground for any complaint of
injustice," replied Dr. Leete, "by requiring precisely
the same measure of service from all."
" How can you do that, I should like to know, when
no two men's powers are the same?"
"Nothing could be simpler," was Dr. Leete's reply.
"We require of each that he shall make the same
effort; that is, we demand of him the best service it
is in his power to give."
"And supposing all do the best they can," I
answered, "the amount of the product resulting is
twice greater from one man than from another."
"Very true," replied Dr. Leete; but the amount of
the resulting product has nothing whatever to do
with the question, which is one of desert. Desert is
a moral question, and the amount of the product a
material quantity. It would be an extraordinary sort
of logic which should try to determine a moral question by a material standard. The amount of the effort




LOOKING BACKWARD.


71


alone is pertinent to the question of desert. All men
who do their   stAdo the same. A man''sen    s-i-w
ments, however god-like, merely fix the measure of
his duty. The man of great endowments who does
not do all he might, though he may do more than a
man of small endowments who does his best, is deemed
a less deserving worker than the latter, and dies a
debtor to his fellows. The Creator sets men's tasks
for them by the faculties he gives them; we simply
exact their fulfilment."
" No doubt that is very fine philosophy," I said;
"nevertheless it seems hard that the man -who produces twice as much as another, even if both do their
best, should only have the same share."
"Does it indeed, seem so to you?" responded Dr.
Leete. Now, do you know that seems very curious
to me? The way it strikes people nowadays is, that
a man who can produce twice as much as another
with the same effort, instead of being rewarded for
doing so, ought to be punished if he does not do so.
In the nineteenth century, when a horse pulled a
heavier load than a goat, I suppose you rewarded
him. Now, we should have whipped him soundly if
he had not, on the ground that, being much stronger,
he ought to. It is singular how ethical standards
change." The doctor said this with such a twinkle in
his eye that I was obliged to laugh.
'A I suppose," I said, "that the real reason that we
rewarded men for their endowments, while we considered those of horses and goats merely as fixing the
service to be severally required of them, was that the
animals, not being reasoning beings, naturally did the
best they could, whereas men couldonl be induced
tsaD^So  rewarlng them according to theamontofj teirrc   r That brings me to ask why, unless
human nature has mightily changed in a hundred
years, you are not under the same necessity."
"We are," replied Dr. Leete. "I dont think tlhre




72


LOOKING BACKWARD.


has been any change in human nature in that respect
since your day. It is still so constituted that special
incentives in the form of prizes, and advantages to be
gained, are requisite to call out the best endeavours of
the average man in any direction."
"But what inducement," I asked, "can a man have
to put forth his best endeavours when, however much
or little he accomplishes, his income remains the same?
High characters may be moved by devotion to the
common welfare under such a system, but does not
the average man tend to rest back on his oar, reasoning that it is of no use to make a special effort, since
the effort will not increase his income, nor its withholding diminish it? "
"Does it then really seem to you," answered my
compauiion,- rr tat humn anatire Ts insensible to any
motives save fear of want and love of luxua.y,thatyou
sro-decpect security and equality of livelihood to
leave them without possible incentives to elfrit2 Your
contemporaries -cidt tr y tin   so, though they
might fancy they did. When it was a question of the
grandest class of efforts, the most absolute selfdevotion, they depended on quite otber incentives.
Not higher wages, but honour and the hope of men's
gratitude, patriotism and the inspiration of duty, were
the motives which they set before their soldiers when
it was a question of dying for the nation, and never
was there an age of the world when these motives did
not call out what is best and noblest in men. And
*not only this, but when you come to analyse the love
of money which was the general impulse to effort in
your day, you find that the dread of want and desire of
luxury were but two of several motives which the pursuit of money represented; the others, and with many
the more influential, being desire of power, of social
position and ruputation for ability and success. So
you see that though we have abolished poverty and the
fear of it, and inordinate luxury with the hope of it,
we have not touched the greater part of the motives




LOOKING BACKWARD.


73


which underlay the love of money in former times, or
any of those which prompted the supremer sorts of
effort. The coarser motives, which no longer move
us, have been rep aced by higher motives wholly
unknown to the mere wage earners of your age. Now
that industry of whatever sort is no longer self-service,
but senrvice of the nation, patriotism, passion for
humanity, impel the worker as in your day they did
the soldier. The army of industry is an army, not
alone by virtue of its perfect organization, but by
reason also of the ardour of self-devotion which
animates its members.
"But as you used to supplement the motives of
patriotism with the love of glory, in order to stimulate
the value of your soldiers, so do we. Based as our
industrial system is on the principle of requiring the
same unit of effort from every man, that is the best he
can do, you will see that the means by which we spur
the workers to do their best must be a very essential
part of our scheme. With us, diligence in the national
ser      he sole and certain  yto public repute
social distinction, and official power. Ti value of a
TIan`s services in society fixes his rank in it. Compared with the effect of our social arrangements in impelling men to be zealous in business, we deem the
object-lessons of biting poverty and wanton luxury on
which you depended a device as weak and uncertain as
it was barbaric."
" I should be extremely interested," I said, "to learn
something of what these social arrangements are."
"The scheme in its details," replied the doctor, " is
of course very elaborate, for it underlies the entire
organization of our industrial army; but a few words
will give you a general idea of it."
At this moment our talk was charmingly interrupted
by the emergence upon the aerial platform where we
sat of Edith Leete. She was dressed for the street,
and had come to speak to her father about some commission she was to do for him.




74           LOOKING BACKWARD
" By the way, Edith," he exclaimed, as she was
about to leave us to ourselves, " I wonder if Mr.West
would not be interested in visiting the store with you?
I have been telling him something about our system
of distribution, and perhaps he might like to see it in
practical operation."
"My daughter," he added, turning to me, " is an indefatigable shopper, and can tell you more about the
stores than I can."
The proposition was naturally very agreeable to me,
and Edith being good enough to say that she should
be glad to have my company, we left the house
together.




LOOKING BACKWARD.


CHAPTER X.
' IF I am going to explain our way of shopping to
you,' said my companion, as we walked along
the street, "you must explain your way to me.
have never been able to understand it from all I hav&
read on the subject. For example, when you had
such a vast number of shops, each with its different
assortment, how could a lady ever settle upon any
purchase till she had visited all the shops? For, until
she had, she could not know what there was to choose
from."
" It was as you suppose; that was the only way she
could know," I replied.
"Father calls me an indefatigable shopper, but I
should soon be a very fatigued one if I had to do as
thcy did," was Edith's laughing comment.
The loss of time in going from shop to shop was
indeed a waste which the busy bitterly complained of,"
I said; " but as for the ladies of the idle class, though
they complained also, I think the system was really a
godsend by furnishing a device to kill time."
"But say there were a thousand shops in a city,
hundreds, perhaps, of the same sort, how could even
the idlest find time to make their rounds? "
" They really could not visit all, of course," I replied.
"Those who did a good deal of buying, learned in
time where they might expect to find what they
wanted. This class had made a science of the specialties of the shops, and bought at advantage, always
getting the most and best for the least money. It
required, however, long experience to acquire thi.
knowledge. Those who were too busy, or bought toc




LOOKING BACKWARD.


little to gain it, took their chances and were generally
unfortunate, getting the least and worst for the most
money. It was the merest chance if persons not experienced in shopping received the value of their
money."
"But why did you put up with such a shockingly
inconvenient arrangement when you saw its faults so
plainly?"
"It was like all our social arrangements," i replied.
"You can see their faults scarcely more plainly than
we did, but we saw no remedy for them."
" Here we are at the store of our ward," said Edith,
as we turned in at the great portal of one of the
magnificent public buildings I had observed in my
morning walk. There was nothing in the exterior
aspect of the edifice to suggest a store to a representative of the nineteenth century. There was no display
of goods in the great windows, or any device to advertise wares or attract custom. Nor was there any
sort of sign or legend on the front of the building to
indicate the character of the business carried on there;
bit instead, above the portal, standing out from the
front of the building, a majestic life-size group of
statuary, the central figure of which was a female ideal
of Plenty, with her cornucopia.  Judging from the
composition of the throng passing in and out, about
the same proportion of the sexes among shoppers
obtained as in the nineteenth century. As we entered,
Edith said that there was one of these great distributing establishments in each ward of the city. so that
no residence was more than five or ten minutes walk
from one of them. It was %he first interior of a twentieth century public builr'.ng that I had ever beheld,
and the spectacle naturally impressed me deeply. I
was in a vast hall full of light, received not alone from
the windows on all sides, but from the dome, the point
of which was a hundred feet above. Beneath it, in the
centre of the hall, a magnificent fountain nlayed, cool -




LOOKING BACKWARD.


77


ing the atmosphere to a delicious freshness with its
spray. The walls and ceiling were frescoed in mellow
tints, calculated to soften without absorbing the light
which flooded the interior. Around the fountain was
a space occupied with chairs and sofas, on which many
persons were seated conversing. Legends on the walls
all about the hall indicated to what classes of com.
modities the counters below Nwere devoted.  Edith
directed her steps towards one of these, where samples
of muslin of a bewildering variety were displayed, and
-proceeded to inspect them.
" Where is the clerk? " I asked, for there was no one
behind the counter, and no one seemed coming to
attend to the customer.
"I have no need of the clerk yet," said Edith; " I
have not made my selection."
"It was the principal business of clerks to help
people to make their selections in my day," I replied.
"What! To tell people what they wanted? "
" Yes; and oftener to induce them to buy what they
didn't want."
" But did not ladies find that very impertinent?'
Edith asked, wonderingly. "What concern could if
possibly be to the clerks whether people bought oi
not?"
" It was their sole concern," I answered. "They
were hired for the purpose of getting rid of the goods
and were expected to do their utmost, short of the
use of force, to compass that end."
"Ah, yes! How stupid I am to forget!" said
Edith. "The storekeeper and his clerks depended
for their livelihood on selling the goods in your day.
Of course that is all different now. The goods are
the nation's. They are here for those who want them,
and it is the business of the clerks to wait on people
and take their orders; but it is not the interest of the
clerk or the nation to dispose of a yard or a pound of
anything to anybody who does not want it." She




LOOKING BACKWARD.


smiled as she added, " How exceedingly odd it must
have seemed to have clerks trying to induce one to
',ake what one did not want, or was doubtful about! "
"But even a twentieth century clerk might make
'himself useful in giving you information about the
goods, though he did not tease you to buy them," I
suggested.
"No," said Edith, "that is not the business of the
clerk. These printed cards, for which the government authorities are responsible, give us all the information we can possibly need."
I saw then that there was fastened to each sample
a card containing in succinct form a complete statement of the make and materials of the goods and all
its qualities, as well as price, leaving absolutely no
point to hang a question on.
"The clerk has, then, nothing to say about the
goods he sells?" I said.
"Nothing at all. It is not necessary that he should
know or profess to know anything about them.
Courtesy and accuracy in taking orders are all that
are required of him."
" What a prodigious amount of lying that simple
arrangement saves, " I ejaculated.
" Do you mean that all the clerks misrepresented:heir goods in your day?" Edith asked.
"God forbid that I should say so! " I replied, " for
there were many who did not, and they were entitled
to a special credit, for when one's livelihood and that
of his wife and babies depended on the amount of
goods he could dispose of, the temptation to deceive
the customer, or let him deceive himself-was well
nigh overwhelming. But, Miss Leete, I am distracting you from your task with my talk."
" Not at all. I have made my selections." With
that she touched a button, and in a moment a clerk
appeared. H-e took down her order on a tablet with
a pencil which made two copies, of which he gave one




LOOKING BACKWARD.


79


to her, and enclosing the counterpart in  small
receptacle, dropped it into a transmitting tube.
"The duplicate of the order," said Edith, as she
turned away from the counter, after the clerk had
punched the value of her purchase out of the credit
card she gave him, " is given to the purchaser, so that
any mistakes in filling it can be easily traced and
rectified."
"You were very quick about your selections," I
said. " May I ask how you knew that you might not
have found something to suit you better in some of
the other stores? But probably you are required to
buy in your own district."
" Oh, no," she replied. "We buy where we please,
though naturally most often near home. But I shoukld
haevgained nothing by visiting- other sTor'es-. The
assortment in all is exactly the same, representing as
case  varietipiQodued or imported bey the TUnitedr.States. That is
w-yone can decide quickly, and never need visit two
stores."
"And is this merely a sample store?  I see no
clerks cutting off goods or marking bundles."
" All our stores are sample stores, except as to a
few classes of articles. The goods, with these exceptions, are all at the great central warehouse of the
city to which they are shipped directly from the producers. We order from the sample and the printed
statement of texture, make and qualities. The orders
are sent to the warehouse, and the goods distributed
from there."
"That must be a tremendous saving of handling,"
I said. " By our system, the manufacturer sold to the
wholesaler, the wholesaler to the retailer, and the
retailer to the consumer, and the goods had to be
handled each time. You avoid one handling of the
goods, and eliminate the retailer altogether, with his
big profit and the army of clerks it goes to support


1




80


LOOKING BACKWARD.


Why, Miss Leete, this store is merely the order department of a wholesale house, with no more than a
wholesaler's complement of clerks. Under our system
of handling the goods, persuading the customer to buy
them, cutting them off, and packing them, ten clerks
would not do what ones does here. The saving must
be enormous."
"I suppose so," said Edith, "but of course we have
never known any other wy.y__But, Mr. West, you
-iiust not fail to ask father to take you to the central
warehouse some day, where they receive the orders
from the different sample houses all over the city and
parcel out and send the goods to their destinations.
He took me there not long ago, and it was a
wonderful sight.  The system is certainly perfect;
for example, over yonder in that sort of cage is the
despatching clerk. The orders, as they are taken by
the different departments in the store, are sent by
transmitters to him. His assistants sort them and
enclose each class in a carrier-box by itself. The;
despatching clerk has a dozen pneumatic transmitters
before him answering to the general classes of goods,
each communicating with the corresponding department at the warehouse. He drops the box of orders
into the tube it calls for, and in a few moments later
it drops on the proper desk in the warehouse, together
with all the orders of the same sort from the other
sample stores. The orders are read off, recorded, and
sent to be filled, like lightning. The filling I thought
the most interesting part. Bales of cloth are placed
on spindles and turned by machinery, and the cutter,
who also has a machine, works right through one bale
after another till exhausted, when another man takes
his place; and it is the same with those who fill the
orders in any other staple. The packages are then
delivered by larger tubes to the city districts, and
thence distributed to the houses. You may understand how quickly it is all done when I tell you that


I,i




LOOKING BACKWARD.


8I


my order will probably be at home sooner than I
could have carried it from here."
" How do you manage in the thinly settled rural
districts? " I asked.
"The system  is the same," Edith explained; "the
village sample shops are connected by transmitters
with the central county warehouse, which may be
twenty miles away. The transmission is so swift,
though, that the time lost on the way is trifling But,
to save expense, in many counties one set o! tubes
connects several villages with the warehouse, and then
there is time lost waiting for one another. Sometimes
it is two or three hours before goods ordered are
received. It was so where I was staying last summer,
and I found it quite inconvenient.*
" There must be many other respects also, no doubt,
in which the country stores are inferior to the city
stores," I suggested.
" No," Edith answered, "they are otherwise precisely
as good. The sample shop of the smallest village,
just like this one, gives you your choice of all the
varieties of goods the nation has, for the county
warehouse draws on the same source as the city
warehouse."
As we walked on I commented on the great variety
in the size and cost of the houses. " How is it," I
asked, ",that this difference is consistent with the fact
that all citizens have the same income?"
"Because," Edith explained, ' although the income
is the same, personal taste determines how the individual shall spend it. Some like fine horses; others,
like myself, prefer pretty clothes; and still others
want an elaborate table. The rents which the nation
receives for these houses vary, according to size,
egance, and locat:on, so that everybody can find
* 1 am informed since the above was in type hat this lack of perfection
in the distributing service of some of the country districts is to be
remedied, and that soon every village will have its own set of tube.!




82            LOOKING BACKWARD.
something to suit. The larger houses are usually
occupied by large families, in which there are several
to contribute to the rent: while small families, like
ours, find smaller houses more convenient and economical. It is a matter of taste and convenience
wholly. I have read that in old times people often
kept up establishments and did other things which
they could not afford for ostentation, to make people
think them richer than they were. Was it really so,
MNr. West?"
"4 shall have to admit that it was," I replied.
" Well, you see, it could not be so nowadays; for
everybody's income is known, and it is known that
what is spent in one wdy must be saved another,"




d00QKING dACKWAgL,


CHAPTER XI.
W   HEN we arrived home Dr. Leete had hot yet
returned, and MIrs. Leete was not visible.
"Are you fond of music, Mr. West? " Edith asked.
I assured her it was half of life, according to my
notion.
"I ought to apologize for inquiring," she said. " It
is not a question that we ask one another nowadays;
but I have read that in your day, even among the
cultured class, there were some who did not care for
music."
" You must remember, in excuse," I said, " that we
had some rather absurd kinds of music."         -
"Yes,' she said," I know that; I am afraid I should
not have fancied it all myself.  Would you like to
hear some of ours now, Mr. West?"
" Nothing would delight me so much as to listen to
you," I said.
"To me!" she exclaimed, laughing.  " Did you
think I was going to play or sing to you?"
" I hoped so, certainly," I replied.
Seeing that I was a little abashed, she subdued her
merriment and explained. " Of course, we all sing
nowadays as a matter of course in the training of the
voice, and some learn to play instruments for their
private amusement; but the professional music is so
much grander and more perfect than any performance
of ours, and so easily commanded when we wish to
hear it, that we don't think of calling our singing or
playing music at all. All the really fine singers and
players are in the musical service, and the rest of us




84


LOOKING BACKWARD.


hold our peace for the main part. But would you
really like to hear some music?"
I assured her once more that I would.
"Come, then, into the music room," she said, and
I followed her into an apartment finished, without
hangings, in wood, with a floor of polished wood. I
was prepared for new devices in musical instruments,
but I saw nothing in the room which by any stretch of
imagination could be conceived as such.  It was
evident that my puzzled appearance was affording
intense amusement to Edith.
" Please look at to-day's music," she said, handing
me a card, " and tell me what you would prefer. It is
now five o'clock, you will remember."
The card bore the date "September I2, 2000," and
contained the largest programme of music I had ever
seen. It was as various as it was long, including a
most extraordinary range of vocal and instrumental
solos, duets, quartets, and various orchestral combinations. I remained bewildered by the prodigious
list until Edith's pink finger-tip indicated a particular
section of it, where several selections were bracketed,
with the words " 5 P.M." against them; then I observed
that this prodigious programme was an all day one,
divided into twenty-four sections answering to the
hours. There were but a few pieces of music in the
" 5 P.M." section, and I indicated an organ piece as my
preference.
" I am so glad you like the organ," said she. "I
think there is scarcely any music that suits my mood
oftener."
She made me sit down comfortably, and crossing
the room, so far as I could see, merely touched one or
two screws, and at once the room was filled with the
music of a grand organ anthem; filled, not flooded,
for, by some means, the volume of melody had been
perfectly graduated to the size of the apartment. I
listened, scarcely breathing, to the close.  Such




LOOKING BACKWARD.


85


music so perfectly rendered, I had never expected
to hear.
"Grand!" I cried, as the last great wave of sound
broke and ebbed away into silence. "Bach must
be at the keys of that organ; but where is the
organ?"
" Wait a moment, please," said Edith; " I want to
have you listen to this waltz before you ask any questions. I think it is perfectly charming," and as she spoke
the sound of violins filled the room with the witchery of
summer night. When this had also ceased, she said:
" There is nothing in the least mysterious about the
music as you seem to imagine. It is not made by the
fairies or genii, but by good, honest, and exceedingly
clever human hands. We have simply carried the
idea of labour-saving by co-operation into our musical
service as into everything else. There are a number
of music rooms in the city, perfectly adapted acoustically to the different sorts of music. These halls are
connected by telephone with all the houses of the city
whose people care to pay the small fee, and there are
none, you may be sure, who do not. The corps oi
musicians attached to each hall is so large that,
although no individual performer, or group of performers, has more than a brief part, each day's programme lasts through the twenty-four hours. There
are on that card for to-day, as you will see if you
observe closely, distinct programmes of four of these
concerts, each of a different order of music from the
others, being now simultaneously performed, and any
one of the four pieces now going on that you prefer,
you can hear by merely pressing the button which
will connect your house wire withi the hall where it is
being rendered. The programmes are so co-ordinated
that the pieces at any one time simultaneously proceeding in the different halls usually offer a choice,
not only between instrumental and vocal, and between
different sorts of instruments; but also between dif7




LOOKING BACKWARD.


ferent motives from grave to gay, so that all tastes
and moods can be suited."
" It appears to me, Miss Leete," I said, "that if we
could have devised an arrangement for providing
everybody with music in their homes, perfect in
quality, unlimited in quantity, suited to every mood,
and beginning and ceasing at will, we should have
considered the limit of human felicity already attained, and ceased to strive for further improvements."
" I am sure I never could imagine how those among
you who depended at all on music managed to endure
the old-fashioned system for providing it," replied
Edith. " Music really worth hearing must have been,
I suppose, wholly out of the reach of the masses, and
attainable by the most favoured only occasionally at
great trouble, prodigious expense, and then for brief
periods, arbitrarily fixed by somebody else and in
connection with all sorts of undesirable circumstances.
Your concerts, for instance, and operas! How perfectly exasperating it must have been, for the sake of
a piece or two of music that suited you, to have to sit
for hours listening to what you did not care for!
Now, at a dinner one can skip the courses one does
not care for. Who would ever dine, however hungry,
if required to eat everything brought on the table?
and I am sure one's hearing is quite as sensitive as
one's taste. I suppose it was these difficulties in the
way of commanding really good music which made
you endure so much playing and singing in your
homes by people who had only the rudiments of the
art."
"Yes,"' I replied, " it was that sort of music or none
for most of us."
"Ah, well," Edith sighed, "when one really considers, it is not so strange that people in those days
so generally did not care for music. I daresay I
should have detested it, too."
"Did I understand you rightly," I inquired, "that




LOOKING BACKWARD.


this musical programme covers the entire twenty-four
hours? It seems to be on this card, certainly; but who
is there to listen to music between say midnight and
morning?"
" Oh, many," Edith replied. "Our people keep all
hours; but if the music were provided from midnight
to morning for no others, it still would be for the
sleepless, the sick, and the dying. All our bedchambers have a telephone attachment at the head of
the bed by which any person who may be sleepless
can command music at pleasure, of the sort suited to
the mood."
" Is there such an arrangement in the room assigned
to me?''
" Why, certainly; and how stupid, how very stupid,
of me not to think to tell you of that last night.
Father will show you about the adjustment before
you go to bed to-night, however; and with the
receiver at your ear, I am quite sure you will be able
to snap your fingers at all sorts of uncanny feelings if
they trouble you again."
That evening Dr. Leete asked us about our visit to
the store, and in the course of the desultory comparison of the ways of the nineteenth century and the
twentieth, which followed, something raised the question of inheritance. " I suppose," I said, " the inhleritance of property is not now allowed."
" On the contrary," replied Dr. Leete, " there is no
interference with it. In fact, you will find, Mr. West,
as you come to know us, that there is far less interference of any sort with personal liber-T~no5-WaIay's
than you were accustomed to. We require, in eed,
-y a'that every man shall serve the nation for a
fixed period, instead of leaving him his choice. as you
did, between working, stealing, or starving. With the
exception of this fundamental law, which is, indeed,
merely a codification of the law of nature-the edict
of Eden-by which it is made equal in its pressure on


-1 I




88


LOOKING BACKWARD.


men, our system depends in no particular upon legislation, but is entirely voluntary, the logical outcome
of the operation of human nature under rational conditions. This question of inheritance illustrates just
that point. The fact that the nation is the sole
capitalist and land-owner, of course restricts the individual's possessions to his annual credit, and what
personal and household belongings he may have procured with it. His credit, like an annuity in your day,
ceases on his death, with the allowance of a fixed sum
for funeral expenses. His other possessions he leaves
as he pleases."
"What is to prevent, in course of time, such accumulations of valuable goods and chattels in the hands
of individuals as might seriously interfere with equality
in the circumstances of citizens? " I asked.
" That matter arranges itself very simply," was the
reply. " Under the present organization of society,
accumulations of personal property are merely burdensome the moment they exceed what adds to the
real comfort. In your day, if a man had a house
crammed full with gold and silver plate, rare China,
expensive furniture, and such things, he was considered rich, for these things represented money, and
could at any time be turned into it. Nowadays a
man whom the legacies of a hundred relatives, simultaneously dying, should place in a similar position,
would be considered very unlucky. The articles. not
being saleable, would be of no value t  im except for
tiheir actual use or the enjoyment of theirJeauty.
On             y th e ot r- ',6 -T remaning- the same,
he would have to deplete his credit to hire houses to
store the goods in, and still farther to pay for the
service of those who took care of them. You may be
very sure that such a man would lose no time in
scattering among his friends possessions which only
made him the poorer, and that none of those friends
would accept more of them than they could easily




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89


spare room for and time to attend to. Yol see, then,
that to prohibit the inheritance of personal property
with a view to prevent great accumulations, would be
a superfluous precaution for the nation. The individual citizen can be trusted to see that he is not
overburdened. So careful is he in this respect, that
the relatives usually waive claim to most of the effects
of deceased friends, reserving only particular objects.
The nation takes charge of the resigned chattels, and
turns such as are of value into the common stock
once more."
" You spoke of paying for service to take care of
your houses," said c; "that suggests a question I
have several times been on the point of asking.
Hew have you disposed of the problem of domestic
service? Who are willing to be domestic servants in
a community where all are social equals? Our ladies
found it hard enough to find such even when there
was little pretence of social equality."
"It is precisely because we are all social equals
whose equality nothing can compromise, and because
service is honourable in a society whose fundamental
principle is that all in turn shall serve the rest, that
we could easily provide a corps of domestic servants
such as you never dreamed of, if we needed them,"
replied Dr. Leete. "But we do not need them."
" Who does your house-work, then?" I asked.
" There, is none to do," said Mrs. Leete, to whom I
had addressed tlis question. "Our washing is all
done at public laundries at excessvy-teTa es,
a   ordur cooking at t.   The making and
repairing o all we wear are done outside in public
shops. Electricity, of course, takes the place of all
fires and lighting. We choose houses no larger than
we need, and furnish them so as to involve the
minimum of trouble to keep them in order. We have
no use for domestic servants."
"The fact," said Dr. Leete, "that you had in the




9o


LOOKING BACKWARD.


poorer classes a boundless supply of serfs on whom
you could impose all sorts of painful and disagreeable
tasks made you indifferent to devices to avoid the
necessity for them. But now that we all have to do
in turn whatever work is done for society, every
individual in the nation has the same interest, and a
personal one, in devices for lightening the burden.
This fact has given a prodigious impulse to laboursaving inventions in all sorts of industry, of which
the combination of the maximum of comfort and
minimum of trouble in household arrangements was
one of the earliest results."
"In case of special emergencies in the household,"
pursued Dr. Leete, "such as extensive cleaning or
renovation, or sickness in the family, we can always
secure assistance from the industrial force."
"But how do you recompense these assistants,
since you have no money?"
cWe do not pay them, of course, but the nation for
them. Their services can be obtained by application
at the proper bureau, and their value is pricked off
the credit card of the applicant."
"What a paradise for womankind the world must
be now?" I exclaimed. "In my day, even wealth
and unlimited servants did not enfranchise their
possessors from household cares, while the woman
of the merely well-to-do and poorer classes lived and
died martyrs to them.
"Yes," said Mrs. Leete. " I have read something of
that; enough to convince me that, badly off as the
men, too, were in your day, they were more fortunate
than their mothers and wives.
"The broad shoulders of the nation," said Dr.
I.eete, "bear now like a feather the burden that broke
the backs of the woman of your day. Their misery
came, with all your other miseries, frm thaincapacity for co-operation which fntllncwr  from the inld
vidualism on which your s5cial system was f~noldei,




LOOKING BACKWARD.


91


from your inability to perceive that you coul  makeItefnimes more profit out of your fellQo  men by
unit-ing with them than by rpntin- with thern
I he wonder is, not that you did not live more comfortably, but that you were able to live together at all,
who were all confessedly bent on making one anothei
your servants, and securing possession of one another's
goods."
"There, there, father, if you are so vehement, Mr.
West will think you are scolding him," laughingly
interposed Edith.
"W hen you want a doctor," I asked, "do you
simply apply to the proper bureau and take any one
that may be sent?"
"'That rule would not work well in the case of
physicians," replied Dr. Leete. " The good a physician can do a patient depends largely on his acquaintance with his constitutional tendencies and
condition. The patient must be able, therefore, to
call in a particular doctor, and he does so, just as
patients did in your day. The only difference is that,
instead of collecting his fee for himself, the doctor
collects it for the nation by pricking off the amount,
according to a regular scale for medical attendance,
from the patient's credit card."
"I car..,Jagine," I said, "that if the fee is always
the same, and a doctor may not turn away patients
as I suppose he may, the good doctors are called constantly and the poor doctors left in idleness."
" In the first place, if yon will overlook the apparent
conceit of the remark from a retired physician,"
replied Dr. Leete, with a smile, "we have no poor
doctors. Anybody who pleases to get a little smattering of medical terms is not now at liberty to
practice on the bodies of citizens, as in your day.
None but students who have passed the severe tests
of the schools, and clearly proved their vocation, are
permitted to practice. Then, too, you will observe




92           LOOKING BACKWARD.
that there is nowadays no attempt of doctors to build
up their practice at the expense of other doctors,
there would be no motive for that. For the rest, the
doctor has to render regular reports of his work to
the medical bureau, and if lie is not reasonably well
employed, work is fotlnd for him."




LOOKING BACKWARD.


93


CHAPTER XIL
THE questions which I needed to ask before I
could acquire even an outline acquaintance
with the institutions of the twentieth century being
endless, and Dr. Leete's good nature appearing equally
so, we sat up talkin for several hours after the ladies
left us. Reminding my host of the point at which
Dur talk had broken off that morning, I expressed my
curiosity to learn how the organization or the industrial army was made to afford a sufficient stimulus to
diligence in the lack of any anxiety on the worker's
part as to his livelihood.
"You must understand in the first place," replied
the doctor, " that the supply of incentives to effort is
but one of the objects sought in the organization we
have adopted for the army. The other, and equally
important, is to secure for the file-leaders and captains
of the force and the great officers of the nation, men
of proven abilities, who are pledged by their own
careers to hold their followers up to their highest
standard of performance and permit no lagging.
With a view to these two ends, the whole body pf
members of the industrial army is divided into four
general classes. First the unclassified grade, of common labourers, assigned to any sort of work, usually
the coarser kinds. To this all recruits during their
first three years belong. Sca:nd, the apprentices, as
the men are called in the first year after passing from
the unclassified grade, while they are mastering the
first elements of their chosen avocations. Third. the
main body of the full workers, being men beween
twenty-five and forty-five. Fourth, the officers, from


(; I




94


LOOKING BACKWARD.


the lowest who have charge of men to the highest.
These four classes are all under a different form of
discipline. The unclassified workers, doing miscellaneous work, cannot of course be so rigidly graded as
later. They are supposed to be in a sort of school,
learning industrial habits. Nevertheless they make
their individual records, and excellence receives distinction and helps in the after career, something as
academic standing added to the prestige of men in
your day. The year of apprenticeship follows. The
apprentice is given the first quarter of it to learn the
rudiments of his avocation, but he is marked on the
last three quarters with a view to determine which
grade among the workers he shall be enrolled in on
becoming a full workman. It may seem strange that
the term of apprenticeship should be the same in all
trades, but this is done for the sake of uniformity in
the system, and practically works precisely as if the
term of apprenticeship varied according to the difficulty of acquiring the trade. For, in the trades in
which one cannot become proficient in a year, the
result is that the apprentice falls into the lower grades
of the full workmen, and works upward as he grows
in skill. This is-indeed what ordinarily happens in
most trades. The full workmen are divided into three
grades, according to efficiency, and each grade into a
first and second class, so that there are in all six
classes, into which the men fall according to their
ability.
To facilitate the testing of efficiency, all industrial
work, whenever by any means, and even at some inconvenience, it is possible, is conducted by piece-work,
and if this is absolutely out of the question, the best
possible substitute for determining ability is adopted:
The men are regraded yearly, so that merit never need
wait long to rise, nor can any rest on past achievements, unless they would drop into a lower rank. The
results of each annual regrading, giving the standing




LOOKING BACKWARD.


95


of every man in the army, are gazetted in the public
prints.
"Apart from the grand incentive to endeavour,
afforded by the fact that the high places in the nation
are open only to the highest class men, various incitements of a minor, but perhaps equally effective, sort
are provided in the form of special privileges and
immunities in the way of discipline, which the superior
class men enjoy. These, while not in the aggregate
important, have the effect of keeping constantly before
every man's mind the desirability of attaining the
grade next above his own.
" It is obviously important that not only the good,
but also the indifferent and poor workmen, should be
able to cherish the ambition of rising. Indeed, the
number of the latter being so much greater, it is even
more essential that the ranking system should not
operate to discourage them than that it should stimulate the others. It is to this end that the grades are
divided into classes. The classes being numerically
equal, there is not at any time, counting out the
officers and the unclassified and apprentice grades,
over one-eighth of the industrial army in the lowest
class, and most of this number are recent apprentices,
all of whom expect to rise. Still further to encourage
those of no great talent to do their best, a man who
after attaining a higher grade, falls back into a lower,
does not loose the fruit of his effort, but retains, as a
sort of brevet, his former rank. The result is that
those under our ranking system
frizeby way of solace-o their pride, remaining
during the entire term of service in the lowest class
are but a trifling fraction of the industrial army, and
deficit in scnsibility to thir pitioun as-in- laityTo
Detterit. --- —------
It is not even necessary that a worker should win
promotion to a higher grade to have at least a taste
of glory. While promotion requires a general excel



o6


LOOKING BACKWARD.


lence of record as a worker, honourable mention and
various sorts of distinction are awarded for excellence
less than sufficient for promotion, and also for special
feats and single performances in the various industries.
It is intended that no form of merit shall_ ahcly fail
of recogn tion.
-   s —f6ir-actual neglect of work, positively bad
work, or other overt remissness on the part of men
incapable of generous motives, the discipline of the
industrial army is far too strict to allow much of that.
A man able to do duty, and persistently refusing, is
cut off from al Tuman society.
" The lowest grade o  the officers of the industrial
army, that of assistant foremen or lieutenants, is
appointed out of men who have held their place for
two years in the first class of the first grade. Where
this leaves too large a range of choice, only the first
group of this class are eligible. No one thus comes
to the point of commanding men until he is about
thirty years old. After a man becomes an officer, his
rating, of course, no longer de-.nds on the efficiency
of his own work, but on that of his men. The foremen are appointed from among the assistant foremen,
by the same exercise of discretion, limited to a small
eligible class. In the appointments to the still higher
grades another principle is introduced, which it would
take too much time to explain now.
"Of course such a system of grading as I have
described would have been impracticable applied to
the small industrial concerns of your day, in some of
which there were hardly enough employees to have
left one apiece for the classes. You must remember
that, under the national organisation of labour, all
industries are carried on by great bodies of men, a
hundred of your farms or shops being combined as
one. The superintendent, with us, is like a colonel,
or even a general, in one of your armies.
" And now, Mr. West, I will leave it to you, on the




LOOKING BACKWARD.


97


bare outline of its features which I have given, if those
who need special incentives to do their best are likely
to lack them under our system."
I replied that it seemed to me the incentives offered
were, if any objections were to be made, too strong;
that the pace set for the young men was too hot, and
such, indeed, I would add with deference, still remains
my opinion, now that by longer residence among
you I have become better acquainted with the whole
subject.
Dr. Leete, however, desired me to reflect, and I am
ready to say that it is perhaps a sufficient reply to my
objection, that the worker's livelihood is in no way
dependent on his ranking, and anxiety for that never
embitters his disappointments; that the working
hours are short, the vacations regular, and that all
emulation ceases at forty-five, with the attainment of
middle life.
"There are two or three other points I ought to
refer to," he added, " to prevent your getting mistaken
impressions. In the first place, you must understand
that this system of preferment given the more efficient
workers over the less so, in no way contravenes the/
fundamental idea of our social system, that all who
do their best are equally deserving, whether that best7
be great or small. I have shown that the system id
arranged to encourage the weaker as well as the'N
stronger with the hope of rising, while the fact that )
the stronger are selected for the leaders is in no way
a reflection upon the weaker, but in the interest of the
common weal.
"Do not imagine, either, because emulation is given
free play as an incentive under our system, that we
deem it a motive likely to appeal to the nobler sort of
men, or worthy of them. Such as these find their
motives within, not without, and measure their duty
by their own endowments, not by those of others. So
long as their achievement v, proportioned to their




LOOKING BACKWARD.


powers, they would consider it preposterous to expect
praise or blame because it chanced to be great or
small. To such natures emulation appears philosophically absurd, and despicable in a moral aspect by
its substitution of envy for admiration, and exultation for regret, in one's attitude towards the successes
and the failures of others."
But all men, even in the last year of the twentief
century, are not of this high order, and the incentives
to endeavour requisite for those who are not, must be
of a sort adapted to their inferior natures. For these,
then, emulation of the keenest edge is provided as a
constant spur. Those who need this motive will feel
it. Those who are above its influence do not need
IL.
"I should not fail to mention," resumed the Doctor,
"that for those too deficient in mental or bodily
strength to be fairly graded with the main body of
workers, we have a separate grade, unconnected with
the others —a sort of invalid corps, the members of
which are provided with a light class of tasks fitted to
their strength. All our sick in mind or body, all our
deaf and dumb, and lame and blind and crippled, and
even our insane, belong to this invalid corps, and bear
its insignia. The strongest often do nearly a man's
work, the feeblest, of course, nothing; but none who
can do anything are willing quite to give up. In
their lucid intervals, even our insane are eager to do
what they can."
" That is a pretty idea of the invalid corps," I said.
"Even a barbarian from the nineteenth century can
appreciate that. It is a very graceful way of disguising charity, and must be very grateful to the feelings of its recipients."
" Charity 1" repeated Dr. Leete. "Did you suppose
that we consider the incapable class we are talking of
objects of charity?"




LOOKING BACKWARD.


"Why, naturally," I said, "inasmuch as they are
incapable of self-support."
But here the doctor took me up quickly.
"Who is capable of self-support?" he demanded.:' There is n llgeht-gin civi    l e0- so e as-lfsupport, In a state of society so barbarous as not even
to k —noiwamily co-operation, each individual may
possibly support himself, though even then for a part
of his life only; but from the moment that men begin
to live together, and constitute even the rudest sort of
society, self-support becomes impossible. As men
grow more civilized, and the subdivision of occupations
and services is carried out, a complex mutual dependence becomes the universal rule. Every man; however
solitary may seem his occupation, is a member of a
vast industrial partnership, as large as the nation, as
large as humanity. The necessity of mutual dependence should imply die duty and guarantee of mutual
support; and that it did not in your day, constituted
the essential cruelty and unreason of your system."
" That may all be so," I replied, " but it does not
touch the case of those who are unable to contribute
anything to the product of industry."
"Surely, I told you this morning, at least I thought
I did," replied Dr. Leete, " that the right of a man to
maintenance at the nation's table depends on the fact
that he is a man, and not on the amount of health and
strength he may have, so long as he does his best."
"You said so," I answered, "but I supposed the
rule applied only to the workers of different ability.
Does it also hold of those who can do nothing at all?"
"Are they not also men?"
" I am to understand, then, that the lame, the blind,
the sick and the impotent, are as well off as the most
efficient, and have the same income?"
" Certainly," was the reply.
" The idea of charity on such a scale," I answered,




IOO


LOOKING BACKWARD.


"would have made our most enthusiastic philanthropists gasp."
"If you had a sick brother at home," replied Dr.
Leete,' unable to work, would you feed him on less
dainty food, and lodge and clothe him more poorly,
than yourself? More likely far, you would give him
the preference; nor would you think of calling it
charity. Would not the word, in that connection, fill
you with indignation?"
"Of course," I replied; "but the cases are not
parallel. There is a sense, no doubt, in which all men
are brothers; but this general sort of brotherhood is
not to be compared, except for rhetorical purposes,
to the brotherhood of blood, either as to its sentiment
or its obligations."
" There speaks the nineteenth century! " exclaimed
Dr. Leete. " Ah, Mr. West, there is no doubt as to
the length of time that you slept. If I were to give
you, in one sentence, a key to what may seem the
mysteries of our civilization as compared with that of
your age, I should say that it is the fact that the solidarity of T' race and the brotherhood of ma-njahich
to you were but fine phrases, are, to our thiaing
and fe     -es.as realan        iLr- al
" But even setting that consideration aside, I do
not see why it so surprises you that those who cannot
work are conceded the full right to live on the produce,.of those who can. Even in your day, the duty of
military service for the protection of the nation, to
which our industrial service corresponds, while obligatory on those able to discharge it, did not operate to
deprive of the privileges of citizenship those who were
unable. They stayed at home, and were protected by
those who fought, and nobody questioned their right
to be, or thought less of them. So, now, the requirement of industrial service from those able to render it
does not operate to deprive of the privileges of itizen<




LOOKING BACKWARD.


I6t


&hlp, which row implies the citizen's maintenance
him who cannot work. The worker is not a citizen
because he works, but works because he is a citizen
As you recognized the duty of the strong to fight for
the weak, we, now that fighting is gone by, recognize
his duty to work for him.
"A solution which leaves an unaccounted for residuum is no solution at all; and our solution of the
problem of human society would have been none at
all had it left the lame, the sick, and the blind outside
with the beasts, to fare as they might. Better far
have left the strong and well unprovided for than
these burdened ones, toward whom every heart must
yearn, and for whom ease of mind and body should
be provided, if for no others. Therefore it is, as I
told you this morning, that the title of every man,
woman, and child to the means of existence rests on
no basis less plain, broad and simple than the fact
that they are fellows of one race-members of one
human family. The only coin current is the image
of God, and that is good for all we have.
" I think there is no feature of the civilization of
your epoch so repugnant to modern ideas as the
neglect with which you treated your dependent
classes. Even if you had no pity, no feeling of
brotherhood, how was it that you did not see that
you were robbing the incapable class of their plain
right in leaving them unprovided for?"
" I dont quite follow you there," I said. "I admit
the claim of this class to our pity, but how could they
who produced nothing claim a share of the product
as a right?"
"How happened it," was Dr. Leete's reply, " that
your workers were able to produce more than so many
savages would have done? Was it not wholly on
account of the heritage of the past knowledge and
achievements of the race, the machinery of society




102


LOOKING BACKWARtD.


thousands of years in contriving, found by you readymade to your hand? How did you come to be possessors of this knowledge and this machinery, which
represent nine parts to one contributed by yourself,
in the value of your product? You inherited it, did
you not? And were not these others, these unfortunate and crippled brothers whom you cast out, joint
Inheritors, co-heirs with you? What did you do with
Iheir share? Did you not rob them, when you put
them off with crusts, who were entitled to sit with
the heirs, and did you not add insult to robbery when
you called the crusts charity?"
" Ah, Mr. West," Dr. Leete continued, as I did not
respond. "what I do not understand is, setting aside
all considerations either of justice or brotherly feeling
toward the crippled and defective, how the workers of
your day could have had any heart for their work,
knowing that their children, or grand-children, if unfortunate, would be deprived of the comforts and even
necessities of life. It is a mystery how men with
* children could favour a system under which they were
rewarded beyond those less endowed with bodily
strength or mental power. For by the same discrimination by which the father profited, the son, for whom
he would give his life, being perchance weaker than
ethers, might be reduced to want and beggary.          How
men dared    leave children behind them, I have never
been able to understand."
NoTE.-Although in his talk on the previous evening Dr. Leete had
emphasized the pains taken to enable every man to ascertain and follow
his natural bent in choosing an occupation, it was not till I learned that
the worker's income is the same in all occupations, that I realized how
absolutely he may be counted on to do so, and thus, by selecting the harness which sets most lightly on himself, find that in which he can pull
best. The failure of my age in any systematic or effective way to develop
and utilize the natural aptitudes of men for the industries and intellectual avocations, was one of the great wastes, as well as one of the most
common causes of unhappiness, in that time. The vast majority of my
contemporaries, though nominally free to do so, never really chose their
occupations at all. but were forced by circumstances into work for w1-:-h
they were relatively inefficient, because not naturally fitted for it. The


I




LOOKING BACKWARD,                       103
rich, in this respect, had little advantage over the poor. The latter,
indeed, being generally deprived of education, had no opportunity even
to ascertain the natural aptitudes they might have, and, on account of
their poverty, were unable to develop them by cultivation, even when
ascertained. The liberal and technical professions, except by favourable
accident, were shut to them, to their own great loss and that of the
nation. On the other hand, the well-to-do, although they could command
education and opportunity, were scarcely less hampered by social prejudice, which forbade them to pursue manual avocations, even when adapted
to them, and destined them, whether fit or unfit, to the professions, thus
wasting many an excellent handicraftsman. Mercenary considerations,
tempting men to pursue money-making occupations for which they were
unfit, instead of less remunerative employments for which they were fit,
were responsible for another vast perversion of talent. All these things
now are changed. Equal education and opportunity must needs bring to
light whatever aptitudes a man has, and neither social prejudices nor
mercenary considerations hamper him in the choice of his life work.




104


LOOKING BACKWARD.


CHAPTER XlII.
S Edith had promised he should do, Dr. Leete
accompanied me to my bed-room when I retired, to instruct me as to the adjustment of the
musical telephone.  He showed how, by turning a
screw, the volume of the music could be made to fill
the room, or die away to an echo so faint and far that
one could scarcely be sure whether he heard or
imagined it. If, of two persons side by side, one desired to listen to music and the other to sleep, it could
be made audible to one and inaudible to another.
"I should strongly advise you to sleep if you can
to-night, Mr. West, in preference to listening to the
finest tunes in the world," the doctor said, after explaining these points. " In the trying experience you
are just now passing through, sleep is a nerve tonic
for which there is no substitute."
Mindful of what had happened to me that very
morning, I promised to heed his counsel.
"Very well," he said; "then I will set the telephone
at eight o'clock."
" What do you mean? " I asked.
He explained that, by a clock-work combination, a
person could arrange to be awakened at any hour by
the music.
It began to appear, as has since fully proved to be
the case, that I had left my tendency to insomnia behind me with the other discomforts of existence in the
nineteenth century; for though I took no sleeping
draught this time, yet, as the night before, I had no
sooner touched the pillow than I was asleep.
I dreamed that I sat on the throne of the Abencerrages in the banqueting hall of the Alhambra, feasting




LOOKING BACKWARD.


105


my lords and generals, who next day were to follow
the crescent against the Christian dogs of Spain. The
air, cooled by the spray of fountains, was heavy with
the scent of flowers. A band of Nautch girls, roundlimbed and luscious-lipped, danced with voluptuous
grace to the music of brazen and stringed instruments.
Looking up to the latticed galleries, one caught a
gleam now and then from the eye of some beauty of
the royal harem, looking down upon the assembled
flower of Moorish chivalry. Louder and louder clashed
the cymbals, wilder and wilder grew the strain, till the
blood of the desert race could no longer resist the
martial delirium, and the swart nobles leaped to their
feet; a thousand scimetars were bared, and the cry
"Allah il Allah!" shook the hall and awoke me, to
find it broad daylight, and the room tingling with the
electric music of the "Turkish Reveille."
At the breakfast-table, when I told my host of my
morning's experience, I learned that it was not a mere
chance that the piece of music which awakened me
was a reveille. The airs played at one of the halls
during the waking hours of the morning were always
of an inspiring type
" By the way," I said, " that reminds me, talking of
Spain, that I have not thought to ask you anything
about the state of Europe. Have the societies of the
Old World also been remodeled?"
"Yes," replied Dr. Leete, "the great nations of
Europe, as well as Australia, Mexico, and parts of
South America, are now industrial republics like the
United States, which was the pioneer of the evolution.
The peaceful relations of these nations are assured by
a loose form of federal union of world-wide extent.
An international council regulates the mutual intercourse and commerce of the members of the union,
and their joint policy toward the more backward races,
which are gradually being educated up to civilized




Io6


LOOKING BACKWARD.


nstitutions. Complete autonomy within its own limits
is enjoyed by every nation."
"How do you carry on commerce without money?"
I said. "In trading with other nations, you must use
some sort of money, although you dispense with it in
the internal affairs of the nation."
"Oh, no; money is as superfluous in our foreign as
in our internal relations. When foreign commerce
was conducted by private enterprise, money was
necessary to adjust it on account of the multifarious
complexity of the transactions; but nowadays it is a
function of the nations as units. There are thus only
a dozen or so merchants in the world, and their
business being supervised by the international council,
a simple system of book accounts serves perfectly to
regulate their dealings. Each nation has a bureau of
foreign exchange, which manages its trading. For
example, the American bureau, estimating such and
such quantities of French goods necessary to America
for a given year, sends the order to the French bureau,
which in turn sends its order to our bureau. The same
is done mutually by all the nations."
"But how are the prices of foreign goods settled,
since there is no competition?"
"The price at which one nation supplies another
with goods," replied Dr. Leete, " must be that at which
it supplies its own citizens. So you see there is no
danger of misunderstanding  Of course no nation is
theoretically bound to supply another with the product of its own labour, but it is for the interest of all
to exchange commodities. If a nation, is regularly
supplying another with certain goods, notice is required
from either side of any important change in tho
relation."
" But what if a nation, having a monopoly ot some
natural product, should refuse to supply it to the
others, or to one of them?"
"Such a case has never occurred, and could not




LOOKING BACKWARD.


o107


without doing the refusing party vastly more harm
than the others," replied Dr. Leete. " In the first place,
no favouritism could be shown. The law requires that
each nation shall deal with the others, in all respects,
on exactly the same footing. Such a course as you
suggest would cut off the nation adopting it from the
remainder of the earth for all purposes whatever.
The contingency is one that need not give us much
anxiety."
" But," said I, " supposing a nation, having a natural
monoply in some product of which it exports more
than it consumes, should put the price away up, and
thus, without cutting off the supply, make a profit out
of its' neighbours' necessities? Its own citizens would,
of course, have to pay the higher price on that commodity, but as a body would make more out o
foreigners than they would be out of pocket themselves."
" When you come to know how prices of all commodities are determined nowadays, you will perceive
how impossible it is that they could be altered, except
with reference to the amount or arduousness of the
work required respectivoly to produce them," was Dr.
Leete's reply. " This principle is an international as
well as a national guarantee; but even without it the
sense of community of interest, international as well
as national, and the conviction of the folly of selfishness, are too deep nowadays to render possible such a
piece of sharp practice as you apprehend. You must
understand that we all look forward to an eventnal
unification oftHeworld as one nation. That, no doubt,
w-ill be the ultimate form of society, and will realize
certain economic advantages over the present federal
system of autonomous nations. Meanwhile, however,
the present system works so nearly perfectly that we
are quite content to leave to posterity the completion
of the scheme. There are, indeed, some who hold that
it never will le completed, on the ground that the




io8


LOOKING BACKWARD.


federal plan is not merely a provisional solution of the
problem of human society, but the best ultimate
solution."
" How do you manage," I asked,," when the books
of any two nations do not balance? Supposing we
import more from France than we export to her."
"At the end of each year," replied the doctor, " the
books of every nation are examined. If France is
found in our debt, probably we are in the debt of some
nation which owes France, and so on with all the
nations. The balances that remain after the accounts
have been cleared by the international council, should
not be large under our system. Whatever they may
be, the council requires them to be settled every few
years, and may require their settlement at any time if
they are getting too large; for it is not intended that
any nation shall run largely in debt to another, lest
feelings unfavourable to amity should be engendered.
To guard further against this, the international council
inspects the commodities interchanged by the nations,
to see that they are of perfect quality."
" But what are the balances finally settled with, seeing that you have no money?"
" In national staples; a basis of agreement as to
what staples shall be accepted, and in what proportions, lfor settlement of accounts, being a preliminary
to trade relations."
"Emigration is another point I want to ask you
about," said I. "With every nation organized as a
close industrial partnership, monopolizing all means
of production in the country, the emigrant, even if
he were permitted to land, would starve. I suppose
there is no emigration nowadays."
" On the contrary, there is constant emigration, by
which I suppose you mean removal to foreign
countries for permanent residence," replied Dr. Leete.
" It is arranged on a simple international arrangement
of indemnities. For example, if a man at twenty



LOOKING BACKWARD.


IO9


one emigrates from England to America, England
loses all the expense of his maintenance and education, and America gets a workman for nothing.
America accordingly makes England an allowance.
The same principle varied to suit the case, applies
generally. If the man is near the term of his labour(
when he emigrates, the country receiving him has
the allowance. As to imbecile persons it is deemed
best that each nation should be responsible for its
own, and the emigration of such must be under full
guarantees of support by his own nation. Subject to
these regulations, the right of any man to emigrate at
any time is unrestricted.
"iut-iow  abu —iitimere p l-easure trips; tours of observation? How can a stranger travel in a country
whose people do not receive money, and are themselves supplied with the means of life on a basis not
extended to him? His own credit card cannot, of
course, be good in other lands. How does he pay his
way?"
"An American credit card," replied Dr. Leete, "is
just as good in Europe as American gold used to be,
and on precisely the same condition, namely, that it
be exchanged into the currency of the country you
are travelling in. An American in Berlin takes his
credit card to the local office of the international
council, and receives in exchange for the whole or
part of it a German credit card, the amount being
charged against the United States in favour of Germany on the international account."
"Perhaps Mr. West would like to dine at the
Elephant to-day," said Edith, as we left the table.
"That is the name we give to the general dininghouse of our ward," explained her father. " Not only
is our cooking done at the public kitchens, as I told
you last night, but the service and quality of the
meals are much more satisfactory if taken at the




IIO


LOOKING BACKWARD.


dining-house. The two minor meals of the day are
usually taken at home, as not worth the trouble of
going out; but it is general to go out to dine. We
have not done so since you have been with us, from a
notion that it would be better to wait till you had
become a little more familiar with our ways. What
do you think? Shall we take dinner at the dininghouse to-day?"
I said that I should be very much pleased to do so.
Not long after, Edith came to me, smiling, and
said:
"Last night as I was thinking what I could do to
make you feel at home until you came to be a little
more used to us and our ways, an idea occured to
me. What would you say if I were to introduce you
to some very nice people of your own times, whom I
am sure you used to be well acquainted with?"
I replied rather vaguely that it would certainly be
very agreeable, but I did not see how she was going
to manage it.
"Come with me," was her smiling reply, "and see
if I am not as good as my word."
My susceptibility to surprise had been pretty well
exhausted by the numerous shocks it had received,
but it was with some wonderment that I followed her
into a room which I had not before entered. It was
a small, cosy apartment, walled with cases filled with
books.
"Here are your friends," said Edith, indicating one
of the cases, and as my eye glanced over the names
on the backs of the volumes. Shakespeare, Milton,
Wordsworth, Shelley, Tennyson, Defoe, Dickens,
Thackeray, Hugo, Hawthorne, Irving, and a score of
other great writers of my time and all time. I understood her meaning. She had indeed made good her
promise in a sense compared with which its literal
fulfilment would have been a disappointment. She
liad introduced me to a circle of friends whom the




LOOKING BACKWARD.


III


century that had elapsed since last I communed with
them had aced as little as it had myself. Their
spirit was as high, their wit as keen, their laughter
and their tears as contagious as when their speech had
whilcd away the hours of a former century. Lonely
I was not and could not be more, with this goodly
companionship, howevever wide the gulf of years that
gaped between me and my old life.
"You are glad I brought you here," exclaimed
Edith, radiant, as she read in my face the success of
her experiment. "It was a good idea, was it not,
Mr. West? How stupid in me not to think of it
before! I will leave you now with your old friends,
for I know there will be no company for you like
them just now; but remember you must not let old
friends make you quite forget new ones;" and with
that smiling caution she left me.
Attracted by the most familiar of the names
before me, I laid my hand on a volume of Dickens,
and sat down to read. He had always been my
prime favourite among the book-writers of the
century,-I mean the nineteenth century,-and a
week had rarely passed in my old life during which I
had not taken up some volume of his works to while
away an idle hour. Any volume with which I had
been familiar would have produced an extraordinary
impression, read under my present circumstances; but
my exceptional familiarity with Dickens, and his consequent power to call up the associations of my
former life, gave to his writings an effect no others
could have had, to intensify, by force of contrast, my
appreciation of the strangeness of my present environnent. However new and astonishing one's surroundings, the tendency is to become a part of them so
soon that almost from the first the power to see them
objectively, and fully measure their strangeness, is lost.
That power, already dulled in my case, the pages
of Dickens restored by carrying me back through theit




fI2


LOOKING BACKWARD.


associations to the standpoint of my former life.
With a clearness which I had not been able before to
attain, I saw now the past and present, like contrasting pictures, side by side.
The genius of the great novelist of the nineteenth
century, like that of Homer, might indeed defy time;
but the setting of his pathetic tales, the misery of the
poor, the wrongs of power, the pitiless cruelty of the
system of society, had passed away as utterly as
Circe and the sirens, Charybdis and Cyclops.
During the hour or two that I sat there with
Dickens open before me, I did not actually read more
than a couple of pages.  Every paragraph, every
phrase, brought up some new aspect of the worldtransformation which had taken place, and led my
thoughts on long and widely ramifying excursions.
As meditating thus in Dr. Leete's library, I gradually
attained a more clear and coherent idea of the prodigious spectacle which I had been so strangely
enabled to view, I was filled with a deepening wonder
at the seeming capriciousness of the fate that had
given to one who so little deserved it, or seemed in
any way set apart for it, the power alone among his
contemporaries to stand upon the earth in this latter
day. I had neither foreseen the new world nor toiled
for it, as many about me had done, regardless of the
scorn of fools or the misconstruction of the good.
Surely it would have been more in accordance with
the fitness of things, had one of those prophetic and
strenuous souls been enabled to see the travail -'f his
soul and be satisfied, he, for example, a thousand
times rather than I, who, having beheld in a vision
the world I looked on, sang of it in words that again
and again, during these last wondrous days, had rung
in my mind:
For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see,
Saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be;




LOOKING BACKWARD.


I13


Till the war-drum throbbed no longer, and the battle-flags were
furled
In the Parliament of man, the federation of the world.
Then the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe,
And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law.
For I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs,
And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the
suns.
What though, in his old age, he momentarily lost
faith in his own prediction, as prophets in their hours
of depression and doubt generally do, the words had
remained eternal testimony to the seership of a poet's
heart, the insight that is given to faith.
I was still in the library when some hours later Dr.
Leete sought me there. " Edith told me of her idea,"
he said, "and I thought it an excellent one. I had a
little curiosity what writer you would first turn to.
Ah, Dickens! You admired him, then! Thatis where
we moderns agree with you. Judged by our standards
he overtops all the writers of his age, not because his
literary genius was highest, but because his great
heart beat for the poor, because he made the cause of
the victims of society his own and devoted his pen to
exposing its cruelties and shams.    No man of his
time did so much as he to turn men's minds to the
wrong and wretchedness of the old order of things,
and open their eyes to the necessity of the great
change that was coming, although he himself did not
clearly foresee it."




Ik:


LOOKING BACKWARD,


CHAPTER XIV.
HEAVY rainstorm came up during the day, and
A    I had concluded that the condition of the
streets would be such that my hosts would have t(give up the idea of going out to dinner, although the
dining-hall I had understood to be quite near. I
was much surprised when at the dinner hour the
ladies appeared prepared to go out, but without either
rubbers or umbrellas.
The mystery was explained when we found ourselves on the street, for a continuous water-proof
covering had been let down so as to enclose the sidewalk and turn it into a well lighted and perfectly dry
corridor, which was filled with a stream of ladies and
gentlemen dressed for dinner. At the corners light
bridges, similarly covered in, led over the streets.
Edith Leete, with whom I walked, seemed much
interested in learning, what appeared to be entirely
new to her, that in the stormy weather the streets of
the Boston of my day had been impassable, except to
persons protected by umbrellas, boots, and heavy
clothing. "Were side-walk coverings not used at
all? " she asked. They were used, I explained, but
in a scattered and utterly unsystematic way, being
private enterprises. She said to me that at the
present time all the streets were provided against inclement weather in the manner I saw, the apparatus
being rolled out of the way when it was unnecessary.
She intimated that it would be considered an extraordinary imbecility to permit the weather to have
any effect on the social movements of the people.
Dr. Leete, who was walking ahead, overhearing
s Dmething of our talk, turned to say that the dif



LOOKING BACKWARD.


it5


ference between the age of individualism and that of
concert, was well characterized by the fact that, in the
nineteenth century, when it rained, the people of
Boston put up three hundred thousand umbrellas over
as many heads, and in the twentieth century they put
up one umbrella over all the heads.
As we walked on Edith said, "The private
umlfrella is father's favourite figure to illustrate the
old way when everybody lived for himself and his
family. There is a nineteenth century painting at
the art gallery representing a crowd of people in the
rain, each one holding his umbrella over himself and
his wife, and giving his neighbours the drippings,
which he claims must have been meant by the artist
as a satire on his times."
We now entered a large building into which a
stream of people was pouring. I could not see the
front, owing to the awning, but, if in correspondence
with the interior, which was even finer than the store
I visited the day before, it would have been magnificent. My companion said that the sculptured group
over the entrance was especially admired. Going up
a grand staircase we walked some distance along a
broad corridor with many doors opening upon it. At
one of these, which bore my host's name, we turned
in, and I found myself in an elegant dining-room containing a table for four. Windows opened on a
courtyard where a fountain played to a great height,
and music made the air electric.
"You seem at home here," I said, as we seated ourselves atthetable,and Dr. Leete touched an annunciator.
" This is, in fact, a part of our house, slightly detached from the rest," he replied. " Every family in
the ward has a room set apart in this great building
for its permanent and exclusive use for a small annual
rental. For transient guests and individuals there is
accommodation on another floor. If we expect to
dine here, we put in our orders the night before,




116


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selecting anything in market, according to the daily
reports in the papers. The meal is as expensive or as
simple as we please, though of course everything is
vastly cheaper as well as better than it would be if
prepared at rome. There is actually nothing which
our people take more interest in than the perfection of the catering and cooking done for them, and
I admit that we are a little vain of the success that
has been attained by this branch of the service. Ah,
my dear Mr. West, though other aspects of your
civilization were more tragical, I can imagine that
none could have been more dzpiessing than the poor
dinners you had to eat, that is, all of you who had
not great wealth."
"You would have found none of us disposed to
disagree with you on that point," I said.
The waiter, a fine looking young fellow, wearing a
slightly distinctive uniform, now made his appearance.
I observed him closely, as it was the first time I had
been able to study particularly the bearing of one of
the enlisted members of the industrial army. This
young man, I knew from what I had been told, must
be highly educated, and the equal socially and in all
respects, of those he served. But it was perfectly
evident that to neither side was the situation in the
slightest degree embarrassing. Dr. Leete addressed
the young man in a tone devoid, of course, as any
gentleman's would be, of superciliousness, but at the
same time not any way deprecatory, while the manner
of the young man was simply that of a person intent
on discharging correctly the task he was engaged in,
equally without familiarity or obsequiousness. It was,
in fact, the manner of a soldier on duty, but without
the military stiffness. As the youth left the room, I
said, " I cannot get over my wonder at seeing a young
man like that serving so contentedly in a menial
position."
" What is that word ' menial'? I never heard it,"
said Edith.


I




LOOKING BACKWARD.


" It is obsolete now," remarked her father. "'If I
understand it rightly, it applied to persons who performed particularly disagreeable and unpleasant tasks
for others, and carried with it an implication of contempt. Was it not so, Mr. West?"
"That is about it," I said. "Personal service, such
as waiting on tables, was considered menial, and held
in such contempt, in my day, that persons of culture
and refinement would suffer hardship before condescending to it."
"What a strangely artificial idea," exclaimed Mrs.
Leete, wonderingly.
"And yet these services had to be rendered," said
Edith.
"Of course,' I replied. "But we imposed them on
the poor, and those who had no alternative but
starvation."
"And increased the burden you imposed on them
by adding your contempt," remarked Dr. Leete.
"I don't think I clearly understand," said Edith.
"Do you mean that you permitted people to do things
for you which you despised thenr for doing, or that
you accepted services from them which you would
have been unwilling to render them? You can't
surely mean that, Mr. West?"
I was obliged to tell her that the fact was just as
she had stated. Dr. Leete, however, came to my
relief.
"To understand why Edith is surprised," he said,
" you must know that nowadays it is an axiom of ethics
that to accept a service from another which we would
be unwilling to return in kind, If need were, is like
borrowing with the intention of not repaying, while
to enforce such a service by taking advantage of the
poverty or necessity of a person would be an outrage
like forcible robbery. It is the worst thing about any
system which Aivides men, or allows them to be
divided, into classes and castes, that it weakens the
9




II8


LOOKING BACKWARD.


sense of a common humanity. Unequal distribution
of wealth, and, still more effectually, unequal opportunities of education and culture, divided society in
your day into classes which, in many respects, regarded each other as distant races. There is not,
after all, such a difference as might appear between
our ways of looking at this queston of service. Ladies
and gentlemen of the cultured class in your day would
no more have permitted persons of their own class to
render them services they would scorn to return than
we would permit anybody to do so. The poor and
the uncultured, however, they looked upon as of
another kind from themselves. The equal wealth and
equa o    rtnii     culture whichi a  s   now
enjoy have sml made us                   class,
whic corresponds to the mot fortunatelagss with
_-yotre-   q-TiTithh equality of condition had come to
pass, the idea of the solidarity of humanity, the
brotherhood of all men, could never have become the
real conviction and practical principle of action it is
nowadays. In your day the same phrases were indeed
used, but they phrases merely."
"Do the waiters, also, volunteer?"
"No," replied Dr. Leete.  " The waiters are young
men in the unclassified grade of the industrial army
who are assignable to all sorts of miscellaneous occupations not requiring special skill.  Waiting on table
is one of these, and every young recruit is given a
taste of it. I myself served as a waiter for several
months in this very dining-house some forty years ago.
Once more you must remember that there is recognized no sort of difference between the dignity of the
different sorts of work required by the nation.  The
individual is never regarded, nor regards himself, as
the servant of those he serves, nor is he in any way
dependent upon them  It is always the nationhich
e is serving  No di'fference is recognized between a
waiter's functions and those of any other worker. The




LOOKING BACKWARD.


II9


fact that his is a personal service is indifferent from
our point of view. So is a doctor's. I should as soon
expect our waiter to-day to look down on me because
I served him as a doctor, as think of looking down on
him because he serves me as a waiter."
After dinner my entertainers conducted me about
the building, of which the extent, the magnificent
architecture and richness of embellishment astonished
me. It seemed it was not merely a dining-hall, but
likewise a great pleasure-house and social rendezvous
of the quarter, and no appliance of entertainment or
recreation was lacking.
"You    find illustrated   here,"  said Dr. Leete, when
I had expressed my admiration, " what I said to you
in our first conversation, when you were looking out
over the city, as to the splendour of our public and
common life as compared with the simplicity of our
private and home life, and the contast which, in this
respect, the twentieth bears to the nineteeth century,
To save ourselves useless burdens, we have as little
gear about us at home as is consistent with comfort,
but the social side of our life is ornate and luxurious
beyond anything the world ever knew before. All
the industrial and professional guilds have club-houses
as extensive as this, ea "l!' as country, mountain, and
seaside houses for sport and rest in vacations."
During the latter part of the nineteenth century it became a practice of
needy young men at some of the colleges of the country, to earn a little
money for their term bills by serving as waiters on tables at hotels during
the long summer vacation. It was claimed, in reply to critics who expressed the prejudices of the time in asserting that persons voluntarily
following such an occupation could not be gentlemen, that they were
entitled to praise for vindicating, by their example, the dignity of all
honest and necessary labour.  The use of this argument illustrates a
common confusion in thought on the part of my former contemporaries.
The business of waiting on tables was in no more need of defence than
most of the other ways of getting a living in that day, but to talk of
dignity attaching to labour of any sort under the system then prevailing
was absurd. There is no way in which selling labour for the highest price
it will fetch is more dignified than selling goods for what can be got.
Both were commercial transactions to be judged by the commercial
standard. By setting a price in money on his service, the worker accepted




t20                LOOKING BACKWARD.
the money measure for it, and renounced all clear claim to be judged by
any other. The sordid taint which this necessity imported to the noblest
and the highest sorts of service was bitterly resented by generous souls,
but there was no evading it. There was no exemption, however transcendent the quality of one's service, from the necessity of haggling for its
price in the market-place. The physician must sell his healing and the
apostle his preaching like the rest. The prophet, who had guessed the
meaning of God, must dicker for the price of the revelation, and the
poet hawk his visions in printer's row. If I were asked to name the most
distinguished felicity of this age, as compared to that in which I first saw
the light, I should say that to me it seems to consist in the dignity you
have given to labour by refusing to set a price upon it and abolishing the
market-place for ever. By requiring of every man his best you have made
God his task-master, and by making honour the sole reward of achieve.
ment you have imparted to all service the distinction peculiar in my daE
to the soldier's.




LOOKING BACKWARD.


121


CHAPTER XV.
W    HEN, in the course of our tour of inspection, we
came to the library, we succumbed to the
temptation of the luxurious leather chairs with which
it wa; furnished, and sat down in one of the book-lined
alcoves to rest and chat awhile.*
"Edith tells me that you have been in the library
all the. norning," said Mrs. Leete.   "Do you know it
seems;o me, Mr. West, that you are the most enviable
of mwrals."
" I liould like to know just why," I replied.
" Because the books of the last hundred years will
be new to you," she answered.       "You will have so
much of the most absorbing literature to read as to
leave you scarcely time for meals these five years to
come. Ah, what would I give if I had not already
read Berrian's novels."
"Or Nesmyth's, mamma," added Edith.
" Yes, or 'Oates' poems,' or ' Past and Present,' or
'In the Beginning,' or,-oh, I could name a dozen
books, each worth a year of one's life," declared Mrs.
Leete enthusiastically.
"I judge, then, that there has been some noble
literature produced in this century."
" Yes," said Dr. Leete.   " It has been an era of unexampled intellectual splendour. Probably humanity
never before passed through a moral and material
evolution, so vast in its scope and brief in its time of
* T cannot sufficiently celebra.t the glorious liberty that reigns in the
public libraries of the twentieth century as compared with the intolerable
management of those of the nineteenth century, in which the books were
jealously railed away from the people, and obtainable only at an expenditure of time and red tape calculated to discourage any ordinary
a+tA for literature.




122


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accomplishment, as that from the old order to the new
in the early part of this century. When men came to
realize the greatness of the felicity which had befallen
them, and the change through which they had passed
was not merely an improvement in details of their condition, but the rise of the race to a new plane of
existence with an illimitable vista of progress, their
minds were affected in all their faculties with a
stimulus, of which the outburst of the mediaeval
renaissance offers a suggestion but faint indeed.
There ensued ap era of mechanical invention, scientific discovery, art, musical and literary productiveness
to which no previous age of the world offers anything
comparable."
"By the way," said I, "talking of literature, how
are books published now? Is that also done by the
nation? "
"Certainly."
"But how do you manage it? Does the government publish everything that is brought it as a matter
of course, at the public expense, or does it exercise a
censorship and print only what it approves?"
' "Neither way. The printing department has no
censorial powers. It is bound to print all that is
offered it, but prints it only on condition that the! author defray the first cost out of his credit. HeJ.fsAt pay for the privilege of the public ear, and i he
has any message worth hearing we consider that he
will be glad to do it. Of course, if incomes were
unequal, as in the old times, this rule would enable
Dnly the rich to be authors, but the resources of
citizens being equal, it merely measures the strength
ofthe author's motive. The cost of an edition of an
average book can be saved out of a year's credit by
the practice of economy and some sacrifices. The
book, on being published, is placed on sale by the
nation."
" The author receiving a royalty on the sales as with
us, J suppose?" I suggested.




LOOKING BACKWARD.


I23


"Not as with you, certainly," replied Dr. Leete;
"but nevertheleless in one way. The price of every
book is made up of the cost of its publication with a
royalty for the author. The amount of this royalty
is set to his credit, and he is discharged from other
service to the nation for so long a period as this credit
at the rate of allowance for the support of citizens
shall suffice to support him. If his book be moderately
successful, he has thus a furlough for several months,
a year, two or three years, and if he in the meantime
produces other successful work, the remission of service
is extended so far as the sale of that may justify. An
author of much acceptance succeeds in supporting
himself by his pen during the entire period of service,
and the degree of any writer's literary ability, as determined by the popular voice, is thus the measure of
the opportunity given him to devote his time to literature. In this respect the outcome of our system is
not very dissimilar to that of yours, but there are two
notable differences. In the first place, the universally
high level of educaticn nowadays gives the popular
verdict a conclusiveness on the real merit of literary
work which in your day it was as far as possible from
having. In the second place, there is no such thing
now as favouritism of any sort to interfere with the
recognition of true merit. Every author has precisely
the same facilities for bringing his work before the
popular tribunal. To judge from the complaints of
the writers of your day, this absolute equality of
opportunity would have been greatly prized."
"In the recognition of merit in other fields of
original genius, such as music, art, invention, design,"
I said, " I suppose you follow a similar principle."
" Yes," he replied, " although the details differ. In
art, for example, as in literature, the people are the
sole judges. They vote upon the acceptance of statues
and paintings for the public buildings, and their
favourable verdict carries with it the artist's remission




124


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from other tasks to devote himself to his vocation.
In all these lines of original genius the plan pursued
is the same,-to offer a free field to aspirants, and as
soon as exceptional talent is recognized to release it
from all trammels and let it have free course. The
remission of other service in these cases is not intended
as a gift or reward, but as a means of obtaining more
and higher service.  Of course there are various
literary, art, and scientific institutes to which membership comes to the famous and is greatly prized.
The highest of all honours in the nation, higher than
the presidency, which calls merely for good sense and
devotion to duty, is the red ribbon awarded by the vote
of the people to the great authors, artists, engineers,
physicians, and inventors of the generation. Not over
one hundred wear it at any one time, though every
bright young fellow in the country loses innumerable
nights' sleep dreaming of it. I even did myself."
"Just as if mamma and I would have thought any
more of you with it," exclaimed Edith; "not that it
isn't, of course, a very fine thing to have."
"You had no choice, my dear, but to take your
father as you found him and make the best of him,"
Dr. Leete replied; " but as for your mother, there, she
would never have had me if I had not assured her that
I was bound to get the ribbon."
On this extravagance Mrs. Leete's only comment
was a smile.
"How about periodicals and newspapers," I said.
"I won't deny that your book publishing system is a
considerable improvement on ours, both as to its
tendency to encourage a real literary vocation, and,
quite as important, to discourage mere scribblers;
but I don't see how it can be made to apply to magazines and newspapers. It is very well to make a man
pay for publishing a book, because the expense will
be only occasional; but no man could afford the
expense of publishing a newspaper every day in the




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125


year. It took the deep pockets of our private capitalists to do that, and often exhausted even them before
the returns came in. If you have newspapers at all,
they must, I fancy, be published by the government
at the public expense, with government editors, reflecting government opinions. Now, if your system
is so perfect that there is never anything to criticize
in the conduct of affairs, this arrangement may answer.
Otherwise I should think the lack of an independent
unofficial medium for the expression of public opinion
would have most unfortunate results. Confess, Dr.
Leete, that a free newspaper press, with all that it
implies, was a redeeming incident of the old system
when capital was in private hands, and that you have
to set off the loss of that against your gains in other
respects."
" I am afraid I can't give you even that consolation,"
replied Dr. Leete, laughing. " In the first place, Mr.
West, the newspaper press is by no means the only or,
as we look at it, the best vehicle for serious criticism
of public affairs. To us, the judgments of your newspapers on such themes seem generally to have been
crude and flippant, as well as deeply tinctured with
prejudice and bitterness. In so far as they may be
taken as expressing public opinion, they give an unfavourable impression of the popular intelligence,
while so far as they may have formed public opinion,
the nation was not to be felicitated. Nowadays, when
a citizen desires to make a serious impression upon
the public mind as to any aspect of public affairs, he
comes out with a book or pamphlet, published as
other books are. But this is not because we lack
newspapers or magazines, or that they lack the most
absolute freedom. The newspaper press i norgaised
so as to be a more perfect ex  p         p
i possibly coulde in your day, when private
- catal Ltrolled and managed -it primarily as a
money-making business, and secondarily only as a
mouthpiece for the people."




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" But," said I, " If the government prints the papers
at the public expense, how can it fail to control their
policy? Who appoints the editors if not the government?"
'The government does not pay the expense of the
papers, nor appoint their editors, nor in any way
exert the slightest influence on their policy," replied
Dr. Leete.
"The people who take the paper pay the expense
of its publication, choose its editor, and remove him
when unsatisfactory.  You will scarcely say, I think,
that such a newspaper press is not a free organ of
popular opinion."
"Decidedly, I shall not,' I replied, "but how is it
practicable?"
"Nothing could be simpler.  Supposing some of
my neighbours or myself think we ought to have a
newspaper reflecting our opinions, and devoted especially to our locality, trade, or profession, wego abut
among the people till we  et t         -ch-a
num    a ratheir annual subscri     ill ee'the
'biost of the.caoilTlgttle. big accor-ing to
-the largeness of its conitituency. The amount of the
-subpscriptions e lofLthei credits of the citizens
guarantees the nation against loss in publishing the
paper, its business, you understand, being that of a
publisher purely, with no option to refuse the duty
required.  The subscribers to the paper now elect
somebody as editor, who, if he accepts the office, is
discharged from other service during his incumbency.
Instead of paying a salary to him, as in your day, the
subscribers pay the nation an indemnity equal to the
cost of his support for taking him away from the
general service.  He manages the paper just as one
of your editors did, except that he has no countingroom to obey, or interests of private capital as against
the public good to defend. At the end of the first
year; the subscribers for the next either re-elect the




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127


former editor or choose any one else to his place. An
able editor, of course, keeps his place indefinitely. As
the subscription list enlarges, the funds of the paper
increase, and it is improved by the securing of better
contributors, just as your paper were."
"How is the staff of contributors recompensed,
since they cannot be paid in money?"
"The editor settles with them the price of their
wares.  The amount is transferred to their individual
credit from the guarantee credit of the paper, and a
remission of service is granted the contributor for a
length of time corresponding to the amount credited
him, just as to othei authors.  As to magazines, the
system is the same.  Those interested in the prospectus of a new periodical pledge enough subscriptions to run it for a year; select their editor, who
recompenses his contributors just as in the other
case, the printing bureau furnishing the necessary
force and material for publication, as a matter of
course.  When an editor's services are no longer
desired, if he cannot earn the right to his time by
other literary work, he simply resumes his place in
the industrial army.  I should add that, though ordinarily the editor is elected only at the end of the
year, and as a rule is continued in office for a term of
years, in case of any sudden change he should give to
the tone of the paper, provision is made for taking
the sense of the subscribers as to his removal at any
time."
When the ladies retired that evening, Edith brought
me a book and said:
"If you should be wakeful to-night Mr. West, you
might be interested in looking over this story by
Berrian. It is considered his masterpiece, and will at
least give you an idea what the stories nowadays are
like."
I sat up in my room that night reading "Penthesilia" till it grew gray in the east, and did not lay it




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down till I had finished it. And yet let no admirer
of the great romancer of the twentieth century resent
my saying that at the first reading what most impressed me was not so much what was in the book
as what was left out of it.  The story-writers of my
day would have deemed the making of bricks without
straw a light task compared with the construction of
a romance from which should be excluded all effects
drawn from the contrasts of wealth and poverty,
education and ignorance, coarseness and refinement,
high and low, all motives drawn from social pride and
ambition, the desire of being richer or the fear of
being poorer, together with sordid anxieties of any
sort for one's self or others; a romance in which there
should, indeed, be love galore, but love unfettered by
artificial barriers created by differences of station or
possessions, owning no other law but that of the
heart. The reading of "Penthesilia" was of more
value than almost any amount of explanation would
have been in giving me something like a general impression of the social aspect of the twentieth century.
The information Dr. Leete had imparted was indeed
extensive as to facts, but they had affected by mind
as so many separate impressions, which I had as yet
succeeded but imperfectly in making cohere. Berrian
put them together for me in a picture.




LOOKING BACKWARD.


129


CHAPTER XVI.
EXT     morning I rose somewhat before che
breakfast hour.  As I descended the stairs,
Edith stepped into the hall from the room which had
been the scene of the morning interview between us
described some chapters back.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, with a charmingly arch
expression, " you thought to slip out unbeknown for
another of those solitary morning rambles which have
such nice effects on you. But you see I am up too
early for you this time. You are fairly caught."
"You discredit the efficacy of your own cure," I
said, " by supposing that such a ramble would now be
attended with bad consequences."
" I am very glad to hear that," she said. "I was in
here arranging some flowers for the breakfast table
when I heard you come down, and fancied I detected
something surreptitious in your step on the stairs."
"You did me injustice," I replied.  "I had no idea
of going out at all."
Despite her effort to convey an impression that my
interception was purely accidental, I had at the time
a dim suspicion of what I afterwards learned to be
the fact, namely, that this sweet creature, in pursuance
of her self-assumed guardianship over me, had risen
for the last two or three mornings, at an unheard of
hour, to insure against the possibility of my wandering
off alone in case I should be affected as on the former
occasion.  Receiving permission to assist her in
making up the breakfast bouquet, I followed her
into the room from which she had -merged.
"Are you sure," she asked, "that you are quite




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LOOKING BACKWARD.


done with those terrible sensations you had that
morning? "
" I can't say that I do not have times of feeling
decidedly queer," I replied; "moments when my
personal indentity seems an open question. It would
be too much to expect after my experience that I
should not have such sensations occasionally, but as
for being carried entirely off my feet, as I was on the
point of being that morning, I think the danger is
past."
"I shall never forget how you looked that morning,'
she said.
" If you had merely saved my life," I continued,
" I might, perhaps, find words to express my gratitude,
but it was my reason you saved, and there are no
words that would not belittle my debt to you. n I
spoke with emotion, and her eyes grew suddenly
moist?.
"It is too much to believe all this," she said, "but
it is very delightful to hear you say it.  What I did
was very little. I was very much distressed for you,
I know.  Father never thinks anything ought to
astonish us when it can be explained scientifically, as
I suppose this long sleep of yours can be, but even
tc fancy myself in your place makes my head swim.
I know that I could not have borne it at all."
" That would depend," I replied, "on whether an
angel came to support you with her sympathy in the
crisis of your condition, as one came to me."  If my
face at all expressed the feelings I had a right to have
towards this sweet and lovely young girl, who had
played so angelic a role towards me, its expression
must have been very worshipful just then.  The
expression or the words, or both together, caused her
now to drop her eyes with a charming blush.
" For the matter of that," I said, " if your experience
has not been as startling as mine, it must have been
rather overwhelming to see a man belonging to a




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131


strange century, and apparently a hundred years dead,
raised to life."
"It seemed indeed strange beyond any describing
at first," she said, " but when we began to put ourselves in your place, and realize how much stranger it
must seem to you, I fancy we forgot our own feelings
a good deal, at least I know I did. It seemed then
not so much astounding as interesting and touching
beyond anything ever heard of before."
" But does it not come over you as astouinding to
sit at table with me, seeing who I am? "
"You must remember that you do not seem so
strange to us as we must to you," she answered.
"We belong to a future of which you could not form
an idea, a generation of which you knew nothing
until you saw us. But you belong to a generation of
which our forefathers were a part. WVe know all about
it; the names of many of its members are household
words with us. We have made a study of your ways
of living and thinking; nothing you say or do surprises us, while we say and do nothing which does not
seem strange to you. So you see, Mr. West, that if
you feel that you can, in time, get accustomed to us,
you must not be surprised that from the first we have
scarcely found you strange at all."
"I had not thought of it in that way," I replied,
"There is indeed much in what you say. 92.scan-.
look back a thousand years asier th fo
A      r is not so very long- a rest.  I might
have known your great grand-parents. Possibly I did
Did they live in Boston?"
" I believe so."
" You are not sure, then?
" Yes," she replied.  Now I think, they did."
" I had a very large circle of acquaintances in the
city," I said. " It is not unlikely that I knew or knew
of some of them. Perhaps I may have known them
well. Wouldn't it be interesting if I should chance to




132


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be able to tell you all about your great grandfather,
for instance? "
" Very interesting."
" Do you know your genealogy well enough to tell
me who your forbears were in the Boston of my day."
" Oh yes."
" Perhaps, then you will sometime tell me what
some of their names were."
She was engrossed in arranging a troublesome spray
of green and did not reply at once. Steps upon the
stairway indicated that the other members of the
family were descending.
" Perhaps, sometime," she said.
After breakfast, Dr. Leete suggested taking me to
inspect the central warehouse and observe actually in
operation the machinery of distribution, which Edith
had described to me. As we walked away from the
house I said, " It is now several days that I have been
living in your household on a most extraordinary
footing, or rather on none at all. I have not spoken
of this aspect of my position before because there
were so many other aspects yet more extraordinary.
But now that I am beginning a little to feel my feet
under me, and to realize that, however I came here, I
am here, and must make the best of it, I must speak
to you on this point./'
"As for your being a guest in my house," replied
Dr. Leete, " I pray you not to begin to be uneasy on
that point, for I mean to keep you a long time yet.
With all your modesty, you can but realize that such
a guest as yourself is an acquisition not willingly to
be parted with."
" Thanks, doctor," I said. It would be absurd,
certainly, for me to affect any over-sensitiveness about
accepting the temporary hospitality of one to whom I
owe it that I am not still awaiting the end of the world
in a living tomb. But if I am to be a permanent
citizen of this century I must have some standing in




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133


it. Now, in my time a person more or less entering
the world, however he got in, would not be noticed in
the unorganized throng of men, and might make a
place for himself anywhere he chose if he were strong
enough. But nowadays everybody is a part of a
system with a distinct place and function. I am
outside the system, and don't see how I can get in;
there seems no way to get in, except to be born in or
to come in as an emigrant from some other system."
Dr. Leete laughed heartily
" I admit," he said, "that our system is defective in
lacking provision for cases like yours, but you see
nobody anticipated additions to the world except by
the usual process. You need, however, have no fear
that we shall be unable to provide both a place and
occupation for you in due time. You have as yet
been brought in contact only with the members of my
family, but you must not suppose that I have kept
you a secret. On the contrary, your case, even before
your resuscitation, and vastly more since, has excited
the profoundest interest in the nation. In view of
your precarious nervous condition, it was thought best
that I should take exclusive charge of you at first,
and that you should, through me and my family,
receive some general idea of the sort of world you
had come back to before you began to make the acquaintance generally of its inhabitants. As to finding a function for you in society, there was no hesitation as to what that would be. Few of us have it in
our power to confer so great a service on the nation
as you will be able to when you leave my roof, which
however you must not think of doing for a good time
yet."
"What can I possibly do?" I asked. "Perhaps
you imagine that I have some trade or art or special
skill. I assure you I have none whatever. I never
earned a dollar in my life or did an hour's work. I
am strong, and  night be a common labourer, but
nothing more."




134


LOOKING BACKWARD.


" If that were the most efficient service you were
able to render the nation, you would find that avocation considered quite as respectable as any other,"
replied Dr. Leete: "but you can do something else
better. You are easily the master of all our historians
on questions relating to the social condition of the
latter part of the nineteenth century, to us one of the
most absorbingly interesting periods of history; and
whenever in due time you have sufficiently familiarized yourself with our institutions, and are willing to
teach us something concerning those of your day, you
will find an historical lectureship in one of our colleges awaiting you."
"Very good! very good, indeed," I said, much
relieved by so practical a suggestion on a point which
had begun to trouble me. " If your people are really
so much interested in the nineteenth century, there
will indeed be an occupation ready made for me. I
don't think there is anything else that I could possibly
earn my salt at, but I certainly may claim without
conceit to have some special qualifications for such a
post as you describe."




LOOKING BACKWARD.            135
CHAPTER XVII.
T rOUND the processes at the warehouse quite as
interesting a3 Edith had described them, and
became even enthusiastic over the truly remarkable
illustration which is seen there of the prodigiansly
multiplied efficiency which perfect organization can
give to -buui. It is like a gigantic mill, into-the
ho-ppr of which goods are being constantly poured
by the train-load and ship-load, to issue at the other
end in packages of pounds and ounces, yards and
inches, pints and gallons, corresponding to the infinitely complex personal needs of half a million
people.  Dr. Leete, with the assistance of data furnished by me as to the way goods were sold in my
day, figured out some astounding results in the way
of the economies effected by the modern system.
As we set out homeward, I said: "After what I
have seen to-day, together with what you have told
me, and what I learned under Miss Leete's tutelage
at the sample store, I have a tolerably clear idea of
your system of distribution, and how it enables you
to dispense with a circulating medium. But I should
like very much to know something more about your
system of production. You have told me in general
how your industrial army is levied and organized,
but who directs its effects? What supreme authority
determines what shall be done in every department
so that enough of everything is produced and yet no
labour wasted?  It seems to me that this must be a
wonderfully complex and difficult function, requiring
very unusual endowments."
" Does it indeed seem so to you? responded Dr.
Leete. " I assure you that it is nothing of the kind,




I36


LOOKING BACKWARD.


but on the other hand so simple, and depending on
principles so obvious and easily applied, that the
functionaries at Washington to whom it is trusted
require to be nothing more than men of fair abilities
to discharge it to the entire satisfaction of the nation.
The machine which they direct is indeed a vast one,
but so logical in its principles and direct and simple
in its workings, that it all but runs itself, and nobody
but a fool could derange it, as I think you will agree
after a few words of explanation. Since you already
have a pretty good idea of the working of the distributive system, let us begin at that end. Even in
your day statisticians were able to tell you the number of yards of cotton, velvet, woollen, the number of
barrels of flour, potatoes, butter, number of pairs of
shoes, hats, and umbrellas annually consumed by the
nation. Owing to the fact that production was in
private hands, and that there was no way of getting
statistics of actual distribution, these figures were not
exact, but they were nearly so. Now that every pin
which is given out from a national warehouse is recorded, of course the figures of consumption for any
week, month, or year, in the possession of the department of distribution at the end of that period, are
precise. On these figures, allowing for tendencies to
increase or decrease and for any special causes likely
to affect demand, the estimates, say for a year ahead,
are based. These estieaates, with a proper margin
for security, having bcn accepted by the general
administration, the resp.onsibility of the distributive
department ceases until the goods are delivered to it,
I speak of the estimate, being furnished for an entire
year ahead, but in reality they cover that much time
only in case of the great.;taples for which the demand
can be calculated on as steady. In the great majority
of smaller industries, for the products of which
popular taste fluctuates and novelty is frequently required, production is kept barely ahead of consump.




LOOKING BACKWVARE


137


tion, the distributive department furnishing frequent
estimates based on the weekly state of demand.
"Now the entire field of productive and con,.
structive industry is divided into ten great depart.
ments, each representing a group of allied industries,
each particular industry being in turn represented by
a subordinate bureau, which has a complete record of
the plant and force under its control, of the present
product, and means of increasing it. The estimates
of the distributive department, after adoption by the
administration, are sent as mandates to the ten great
departments, which allot them to the subordinate
bureaus representing the particular industries, and
these set the men at work. Each bureau is responsible for the task given it, and this responsibility is
enforced by departmental oversight and that of the
administration, nor does the distributive department
accept the product without its own inspection; while
even if in the hands of the consumer an article turns
out unfit, the system enables the fault to be traced
back to the original workman. The production of
the commodities for actual public consumption does
not, of course, require by any means all the national
force of workers.  After the necessary contingents
have been detailed for the various industries, the
amount of labour left for other employment is expended in creating fixed capital, such as buildings,
machinery, engineering works, and so forth."
"One point occurs to me," I said, "on which I
should think there might be dissatisfaction. Where
there is no opportunity for private enterprise, how is
there any assurance that the claims of small minorities
of the people to have articles produced, for which
there is no wide demand, will be respected?  An
official decree at any moment may deprive them of
the means of gratifying some special taste, merely
because the majority does not share it."
"That would bl tyranny indeed," replied Dr.




138


LOOKING BACKWARD.


Leete, "and you may be very sure that it does not
happen with us, to whom liberty is as dear as
equality or fraternity. As you come to know our
system better, you will see that our officials are in
fact, and not merely in name, the agents and servants
of the people. The administration has no power to
stop the production of any commodity for which
there continues to be a demand. Suppose the demand for any article declines to such a point that its
production becomes very costly. The price has to be
raised in proportion, of course, but as long as the
consumer cares to pay it, the production goes on.
Again, suppose an article not before produced is
demanded. If the administration doubts the reality
of the demand, a popular petition guaranteeing a
certain basis of consumption compels it to produce
the desired article. A government, or a majority,
which should undertake to tell the people, or a
minority, what they were to eat, drink, or wear, as I
believe governments in America did in your day,
would be regarded as a curious anachronism indeed.
Possibly you had reasons for tolerating these infringements of personal independence, but we should
not think them endurable. I am glad you raised this
-point, for it has given me a chance to show yot how
much more direct and efficient is the control over
production exercised by the individual citizen now
than it was in your day, when what you called private
initiative prevailed, though it should have been called
capitalist initiative, for the average private citizen
had little enough share in it."
" You speak of raising the price of costly articles,"
I said. " How can prices be regulated in a country
where is no competition between buyers or sellers?"
"Just as they were with you," replied Dr. Leete.
"You think that needs explaining," he added, as I
looked incredulous, " but the explanation need not be
long; the cost of the labour which produced it was




LOOKING BACKWARD.


13S


recognised as the legitimate basis of the 'price of an
article in your day, and so it is in ours. In your day,
it was the difference in wages that made the difference in the cost of labourr; now it is the relative
number of hours constituting a day's work in different
trades, the maintenance of the worker being equal in
all cases. The cost of a man's work in a trade so
difficult that in order to attract volunteers the hours
have to be fixed at four a day, is twice as great as
that in a trade where the men work eight hours.
The result as to the cost of labour, you see, is just the
same as if the man working four hours were paid.
under your system, twice the wages the other gets.
This calculation applied to the labour employed in
the various processes of a manufactured article gives
its price relatively to other articles. Besides the cost
of production and transportation, the factor of scarcity
affects the prices of some commodities. As regards
the great staples of life of which an abundance can
always be secured, scarcity is eliminated as a factor,
There is always a large surplus kept on hand from
which any fluctuations of demand or supply can be
corrected, even in most cases of bad crops. The
prices of the staples grow less year by year, but
rarely, if ever, rise. There are, however, certain
classes of articles permanently, and others temporarily, unequal to the demand, as, for example, fiesh
fish or dairy products in the latter category, and the
products of high skill and rare materials in the other.
All that can be done here is to equalize the inconvenience of the scarcity. This is done by temporarily
raising the price if the scarcity be temporary, or
fixing it high if it be permanent. High prices in
your day meant restriction of the articles affected to
the rich, but nowadays, when the means of all are the
same, the effect is only that those to whom the
articles seem most desirable are the ones who purchase them. I have given you now some general




14o


LOOKING BACKWARD.


notion of our system of production, as well as distribution.  Do you find it as complex as you
expected? "
I admitted that nothing could be much simpler.
"I am sure," said Dr. Leete, " that it is within the
truth to say that the head of one of the myriad private
businesses of your day, who had to maintain sleepless
vigilance against the fluctuations of the market, the
machinations of his rivals, and the failure of his
debtors, had a far more trying task than the group of
men at Washington who, nowadays, direct the industries of the entire nation. All this merely shows, my
dear fellow, how much easier it is do things the right
way than the wrong. It is easier for a general up in
a balloon, with perfect survey of the field, to manceuvre
a million men to victory, than for a sergeant to
manage a platoon in a thicket."
" The general of this army, including the flower of
the manhood of the nation, must be the foremost man
in the country, really greater even than the president
of the United States," I said.
" He is the president of the United States," replied
Dr. Leete; " or rather the most important function of
the presidency is the headship of the industrial army."
" How is he chosen?" I asked.
" I explained to you before," replied Dr. Leete,
"when I was describing the force of the motive of
emulation among all grades of the industrial army,
that the line of promotion for the meritorious lies
through three grades to the officer's grade, and thence
up through the lieutenancies to the captaincy, or foremanship, and superintendency or colonel's rank.
Next, with an intervening grade in some of the larger
trades, comes the general of the guild, under whose
immediate control all the operations of the trade are
conducted. This officer is at the head of the national
bureau representing his trade, and is responsible for
its work to the administration. The general of his




LOOKING BACKWARD.


141


guild holds a splendid position, and one which amply
satisfies the ambition of most men, butabove his rank,
which may be compared, to follow the military analogies familiar to you, to that of a general of division or
major-general, is that of the chiefs of the ten great
departments or groups of allied trades. The chiefs of
these ten grand divisions of the industrial army may
be compared to your commanders of army corps, or
lieutenant-generals, each having from a dozen to a
score of gener ls of separate guilds reporting to him.
Above these ten great officers, who form his council,
is the general-in-chief, who is the president of the
United States.
" The general-in-chief of the industrial army must
have passed through all the grades below him, from
the common labourers up. Let us see how he rises.
As I have told you, it is simply by the excellenceof
his record as a worler that one rises through the
grades of the privates and becomes a candidate for a
lieutenancy. Through the lieutenancies, he rises to
the colonelcy or superintendent's position, by appointment from above, strictly limited to the candidates of
the best records. The general of the guild appoints
to the ranks under-him, but he himself is not appoite, but chse by su ffrage"
-'By suffrage!" I explained. "Is not that ruinous
to the discipline of the guild, by tempting the candidates to intrigue for the support of the workers under
them?"
"So it would be, no doubt," replied Dr. Leete, "if
the workers had any suffrage to exercise, or anything
to say about the choice. But they have nothing.
Just here comes in a peculiarity of our system. The
general of the guild is chosen from among the superintendents, by vote of the honorary members of the
guild, that is, of those who have served their time in
the guild and received their discharge. As you know,
at the age of forty-five we are mastered out of the




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army of industry, and have the residue of life for the
pursuit of our own improvement or recreation. Of
course, however, the associations of our active lifetime
retain a powerful hold on us. The companionships
we formed then remain our companionships till the
end of life. We always continue honorary members
of our former guilds, and retain the keenest and most
jealous interest in their welfare and repute in the
hands of the following generation. In the clubs
maintained by the honorary members of the several
guilds, in which we meet socially, there are no topics
of conversation so common as those which relate to
these matters, and the young aspirants for guild
leadership who can pass the criticism of us old fellows
are likely to be pretty well equipped. Recognising
this fact, the nation entrusts to the honorary members
of each guild the election of its general, and I venture
to claim that no previous form of society could have
developed a body of electors so ideally adapted to
their office, as regards absolute impartiality, knowledge
of the special qualifications and record of candidates,
solicitude for the best result, and complete absence of
self-interest.
" Each of the ten lieutenant-generals or heads of departments, is himself elected from among the generals
of the guilds grouped as a department, by vote of the
honorary members of the guilds thus grouped. Of
course there is a tendency on the part of each guild
to vote for its own general, but no guild of any group
has nearly enough votes to elect a man not supported
by most of the others. I assure you that these
elections are exceedingly lively."
"The president, I suppose, is selected from among
the ten heads of the great departments," I suggested.
"Precisely, but the heads of departments are not
eligible for the presidency till they have been a certain
number of years out of office. It is rarely that a man
passes through all the grades to the headship of a




LOOKING BACKWARD.


143


department much before he is forty, and at the end of
a five years' term he is usually forty-five. If more, he
still serves through his term, and if less, he is nevertheless discharged from the industrial army at its
termination. It would not do for him to return to the
ranks. The interval before he is a candidate for the
presidency is intended to give time for him to recognize fully that he has returned into the general mass
of the nation, and is identified with it rather than with
the industrial army. Moreover, it is expected that he
will employ this period in studying the general condition of the army, instead of that special group of
guilds of which he was the head. From among the
former heads of departments who may be eligible at
the time, the president is elected by vote of all the
men of the nation who are not connected with the
industrial army."
"Te army      ot allowed to vote for president?"
"Certainly not. That would be perilous to its dis,
cipline, which it is the business of the president to
maintain as the representative of the nation at large.
The president is usually not far from fifty when elected,
and serves five years, forming an honorable exception
to the rule of retirement at forty-five. At the end of
his term of office, a national Congress is called to
receive his report and approve or condemn it. If it is
approved, Congress usually elects him to represent
the nation for five years more in the international
council. Congress, I should also say, passes on the
reports of the outgoing heads of departments, and a
disapproval renders any one of them ineligible for
president. But it is rare, indeed, that the nation has
occasion for other sentiments than those of grati.
tude towards its high officers. As to their ability
to have risen from the ranks by tlts-u vasriOuS anl
sever to their positions, is proof in itself of extraordinary qualities while as to faithfulness, our social
system  leaves themabou                    other




144


LOOKING BACKWARD.


motive  n  h    f ri nnin te e tFrht  oft fellow
ctizens. Corruption is impossible in a society where
tiere s neither poverty to be bribed or wealth to
bribe, while as to demagoguery or intrigue for office,
the conditions of promotion render them out of the
question."
"One point I do not quite understand," I said.
"Are the members of the liberal professions eligible
to the presidency; and if so, how are they ranked
with those who pursue the industries proper? "
"They have no ranking with them," replied Dr.
Leete. "The members of the technical professions,
such as engineers and architects, have a ranking with
the constructive guilds; but the members of the liberal
professions, the doctors, teachers, as well as the artists
and men of letters who obtain remissions of industrial
service, do not belong to the industrial army. On
this ground they vote for the president, but are not
eligible to his office. One of its main duticsb ing
the control and i'-te      idustrial army, it is
essential that the president shnl have passed through
That is reasonable," I said; "but if the doctors
and teachers do not know enough of industry to be
president, neither, I should think, can the president
know enough of medicine and education to control
those departments."
"No more does he," was the reply. "Except in the
general way that he is responsible for the enforcement
of the laws as to all classes, the president has nothing
to do with the faculties of medicine and education,
which are controlled by boards of regents of their
own, in which the president is ex-officio chairman
and has the casting vote. These regents, who, of
course, are responsible to Congress, are chosen by the
honorary members of the guilds of education and
medicine, the retired teachers and doctors of the
country."




LOOKING BACKWARD.             145
"Do you know," I said, "the method of electing
officials by votes of the retired members of the guilds
is nothing more than the application on a national
scale of the plan of government by alumni, which we
used to a slight extent occasionally in the management of our higher educational institutions."
" Did you, indeed?" exclaimed Dr. Leete, with
animation. "That is quite new to me, and I fancy
will be to most of us, and of much interest as well.
There has been great discussion as to the germ of the
idea, and we fancied that there was for once something
new under the sun. Well! well! In your higher
educational institutions! That is interesting indeed.
You must tell me more of that."
" Truly, there is very little more to tell than I have
told already," I replied.  "If we had the germ of
your idea, it was but as a germ."




LOOKING BACKWARD.


CHAPTER XVIII.
THAT evening I sat up for some time after the
ladies had retired, talking with Dr. Leete about
the effect of the plan of exempting men from further
service to the nation after the age of forty-five, a point
brought up by his account of the part taken by the
retired citizens in the government.
"At forty-five," said I "a man still has ten years
of good manual labour in him, and twice ten years of
good intellectual service. To be superannuated at
that age and laid on the shelf must be regarded rather
as a hardship than a favour by men of energetic
dispositions."
"My dear Mr. West," exclaimed Dr. Leete, beaming upon me, "You cannot have any idea of the
piquancy your nineteenth century ideas have for us of
this day, the rare quaintness of their effect. Know,
oh child of another race and yet the same, that the
labour we have to render as our part in securing for
the nation the means of a comfortable physical
existence, is by no means regarded as the most important, the most interesting, or the most dignified
employment of our powers. We look upon it as a
necessary duty to be discharged before we can fully
devote ourselves to the higher exercise of our faculties,
the intellectual and spiritual employment and pursuits
which alone mean life. Everything possible is indeed
done by the just distribution of burdens, and by -all
manner of special attractions and incentives to relieve
our labour of irksomeness, and, except in a comparative sense, it is not usually irksome, and is often inspiring. But it is not our labour, but the higher and larger
activities which the performance of our task will leave




LOOKING BACKWARD.


547


us free to enter upon, that are considered the main
h'siness of existence.
Otf course not all, nor the majority, have those
scientific, artistic, literary, or scholarly interests which
make leisure the one thing valuable to their possessors. Many look upon the last half of life chiefly as a
period for enjoyment of other sorts; for travel, for
social relaxation in the company of their lifetime
friends; a time for the cultivation of all manners of
personal idiosyncracies and special tastes, and the
pursuit of every imaginable form of recreation; in a
word a time for the leisurely aud unperturbed
appreciations of the good things of the world which
they have helped to create. But whatever the differences between our individual tastes as to the use we
shall put our leisure to, we all agree in looking forward to the date of our discharge as the time when we
shall first enter upon the full enjoyment of our birthright, the period when we shall first really attain our
majority and become enfranchised from discipline and
control, with the fee of our lives vested in ourselves.
As eager boys in your day anticipated twenty-one, so
men nowadays Inrok for.ard to forty-five. At twenty'one we become men, but at forty-five we renew youth.
Middle age, and what you would have called old age,
are considered, rather than youth, the enviable time of
life. Thanks to the better conditions of existence
nowadays, and above all the freedom of every one
from care, old age approaches many years later and
has an aspect far more benign than in past times.
Persons of average constitutions usually live to eightyfive or ninety, and at forty-five we are physically and
mentally younger, I fancy, than you were at thirtyfive. It is a strange reflection that at forty-five, when
we are just entering upon the most enjoyable period
of life, you already began to think of growing old and
to look backward. With you it was the forenoon, but
with us it is the afternoon which is the brighter half of
life."'




148


LOOKING BACKWARD.


After this I remember that our talk branched into
the subject of popular sports and recreations at the
present time as compared with those of the nineteenth
century.
" In one respect," said Dr. Leete, "there is a marked
difference. The professional sportsmen, which were
such a curious feature of your day, we have nothing
answering to, nor are the prizes for which our athletes
contend money prizes, as with you. Our contests are
always for glory only. The generous rivalry existing
between the various guilds, and the loyalty of each
worker to his own, afford a constant stimulation to all
sorts of games and matches by sea and land, in which
the young men take scarcely more interest than the
honorary guildsmen who have served their time. The
guild yacht races off Marblehead take place next week
and you will be able to judge for yourself of the popular enthusiasm which such events nowadays call out
as compared with your day. The demand for 'parzm
et circenses' preferred by the Roman populace is
recognized nowadays as a wholly reasonable one. If
bread is the first necessity of life recreation is a close
cS and     the na    atrs for both, Americans of
tanineteenth century were as untortunate in lacking
an adequate provision for the one sort of need as for
the other. Even if the people of that period had
enjoyed larger leisure, they would, I fancy, have often
been at loss how to pass it agreeably. We are never
in that predicament"




LOOKING BACKWARD.


I49


CHAPTER XIX.
IN the course of an early morning constitutional,
I visited Charlestown. Among the changes, too
numerous to attempt to indicate, which mark the
lapse of a century in that quarter, I particularly
noted the total disappearance of the old state prison.
"That went before my day, but I remember hearing about it," said Dr. Leete, when I alluded to the
fact at the breakfast table. "We have no jails now
adavs.  All cases of atavism  are treated in the
"Of atavism!" I exclaimed, staring.
"Why, yes," replied Dr. Leete.  "The idea of
dealing punitively with these unfortunates was given
up at least fifty years ago, and I think more."
"I don't quite understand you," I said. " Atavism
in my day was a word applied to the cases of persons
in whom some trait of a remote ancestor recurred in
a noticeable manner. Am I to understand that crime
is nowadays looked upon as the recurrence of an
ancestral trait?"
" I beg your pardon," said Dr. Leete, with a smile
half humorous, half deprecating, " but since you have
so explicitly asked the question, I am forced to say
that the fact is precisely that."
After what I had already learned of the moral
contrasts between the nineteenth and the twentieth
centuries, it was doubtless absurd in me to begin to
develop sensitiveness on the subject, and probably if
Dr. Leete had not spoken with that apologetic air,
and Mrs. Leete and Edith shown a corresponding
embarrassment, I should not have flushed, as I was
conscious I did.
I;


i




tSo


LOOKING BACKWARD.


" I was not in much danger of being vain of my
generation before]' I said; "but reallye-"
"This is your generation, Mr. West," interposed
Edith. "It is the one in which you are living you
know, and it is only because we are alive now that
we-call it ours."
"Thank you. I will try to think of it so," I said,
and as my eyes met hers their expression quite cured
my senseless sensitiveness. "After all," I said, with
a laugh, " I was brought up a Calvinist, and ought
not to be startled to hear crime spoken of as an
ancestral trait."
"In point of fact," said Dr. Leete, "our use of the
word is no reflection at all on your generation, if,
begging Edith's pardon, we may call it yours, so far
as seeming to imply what we think ourselves, apart
from our circumstances, better than you were. In
your day fully nineteen twentieths of the crime, using
the word broadly to include all sorts of misdemeanours, resulted from the inequality in the possessions
of individuals; want tempted the poor, lust of greater
gains, or the desire to preserve former gains, tempted
the well-to-do. Directly or indirectly, the desire for
money, which then meant every good thing, was the
motive of all this crime, the taproot of a vast poison
growth, which the machinery of law, courts, and
police could barely prevent from choking your civilization outright. When we made the nation the sole
trustee of the wealth of the people, and guaranteed to
all abundant maintenance, on the one hand abolishing
want, and on the other checking the accumulation of
riches, we cut this root and the poison tree that overshadowed your society withered like Jonah's gourd,
in a day.  As for the comparatively small class of
violent crines against persons, unconnected with any
idea of gain, they were almost wholly confined, even
in your day, to the ignorant and bestial, and in these
days when education and good manners are not the




LOOKING BACKWARD.


monoply of a few, but universal, such atrocities are
scarcely ever heard of. You now see why the word
"atavism" is used for crime. It is because nearly
all forms of crime known to you are motiveless now,
and when they appear can only be explained as the
outcropping of ancestral traits. You used to call
persons who stole, evidently without any rational
motive, kleptomaniacs, and when the case was clear
deemed it absurd to punish them as thieves. Your
attitude towards the genuine kleptomaniac is precisely
ours toward the victim of atavism, an attitude oi
compassion and firm but gentle restraint."
" Your courts must have an easy time of it," I observed. " With no private property to speak of, no
disputes between citizens over business relations, no
real estate to divide or debts to collect, there must be
absolutely no civil business at all for them; and with
no offences against property, and mighty few of any
sort to provide criminal cases, I should think you
might almost do without judges and lawyers altogether."
"We do without the lawyers, certainly," was Dr.
Leete's reply. " It would not seem reasonable to us,
in a case where the only interest of the nation is to
find out the truth, that persons should take part in
the proceedings who had an acknowledged motive to
colour it."
" But who defends the accused?"
" If he is a criminal he needs no defence, for he
pleads guilty in most instances," replied Dr. Leete"The plea of the accused is not a mere formality with
us as with you. It is usually the end of the case "
"You don't mean that the man who pleads not
guilty is thereupon discharged?"
" No, I do not mean that. He is not accused on
light grounds, and if he denies his guilt must still be
tried. But trials are few, for in most cases the guilty
man pleads.ilty. When he makes a false plea and




I52


LOOKING BACKWARD.


is clearly proved guilty, his penalty is doubled. -ial —
hood is, however, so despise  among us that few
offenders would lie to save themselves."
"Thi-tis the most astounding thing you have yet
told me," I exclaimed. "If lying has gone out of
fashion, this is indeed the 'new heavens and the new
earth wherein dwelleth righteousness,' which the
prophet foretold."
" Such is, in fact, the belief of some persons nowadays," was the doctor's answer.  " They hold that we
have entered upon the millenium, and the theory from
their point of view does not lack plausibility. But as
to your astonishment at finding that the world has
outgrown lying, there is really no ground for it. Falsehood, even in your day, was not common between
gentlemen and ladies, social equals. The lie of fear
was the refuge of cowardice, and the lie of fraud the
device of the cheat. The inequalities of men and the
lust of acquisition offered a constant premium on lying
at that time. Yet even then, the man who neither
feared another nor desired to defraud him, scorned
falsehood. Because we are now all social equals, and no
man either has anything tofear from another or can gain
anything by deceiving him, the contempt of falsehood;s so universal that it is rarely, as I told you, that even
a criminal in other respects will be found willing to
lie. When, however, a plea of not guilty is returned,
the judge appoints two colleagues to state the opposite
sides of the case. How far these men are from being
like your hired advocates and prosecutors, determined
to acquit or convict, may appear from the fact that
unless both agree that the verdict found is just, the
case is tried over again, while anything like bias in the
tone of either of the judges stating the case would
be a shocking scandal."
" Do I understand," I said, "that it is a judge who
states each side of the case as well as a judge who
hears it?"




LOOKING BACKWARD.


I53


"Ceitainly. The  idges tak t-ns t    r:.Ving r0 —
the bench            d nrl are expected to maintain
the udicial temper equally whether in stating or
deciding a case. The system is indeed in effect that
of trial by three judges occupying different points of
view as to the case. When they agree upon a verdict,
we believe it to be as near to absolute truth as men
well can come."
" You have given up the jury system, then?"
"It was well enough as a corrective in the days of
hired advocates, and a bench sometimes venal, and
often with a tenure that made it dependent, but is
needless now. No conceivable motive but justice could
actuate our judges."
" Howv are these magistrates selected?"
"They are an honourable exception to the rule
which discharges all men from service at the age of
forty-five. The president of the nation appoints the
necessary judges year by year from the class reachin
thai nte.-  Ihe number appointed is, of course,
exceedingly few, and the honour so high that it is held
an offset to the additional term of service which
follows, and though a judge's appointment may be
declined, it rarely is.  The term is five years, without
eligibility to reappointment.  The members of the
Supreme Court, which is the guardian of the constitution, are selected from among the lower judges.
When a vacancy in that court occurs, those of the
lower judges, whose terms expire that year, select, as
their last official act, the one of their colleagues left
on the bench whom they deem fittest to fill it."
" There being no legal profession to serve as a school
for judges," I said, "they must, of course, come
directly from the law school to the bench."
" We have no such things as law schools," replied
the doctor, smiling. " The law as a special science is
obsolete. It was a system of casuistry which the
elaborate artificiality of the old order of society abso



154


LOOKING BACKWARD.


lutely required to interpret it, but only a few cf the
plainest and simplest legal maxims have any application to the existing state of the world. Everything
touching the relations of men to one another is now
simpler, beyond any comparison, than in your day.
We should have no sort of use for the hair-splitting
experts who presided and argued in your courts. You
must not imagine, however, that we have any disrespect for those ancient worthies because we have no
usefor them. On the contrary, we entertain an unfeigned respect, amounting almost to awe, for the men
who alone understood and were able to expound the
interminable complexity of the rights of property,
and the relations of commercial and personal depen,
dence involved in your system. What, indeed, could
possibly give a more powerful impression of the intricacy and artificiality of that system than the fact
that it was necessary to set apart from other pursuits
the cream of the intellect of every generation, in order
to provide a body of pundits able to make it even
vaguely intelligible to those whose fates it determined.
The treatises of your great lawyers, the works of
Blackstone and Chitty, of Story and Parsons, stand
in our museums,, side by side with the tomes of Duns
Scotus and his fellow scholastics, as curious monuments of intellectual subtlety devoted to subjects
equally remote from the interests of modern men.
Our judges are simply widely informed, judicious, and
discreet men of ripe years."
"I should not fail to speak of one important
function of the minor judges," added Dr. Leete.
" This is to adjudicate all cases where a private of the
industrial army makes a complaint of unfairness
against an officer.  All such questions are heard and
settled without appeal by a single judge, three judges
being required only in graver cases."
"There must be need of such a tribunal in your
system, for under it a man who is treated unfairly
tannot leave his place as with us."




LOOKING BACKWARD.


I55


" Certainly he can," replied Dr. Leete. " Not only
is a man always sure of a fair hearing and redress in
case of actual oppression, but if his relations with his
foreman or chief are unpleasant, he can secure a
transfer on application. Under your system a man
could indeed leave work if he did not like his employer,
but he left his means of support at the same time.
One of our workmen, however, who finds himself disagreeably situated is not obliged to risk his means of
subsistence to find fair play. The efficiency of industry
requires the strictest discipline in the army of labour,
but the claim of the workman to just and considerate
treatment is backed by the whole power of the nation.
The officer commands and the private obeys, but no
officer is so high that he would dare display an overbearing manner toward a workman of the lowest class.
As for churlishness or rudeness by an official of any
sort, in his relations to the public, not one among
minor offences is more sure of a prompt penalty than
this. Not only justice but civility is enforced by our
judges in all sorts of intercourse. No value of service
is accepted as a set offto boorish or offensive manners."
It occurred to me, as Dr. Leete was speaking, that
in all his talk I had heard much of the nation and
nothing of the state governments.   "Had the
organization of the nation as an industrial unit done
away with the states? " T asked.
" Necessarily," he replied. "The state government
would have interfered with the control and discipline
of the industrial army,which,of course, required to be
central and uniform. Even if the state governments
/had not become inconvenient for other reasons they
were rendered superfluous by the prodigious simplification in the task of government since your day.
Almost the sole function of the administration nowis
that of directing the industries of the country. Most
of the purposes for which governments formerly existed no longer remain to be subserved. We have no army




I56


LOOKING BACKWARD.


or navy, and no military organi7ationn- We have no
-  r  nay, no excise or revenue
'services, no taxes or tax collectors. The only function
proper of government, as known to you, which still
remains, is the judiciary and poice system. I have
already explained to;you how simple is our judicial
system as compared with your huge and complex
machine. Of course the same absence of crime and
\Vemptation to it which makes the duties of judges so
light, reduces the number and duties of the police to
a minimum."
" But with no state legislatures, and Congress meeting only once in five years, how do you get your
legislation done?"
" We have no legislation," replied Dr. Leete,-" that
is, next to none. It is rarely that Congress, even when
it meets, considers any new laws of consequence, and
then it only has power to commend them to the
following Congress, lest anything be done hastily. If
you will consider a moment, Mr. West, you will see
that we have nothing to make laws about. The fundamental principles on which our society is founded
settle for all time the strifes and misunderstandings
which, in your day, called for legislation.
" Fully ninety-nine hundredths of the laws of that
time concerned the definition and protection of private
property and the relations of buyers and sellers.
There is neither private property, beyond personal
belongings, now, nor buying and selling, and therefore
the occasion of nearly all the legislation formerly
necessary has passed away. Formerly, society was a
pyramid poised on its apex. All the gravitations of
human nature were constantly tending to topple it
over, and it could be maintained upright, or rather
upwrong (if you will pardon the feeble witticism) by
an elaborate system of constantly renewed props and
buttresses of guy-ropes in the form of laws. A central
Congress and forty state legislatures turning out some




LOOKING BACKWARD.             f 57
twenty thousand laws a year, could not make new
props fast enough to take the place of those which
were constantly breaking down or becoming ineffectual
through some shifting of the strain. Now society
rests on its base, and is in as little need of artificial
supports as the everlasting hills."
" But you have at least municipal governments besides the one central authority?"
"Certainly, and they have important an; extensive
functions in looking out for the public comfort and
-creation, and the improvement and embellishment
of the villages and cities."
"But having no control over the labour of their
people, or means of hiring it, how can they do anything?"
" Every town or city is conceded the right to retain,
for its own public works, a certain proportion of the
quota of labour its citizens contribute to the nation.
This proportion, being assigned it as so much credit
cau be applied in any way desired."




LOOKING BACKWARD.


CHAPTER XX.
THAT afternoon Edith casually inquired if I had
yet revisited the underground chamber in the
garden in which I had been found.
" Not yet," I replied. " To be frank, I have shrunk
thus far from doing so, lest the visit might revive old
associations rather too strongly for my mental equilibrium."
" Ah, yes," she said, " I can imagine that you have
done wvell to stay away. I ought to have thought of
that."
"No,1' I said, " I am glad you spoke of it. The
danger, if there was any, existed only during the first
day or two. Thanks to you, chiefly and always, I
feel my footing now so firm in this new world, that if
you will go with me to keep the ghosts of, I should
really like to visit the place this afternoon"
Edith demurred at first, but, finding that I was in
earnest, consented to accompany me. The rampart
of earth thrown up from the excavation was visible
among the trees from the house, and a few steps
brought us to the spot. All remained as it was at
the point when work was interrupted by the discovery
o'r the tenant of the chamber, save that the door had
been opened and the slab from the roof replaced.
Descending the sloping sides of the excavation, we
went in at the door and stood within the dinmly lighted
room.
Everything was just as I had beheld it last on that
evening one hundred and thirteen years previous, just
before closing my eyes for that long sleep. I stood
for some time silently looking about me. I saw that
my companion was furtively regarding me with an




LOOKING BACKWARD.


159


expression of awed and sympathetic curiosity. I put
out my hand to her and she placed hers in it, the soft
fingers responding with a reassuring pressure to my
clasp. Finally she whispered, "Had we not better
go out now? You must not try yourself too far. Oh,
how strange it must be to you!"
"On the contrary," I replied, "it does not seem
strange; that is the strangest part of it."
"Not strange?" she echoed.
"Even so," I replied. "The emotions with which
you evidently credit me, and which I anticipated
would attend this visit, I simply do not feel. I realize
all that these surroundings suggest, but without the
agitation I expected. You can't be nearly as much
surprised at this as I am myself. Ever since that
terrible morning when you came to my help, I have
tried to avoid thinking of my former life, just as I
have avoided coming here, for fear of the agitating
effects. I am for all the world like a man who has
permitted an injured limb to lie motionless under the
impression that it is exquisitely sensitive, and on
trying to move it finds that it is paralyzed."
" Do you mean your memory is gone? "
"Not at all. I remember everything connected
with my former life, but with a total lack of keen
sensation. I remember it for clearness as if it had
been but a day since then, but my feelings about
what I remember are as faint as if to my consciousness,
as well as in fact, a hundred years had intervened.
Perhaps it is possible to explain this, too. The effect
of change in surroundings is like that of lapse of time
in making the past seem remote. When I first woke
from that trance, my former life appeared as yesterday,
but now, since I have learned to know my new
surroundings, and to realize the prodigious changes
that have transformed the world, I no longer find it
hard, but very easy, to realize that I have slept a
century. Can you conceive of such a thing as living




i6o


LOOKING BACKWARD.


a hundred years in four days? It really seems to me
that I have done just that, and that it is this
experience which has given so remote and unreal an
appearance to my former life. Can you see how such
a thing might be?
" I can conceive it," replied Edith meditatively, " and
I think we ought all to be thankful that it is so, for it
will save you much suffering, I am sure."
"Imagine," I said, in an effort to explain, as much
to myself as to her, the strangeness of my mental
condition, " that a man first heard of a bereavement
many, many years, half a lifetime perhaps, after the
event occurred. I fancy his feeling would be perhaps
something as mine is. When I think of my friends in
the world of that former day, and the sorrow they must
have felt for me, it is with a pensive pity, rather than
keen anguish, as of a sorrow long, long ago ended."
" You have told us nothing yet of your friends," said
Edith. " Had you many to mourn you?"
" Thank God, I had very few relatives, none nearer
than cousins," I replied. " But there was one, not a
relative, but dearer to me than any kin of blood. She
had your name. She was to have been my wife
soon. Ah me!"
"Ah me!" sighed Edith by my side. "Think of
the heartache she must have had."
Something in the deep feeling of this gentle girl
touched a chord in my benumbed heart. My eyes,
before so dry, were flooded with the tears that had till
now refused to come. When I had regained my composure, I saw that she too had been weeping freely.
" God bless your tender heart," I said. "Would
you like to see her picture? "
A small locket with Edith Bartlett's picture, secured
about my neck with a gold chain, had lain upon my
breast all through that long sleep, and removing this
I opened and gave it to my companion. She took it
with eagerness, and after poring long over the sweet
face, touched the picture with her lips.


10




LOOKING BACKWARD.


l6i


"I know that she was good and lovely enough to
well deserve your tears," she said: "but remember her
heartache was over long ago, and she has been in
heaven for nearly a century."
It was indeed so. Whatever her sorrow had once
been, for nearly a century she had ceased to weep, and
my sudden passion spent, my own tears dried away.
I had loved her very dearly in my other life, but
it was a hundred years ago! I do not know but
some may find in this confession evidence of lack of
feeling, but I think, perhaps, that none can have had
an experience sufficiently like mine to enable them to
judge me. As we were about to leave the chamber,
my eye rested upon the great iron safe which stood
in onc corner. Calling my companion's attention to
it I said:
" This was my strong room as well as my sleeping
room. In the safe yonder are several thousand dollars
in gold, and any amount of securities. If I had known
when I went to sleep that night just how long my nap
would be, I should still have thought that the gold
was a safe provision for my needs in any country or
any century, however distant. That a time would
ever come when it >could lose its purchasing power,
I should have considered the wildest of fancies.
Nevertheless, here I wake up to find myself among a
people of whom a cart-load of gold will not procure a
loaf of bread."
As might be expected, I did not succeed in impressing Edith that there was anything remarkable in this
fact. " Why in the world should it? " she merely
asked.




l62


LOOKING BACKWARD.


CHAPTER XXI.
IT had been suggested by Dr. Leete that we should
devote the next morning to an inspection of the
schools and colleges of the city, with some attempt on
his own part at an explanation of the educational
system of the twentieth century.
"You will see," said he, as we set out after breakfast, " many very important differences between our
methods of education and yours, but the main difference
is that nowadays all persons equally have those
portunties ot ig er ecucation wlc, in your day,
only an infinitesimal portion of the population enjoyed.
We should think we ha  id gaindnothFng worth speaking of, in equalizing the physical comfort of men,
without this educational equality."
"The cost must be very great," I said.
"If it took half the revenue of the nation, nobody
would grudge it," replied Dr. Leete," noreven if it took it
all save a bare pittance. But in truth the expense of
educating ten thousand youth is not ten nor five times
that of educating one thousand. The principle which
makes all operations on a large scale proportionally
cheaper than on a small scale holds as to education
also."
"College education was terribly expensive in my
day," said I.
" If I have not been misinformed by our historians,"
Dr. Leete answered, " it was not college education but
college dissipation and extravagance which cost so
highly. The actual expense of your colleges appears
to have been very low, and would have been far lower
if their patronage had been greater. The higher
education nowadays is as cheap as the lower, as all




LOOKING BACKWARD.


163


grades of teachers, like all other workers, receive the
same support. We have simply added to the common
school system of compulsory education, in vogue in
Maksachtisetts a hundred years ago, a half dozen
higher grades, carrying the youth to the age oftwentyone and giving-Tim what you used to call the education
of a gentleman, instead of turning him loose at fourteen or fifteen with no mental equipment beyond
reading, writing, and the multiplication table."
" Setting aside the actual cost of these additional
years of education," I replied "we should not have
thought we could afford the loss of time from industrial
pursuits. Boys of the poorer classes usually went to
work at sixteen or younger, and knew their trade at
twenty."
"We should not concede you any gain even in
material product by that plan," Dr. Leete replied.
"The greater efficiency which education gives to all
sorts of labour, except the rudest, makes up in a
short period for the time lost in acquiring it."
" We should also have been afraid," said I, " that a
high education, while it adapted men to the professions,
vtould set them against manual labour of all sorts."
" That was the effect of high education in your day,
I have read," replied the doctor; "and it was no
wonder, for manual labour meant association with a
rude, coarse, and ignorant class of people. There is
no such class now. It was inevitable that such a feeling should exist then, for the further reason that all
men receiving a high education were understood to
be destined for the professions or for wealthy leisure,
and such an education in one neither rich nor professional was a proof of disappointed aspirations, an
evidence of failure, a badge of inferiority rather than
superiority. Nowadays, of course, when the heigbest
education is deemed necessary to fit a man merelyto
live,  thout any reference o te sort of work he may
do, its possession conveys no such implication."




I64


LOOKING BACKWARD.


"After all," I remarked, "no amount of education
can cure natural dullness or make up for original
mental deficiencies.  Unless the average natural
mental capacity of men is much above its level in my
day, a high education must be pretty nearly thrown
away on a large element of the population. We used
to hold that a certain amount of susceptibility to educational influences is required to make a mind worth
cultivating, just as a certain natural fertility in soil is
required if it is to repay tilling."
"Ah," said Dr. Leete, "I am glad you used that
illustration, for it is just the one I would have chosen
to set forth the modern view of education. You say
that land so poor that the product will not repay the
labour of tilling is not cultivated. Nevertheless, much
land that does not begin to repay tilling by its product
was cultivated in your day and is in ours. I refer to
gardens, parks, lawns, and in general to pieces of land
so situated that, were they left to grow up to weeds
and briers, they would be eyesores and inconveniences
to all about. They are therefore tilled, and though
their product is little, there is yet no land that, in a
wider sense, better repays cultivation. So it is with
the men and women with whom we mingle in the
relations of society, whose voices are always in our ears,
whose behaviour in innumerable ways affects our enjoyment,-who are, in fact, as much conditions of our
lives as the air we breathe, or any of the physical
elements on which we depend. If, indeed, we could
not afford to educate everybody, we should choose
the coarsest and dullest by nature, rather than the
brightest, to receive what education we could give.
The naturally refined and intellectual can better dispense with aids to culture than those less fortunate
in natural endowments.
" To borrow a phrase which was often used in your
day, we should n  nsider life worth living if we had
to be surrounded bh a p  ulation of ignorant, boorish,




LOOKING BACKWARD.


I55


coarse, wholly uncultivated men and women, ac was
the           few educated in-your-day. Is a man
satisfiedTr-ierely because he is perfumed himself, to
mingle with a malodorous crowd?  Could he take
more than a very limited satisfaction, even in a
palatial apartment, if the windows on all four sides
opened into stable yards? And yet just that was
the situation of those considered most fortunate as
to culture and refinement in your day. I know that
the poor and ignorant envied the rich and cultured
then; but to us the latter, living as they did, surrounded by squalor and brutishness, seem little better
off than the former. The cultured man in your age
was like one up to the neck in a nauseous bog solacing
himself with a smelling bottle. You see, perhaps,
now, how we look at this question of universal high
education. No single thing is so important to every
man as to have for neighbours intelligent, companionable persons. There is nothing, therefore, which the
nation can do for him that will enhance so much his
own happiness as to educate his neighbours. When
it fails to do so, the value of his own education to
him is reduced by half, and many of the tastes he
has cultivated are made positive sources of pain.
'; To educate some to the highest degree, and leave
the mass wholly uncultivated, as you did, made the
gap between them almost like that between different
natural species, which have no means of communication. What could be more inhuman than this consequence of a partial enjoyment of education? Its
universal and equal enjoyment leaves, indeed, the
differences between men as to natural endowments
as marked as in a state of nature, but the level of the
lowest is vastly raised. Brutishness is eliminated.
All have some inkling of the humanities, some
appreciation of the things of the mind, and an admiration for the still higher culture they have fallen short
of. They have become capable of receiving and
12




*


i66          LOOKING BACKWARD,
imparting, in various degrees, but all in some measure,
the pleasures and inspirations of a refined social life.
The cultured society of the nineteenth century,what did it consist of but here and there a few microscopic oases in a vast, unbroken wilderness?  The
proportion of individuals capable of intellectual sympathies or refined intercourse, to the mass of their
contemporaries, used to be so infinitesimal as to be
in any broad view   of humanity scarcely worth
mentioning.  One generation of the world to-day
represents a greater volume of intellectual life than
any fivc centuries ever did before.
"There is still another point I should mention in
stating the grounds on which nothing less than the
universality of the best education could now be
tolerated," continued Dr. Leete, "and that is the interest of the coming generation in havDin'gi —atec-fk
pa           put the matter in a nutshell, there are
-tlree~rmain grounds on which our educational system
rests: first the right of every man to the completest
education the nation can give him on his own account
as necessary to the enjoyment of himself; _s,.met
the right of his fellow-citizens to have him educated,
as necessary to their enjoyment of his society; thijdg
the right of the unborn to be guaranteed an intelligent
and refined parentage."
I shall not describe in detail what I saw in the
schools that day. Having taking but slight interest in
educational matters in my forfmer life, I could offer
few comparisons of interest.  Next to the fact of
the universality of the higher as well as the lower
education, I was most struck with the prominence
given to physical culture, and the fact that proficiency
in athletic feats and games as well as in scholarship
had a place in the rating of the youth.
"The faculty of education," Dr. Leete explained,
"is held to the same responsibility for the bodies as
for the minds of its charges.  The highest possible




LOOKING BACKWARD.


i 67


physical, as well as mental, development of every one
is the double object of a curriculum which lasts from
the age of six to that of twenty-one."
The magnificent health of the young people in the
schools impressed me strongly.  My previous observations, not only of the notable personal endowments
of the family of my host, but of the people I had seen
in my walks abroad, had already suggested the idea
that there must have been something like a general
improvement in the physical standard of the race
since my day; and now, as I compared these stalwart
young men and fresh vigorous maidens, with the
young people I had se n in Ihe schools of the nineteenth century, I was r' oved to impart my thought
to Dr. Leete. He listened with great interest to what
I said.
"Your testimony on this point," he declared, "is
invaluable.  We believe that there has been such an
improvement as you speak of, but of course it could
only be a matter of theory with us.  It is an incident
of your unique position that you alone in the world
of to-day can speak with authority on this point.
Your opinion, when you state it publicly, will, I assure
you, make a profound sensation. IFor the rest it
would be strange, certainly, if the race did not show
an improvement. In your day, riches debauched one
class with idleness of mind and body, while poverty
sapped the vitality of the masses by overwork, bad
food, and pestilent homes.  The labour required of
children, and the b rdens laid on women, enfeebled
the very springs of V fe.  Instead of these maleficent
circumstances, all now enjoy the most favourable conditions of physical life; the young are carefully
nurtured and studiously cared for; the labour which
is required of all s limited to the period of greatest
bodily vigour, and is never excessive; care for one's
self and one's family, anxiety as to livelihood, the
strain of a ceaseless battle of life-all these influences,




i68           LOOKING BACKWARD.
which once did so much to wreck the minds and
bodies of men and women, are known no more. Certainly, an improvement of the species ought to follow
such a change. In certain specific respects we know,
indeed, that the improvement has taken place. Insanity, for instance, which in the nineteenth century
was so terribly common a product of your insane
mode of life, has almost disappeared, with its alternative, suicide."




LOOKING BACKWARD.


i69


CHAPTER XXII.
W   E had made an appointment to meet the ladies
at the dining-hall for dinner, after which,
having some engagement, they left us sitting at table
there, discussing our wine and cigars with a multitude
of other matters.
"Doctor," said I, in the course of our talk, "morally
speaking, your social system is one which I should be
insensate not to admire in comparison with any
previously in vogue in the world, and especially with
that of my own most unhappy century. If I were to
fall into a mesmeric sleep to-night as lasting as that
other, and meanwhile the course of time were to take
a turn backwards instead of forward, and I were to
wake up again in the nineteenth century, when I had
told my friends what I had seen, they would every one
admit that your world was a paradise of order, equity,
and felicity.  But they were a very practical people,
my contemrporaries, and after expressing their admiration for the moral beauty and material splendour of the
system, they would presently begin to cipher and ask
how you got the money to make everybody so happy;
for certainly, to support the whole nation at a rate of
comfort, and even luxury, such as I see around me,
must involve vastly greater wealth than the nation
produced in my day. Now, while I could explain to
them pretty nearly everything else of the main
features of your system, I should quite fail to answer
this question, and failing there, they would tell me, for
they were very close cipherers, that I had been dreaming; nor would they ever believe anything else.  In
my day, I know that the total annual product of the
nation, although it might have been divided with




170


LOOKING BACKWARD.


absolute equality, would not have come to more than
three or four hundred dollars per head, not very much
* more than enough to supply the necessities of life
with the few or any of its comforts. How is it that
you have so much more? "
"That is a very pertinent question, Mr. West,"
replied Dr. Leete, " and I should not blame your
friends, in the case you supposed, if they declared
your story all moonshine, failing a satisfactory reply
to it. It is a question which I cannot answer exhaustively at any one sitting, and as for the exact statistics
to bear out my general statements, I shall have to
refer you for them to books in my library, but it would
certainly be a pity to leave you to be put to confusion
by your old acquaintances, in case of the contingents
you speak of, for lack of a few suggestions."
" Let us begin with a number of small items wherein we economize wealth as compared with you. We
have no national, state, county or municipal debts, or
payments on their account.  We have no sort of
military or naval expenditures for men or materials,
no army, navy, or militia. We have no revenue ser-,ice, no swarm of tax assessors and collectors. As
regards our judiciary, police, sheriffs, and jailers, the
force which Massachusetts alone kept on foot in your
day far more than suffices fQr the nation now. We have
no criminal class preying upon the wealth of society
as you had. The number of persons, more or less
absolutely lost to the working force through physical
disability, of the lame, sick, and debilitated, which
constituted such a burden on the able-bodied in your
day, now that all live under conditions of health and
comfort, has shrunk to scarcely perceptible proportions, and with every generation is becoming more
completely eliminated."
"Another item wherein we save is the disuse of
money and the thousand occupations connected with
financial operations of all sorts, whereby an army of




LOOKING IBACKWARD.


I71


men was formerly taken away from useful employments. Also consider that the waste of the very rich
in your day on inordinate personal luxury has ceased,
though, indeed, this item might easily be over
estimated. Again, consider that there are no idlers
now, rich or poor,-no drones.
"A very important cause of former poverty was
the vast waste of labour and materials which resulted
from domestic washing and cooking, and the perform-.>0  ing separately of innumerable other tasks to which we
apply the co-operative plan."
"A larger economy than any of these,-yes, of all
together,-is effected by the organization of our distributing system, by which the work done once by
the merchants, traders, storekeepers, with their various
grades of jobbers, wholesalers, retailers, agents, commercial travellers, and middlemen of a thousand sorts,
with an excessive waste of energy in needless transportation and interminable handlings, is performed by
one-tenth the number oi hands and an unnecessary
turn of not one wheel. Something of vwhat our distributing system is like you know. Our -tatisticians
calculate that one eightieth part of our work ers suffices
for all the processes of distribution which in your day
required one-eighth of the population, so much being
withdrawn from the force engaged in productive
labour."
"I begin to see," I said, "where you get your
greater wealth."
" I beg your pardon," replied Dr. Leete, "but you
scarcely do as yet. The economies I have mentioned
thus far, in the agg, egate, considering the labour they
would save directly and indirectly through saving of
material, might possibly be equivalent to the addition
to your annual production of wealth of one-half its
former total. These items are however, scarcely worth
mentioning in comparison with other prodigious
wastes. now saved, which resulted inevitably from




I72


LOOKING BACKWARD,


leaving the industries of the nation to private enterprise. However great the economies your contemporaries might have devised in the consumption
of products, and however marvellous the progress of
mechanical invention, they could never have raised
themselves out of the slough of poverty so long as
they held to that system.
" No mode more wasteful for utilizing human energy
could be devised, and for the credit of the human intellect it should be remembered that the system never
was devised, but was merely a survival from the rude
ages when the lack of social organization made any
sort of co-operation impossible."
"I will readily admit," I said, " t. at our industrial
system was ethically very bad, but a a mere wealthmaking machine, apart from moral a:;pects, it seemed
to us admirable."
"As I said," responded the doctor, "the subject is
too large to discuss at length now, but if you are
really interested to know the main criticisms which we
moderns make on your industrial system as compared
with our own, I can touch briefly on some of them.
"The wastes which resulted from leaving the conduct of industry to irresponsible individuals, wholly
without mutual understanding or concert, were mainly
four: first, the waste by mistaken undertakings;
second, the waste from the competition and mutual
hostility of those engaged in industry; third, the
waste by periodical gluts and crises, with the consequent interruptions of industry; fourth, the waste from
idle capital and labour, at all times. Any one of these
four great leaks, were all the others stopped, would
suffice to make the difference between wealth and
poverty on the part of a nation.
"Take the waste by mistaken undertakings, to
begin with. In your day the production and distribution of commodities being without concert or organization, there was no means of knowing just what




LOOKING BACKWARD.


173


demand there was for any class of products, or what
was the rate of supply.  Therefore, any enterprise by
a private capitalist was always a doubtful experiment.
The projector, having no general view of the field of
industry and consumption, such as our government
has, could never be sure either what the people wanted,'
or what arrangements other capitalists were making
to supply them. In view of this, we are not surprised
to learn that the chances were considered several to
one in favour of the failure of any given business
enterprise, and that it was common for persons who at
last succeeded in making a hit, to have failed
repeatedly. If a shoe-maker, for every pair of shoes
lhe succeeded in completing, spoiled the leather of four
or five pair, besides losing the time spent on them, he
would stand about the same chance of getting rich as
your contemporaries did with their system of private
enterprise, and its average of four or five failures to
one success.
" The next of the great wastes was that from
competition. The field of industry was a battle-field
as wide as the world, i which the workers wasted, in
assailing one another, energies which, if expended in
concerted effort, as to- day, would have enriched all.
As for mercy or quarter in this warfare, there was
absolutely no suggestion of it. To deliberately enter
a field of business and destroy the enterprises of those
who occupied it previously, in order to plant one's own
enterprise on their ruins, was an achievement which
never failed to command popular admiration. Nor is
there any stretch of fancy in comparing this sort of
struggle with actual warfare, so far as concerns the
mental agony and physical suffering which attended
the struggle, and the misery which overwhelmed the
defeated and those dependent on them. Now nothing
about your age is, at first sight, more astounding to a
man of modern times than the fact that men engaged
in the same industry, instead of fraternizing as




174


LOOKING BACKWARD.


comrades and co-labourers to a common end, should
have regarded each other as rivals and enemies to be
throttled and overthrown.  This certainly seems like
sheer madness, a scene from  bedlam.  But more
closely regarded, it is seen to be no such thing. Your
contemporaries, with their mutual throat-cutting,
knew very well what they were at. The producers of
the nineteenth century were not, like ours, working together for the maintenance of the community, but
each solely for his own maintenance au the expense of
the community. If, in working to this end, he at the
same time increased thk, aggregate wealth, that was
merely incidental.  It was just as feasible and as
common to increase -ne's private hoards by practices
injurious to the general welfare. One's worst enemies
were necessarily those of his own trade, for, under
your plan of making private profit the motive of production, a scarcity of the article he produced was
what each particular producer desired. It was for his
interest that no mo.' of it should be produced than he
himself could producc To secure this consummation
as far as circumstances permitted, by killing off and
discouraging those engaged in his line of industry,
was his constant effort. When he had killed off all he
could, his policy was to combine with those he could
not kill, and convert his general welfare into a warfare upon the public at large by cornering the market,
as I believe you used to call it, and putting up prices
to the highest point people would stand before going
without the goods. The daydream of the nineteenth
century producer was to gain absolute control of the
supply of some necessity of life, so that he might keep
the public at the verge of starvation, and always command famine prices for -what he supplied. This, Mr.
West, is what was called in the nineteenth century a
system of production. I will leave it to you if it does
not seem, in some of its aspects, a great deal more like
a system for preventing production. Some time when




LOOKING BACKWARD.


I75


we have plenty of leisure I am going to ask you to sit
down with me and try to make me comprehend, as I
never yet could, though I have studied the matter a
great deal, how such shrewd fellows as your contemporaries appeared to have been in many respects ever
came to entrust the business of providing for the community to a class whose interest it was to starve it.
I assure you that the wonder with us is not that the
world did not get rich under such a system, but that it
did not perish outright from want. This wonder increases as we go on to consider some of the other
prodigious wastes that characterized it.
"Apart from the waste of labour and capital by
misdirected industry, and that from the constant
bloodletting of your industrial warfare, your system
was liable to periodical convulsion overwhelming
alike the wise and unwise, the successful cut-throat as
well as his victim.  I refer to the business crises at
intervals of five to ten years, which wrecked the
industries of the nation, prostrating all weak enterprises and crippling the strongest, and were followed
by long periods, often of many years, of so-called dull
times, during which the capitalists slowly regathered
their dissipated strength, while the labouring classes
starved and rioted.  Then would ensue another brief
season of prosperity, followed in turn by another
crisis and the ensuing years of exhaustion.  As
commerce developed, making the nations mutually
dependent, these crises became world-wide, while the
obstinacy of the ensuing state of collapse increased
with the area affected by the convulsions, and the
consequent lack of rallying centres. In proportion as
the industries of the world multiplied and became
complex, and the volume of capital involved was
increased, these business cataclysms became more
frequent till, in the latter part of the nineteenth
centur'        re two yea             a. —n
good, and the system of industry never before so




LOOKING BACKWARD.


extended or so imposing seemed in d   erof collipsing by its owntweIw  After endless discussions,
your economists appear -by' that time to have settled
down to the despairing conclusion that there was no
more possibility of preventing or controlling these
crises than if they had been droughts or hurricanes.
It only remained to endure them as necessary evils,
and when they had passed over to build up again the
shattered structure of industry, as dwellers in an
earthquake country keep on rebuilding their cities on
the same site.
"So far as considering the causes of the trouble
inherent in their industrial system, your contemporaries were certainly correct. They werz in its very
basis, and must needs become more and more maleficent as the business fabric grew in size and complexity. One of these causes was the lack of any
common control of the different industries, and the
consequent impossibility of their orderly and coordinate development.  It inevitably resulted from
this lack that they were continually getting out of
step with one another and out of relation with the
demand.
"Of the latter there was no criterion such as
organized distribution gives us, and the first notice
that it had been exceeded in any group of industries
was a crash of prices, bankruptcy of producers, stoppage of production, reduction of wages, or discharge
of workmen. This process was constantly going on
in many industries, even in what were called good
times, but a crisis took place only when the industries
affected were extensive.  The markets then were
glutted with goods, of which nobody wanted beyond
a sufficiency at any price. The wages and profits of
those making the glutted classes of goods being
reduced or wholly stopped, their purchasing power as
consumers of other classes of goods, of which there
was no natural glut, was taken away, and, as a con



LOOKIN G BACKWARD.


I77


sequence, goods of which there was no natural glut
became artificially glutted, till their prices also were
broken down, and their makers thrown out of work
and deprived of income. The crisis was by this time
fairly under way, and nothing could check it till a
nation's ransom had been wasted.
" A cause, also inherent in your system, which often
produced and always terribly aggravated crises, was
the machinery of money and credit. Money was
essential when production was in many private hands,
and buying and selling was necessary to secure what
one wanted. It was, however, open to the obvious
objection of substituting for food, clothing, and other
things, -a merely conventional representative of them.
The confusion of mind which this favoured, between
goods and their representative, led the way to the
credit system and its prodigious illusions. Already
accustomed to accept money for commodities, the
people next accepted promises for money, and ceased
to look at all behind the representative for the thing
represented. Money was a sign of real commodities,
but credit was but the sign of a sign. There was a
natural limit to gold and silver, that is, money proper,
but none to credit, and the result was that the volume
of credit, that is, the promises of money, ceased to
bear any ascertainable proportion to the money, still
less to the commodities, actually in existence. Under
such a system, frequent and periodical crises were
necessitated by a law as absolute as that which brings
to the ground a structure overhanging its centre of
gravity. It was one of your fictions that the government and the banks authorized by it alone issued
money; but everybody who gave a dollar's credit
issued money to that extent, which was as good as
any to swell the circulation till the next crisis. The
great extension of the credit system was a characteristic of the latter part of the nineteenth century, and
accounts largely for the almost incessant business




178


LOOKING BACKWARD.


crises which marked that period. Perilous as credit
was, you could not dispense with its use, for, lacking
any national or other public organization of the
capital of the country, it was the only means you
had for concentrating and directing it upon industrial enterprises. It was in this way a most potent
means for exaggerating the chief peril of the private
enterprise system of industry by enabling particular
industries to absorb disproportionate amounts of the
disposable capital of the country, and thus prepare
disaster. Business enterprises were always vastly in
debt for advances of credit, both for one and another
and to the banks and capitalists and the prompt withdrawal of this credit at the first sign of a crisis was
generally the precipitating cause of it.
"It was the misfortune of your contemporaries that
they had to cement their business fabric with a
material which an accident might at any moment
turn into an explosive. They were in the plight ol
a man building a house with dynamite for mortar,
for credit can be compared with nothing else."
" If you would see how needless were these convulsions of business which I have been speaking of, and
how entirely they resulted from leaving industry to
private and unorganized management, just consider
the working of our system.  Over-production in
special lines, which was the great hobgoblin of your
day, is impossible now, for by the connection with
distribution and production, supply is geared to domand, like an engine to the governor which regulates
its speed.  Even suppose by an error of judgment
an excessive production of some commodity.  The
consequent slackening or cessation of production in
that line throws nobody out of employment.  The
suspended workers are at once found occupation in
several other departments of the vast workshop and
lose only the time spent in changing, while, as for
the glut, the business of the nation is large enough




LOOKING BACKWARD.


179


to carry any amount of product manufactued in excess of demand till the latter ove takes it. In such a
caseof over-production, as I have supposed, there is not
with us, as with you, any complex machinery to get
out of order and magnify a thousand times the original
mistake. Of course, having not even money, we still
less have credit.  All estimates deal directly with the
real things, the flour, iron, wood, wool, and labour, of
which money and credit were for you the very misleading representatives.  In our calculations of cost there
can be no mistakes. Out of the annual product the
amount necessary for the support of the people is
taken, and the requisite labour to produce the next
year's consumption provided for. The residue of the
material and labour represents what can be safely
expended in improve ments. If the crops are bad, tlhe
surplus for the year is less than usual, that is all.
Except for the slight occasional effects of such natural
causes, there are no fluctuations of business; the
material prosperity of the nation flows on uninterruptedly from generation to generation, like an ever
broadening and deepening river.
"Your business crises, Mr. West," continued the
doctor, "like either of the great wastes I mentioned
before, were enough, alone, to have kept your noses
to the grindstone for ever; but I have still to speak
of one other great cause of your poverty, and that was
the idleness of a great part of your capital and labour.
With us it is the business of the administrations to
keep in constant employment every ounce of available
capital and labour in the country. In your day there
was no general control of either capital or labour, and
a large part of both failed to find employment.
'Capital,' you used to say 'is naturally timid,' and it
would certainly have been reckless if it had not been
timid in an epoch when there was a large preponderance of probability that any particular business venture would end in failure. There was no time when,




0    LOOKING BACKWARD.


if security could have been guaranteed it, the amiount
of capital devoted to productive industry could not
have been greatly increased. The proportion of it sc
employed underwent constant extraordinary fluctuations, according to the greater or less feeling of urn
certainty as to the stability of the industrial situation,
so that the output of the national industries greatly
varied in different years. But, for the same reason
that the amount of capital employed at times of
special insecurity was far less than at times of somewhat greater security, a very large proportion was
never employed at all, because the hazard of business
was always very great in the best of times.
" It should be also noted that the great amount of
capital always seeking employment where tolerable
safety could be insured, terribly embittered the competition between capitalists when a promising opening
presented itself. The idleness of capital, the result of
its timidity, of course meant the idleness of labour in
corresponding degree. Moreover, every change in
the adjustments of business, every slightest alteration
in the condition of commerce or manufactures, not to
speak of the innumerable business failures that took
place yearly, even in the best of times, were constantly
throwing a multitude of men out of employment for
periods of weeks or months, or even years. A great
number of these seekers after employment were constantly traversing the country, becoming in time professional vagabonds, then criminals. 'Give us work 1'
was the cry of an army of the unemployed at nearly
all seasons, and in seasons of dullness in business this
army swelled to a host so vast and desperate as to
threaten the stability of the government. Could there
conceivably be a more conclusive demonstration of
the imbecility of the system of private enterprise as a
method for enriching a nation than the fact that in an
age of such general poverty and want of everything,
capitalists had to throttle one another to find a safe




LOCKING BACKWARD.


I8l


chance to invest their capital, and workmen rioted and
burned because they could find no work to do."
"Now, Mr. West," continued Dr. Leete, "I want
you to bear in mind that these points of which I have
been speaking indicate only negatively the advantages
of the national organization of industry by showing
certain fatal defects and prodigious imbecilities of the
system of private enterprise which are not found in it.
These alone, you must admit, would pretty well
explain why the nation is so much richer than in your
day. But the larger half of our advantage over you,
the positive side of it, I have yet barely spoken of.
Supposing the system of private enterprise in industry
were without any of the great leaks I have mentioned;
that there were no waste on account nf mifqirecter
effort growin out of mistakes as to the demand, and
in  i yab   tloed        a view of the inus
e      uppose, also, there were no neutralizin  and
d-upicating of effort from competition. Supp(se, also
there-   noste fir-usnies panics and crises
through bankruptcy and long interruptions of industry,
and aso none from the idlene ss of pl d  br.
Supposing theseevi, wvh-ch are essential to the conduct of industry by capital in private hands, could all
be miraculously prevented, and the system yet retained; even then the superiority of the results attained
by the modern industrial system of national control
would remain overwhelming.
" You used to have some pretty large textile manufacturing establishments, even in your day, although
not comparable with ours. No doubt you have visited
these great mills in your time, covering acres of ground,
employing thousands of hands, and combining under
one roof, under one control, the hundred distinct processes between, say, the cotton bale and the bale of
glossy calicoes. You have admired the vast economy
of labour as of mechanical force resulting from the
perfect interworking with the rest, of every wheel and
13




I82


LOOKING BACKWARD.


every hand. No doubt you have reflected how much
less the same force of workers employed in that factory
would accomplish if they were scattered, each man
working imdependently. Would you think it an exaggeration to say that the utmost product of those
workers, working thus apart, however amicable their
relations might be, was increased not merely by a
percentage, but many fold, when their efforts were
organized under one control?  Well now, Mr. West,
the organization of the industry of the nation under a
single control, so that all its processes interlock, has
multiplied the total product over the utmost that could
be done under the former system, even leaving out of
account the four great wastes mentioned, in the same
proportion that the product of those mill-workers was
increased by co-operation.  The effectiveness of the
working force of a nation, under the myraid-headed
leadership of a private capital, even if the leaders were
not mutual enemies, as compared with that which it
attains under a single head, may be likened to the
military efficiency of a mob, or a horde of barbarians
with a thousand petty chiefs, as compared with that
of a disciplined army under one general-such a
fighting machine, for example, as the German army
in the time of Von Moltke."
' After what you have told me," I said, " I do not
so much wonder that the nation is richer now than
then, but that you are not all Crcesuses."
"Well," replied Dr. Leete, " we are pretty well off.
The rate at which we live is as luxurious as we could
wish.  The rivalry of ostentation, which in your day
led to extravagance in no way conductive to comfort,
finds no place, of course, in a society of people absolutely equal in resources, and our ambition stops at
the surroundings which minister to the enjoyment of!ife  We might, indeed, have much larger incomes,
individually, if we chose so to use the surplus of our
product, but we prefer to expend it upon public works




LOOKING BACKWARD.


I83


and pleasures in which all share, upon public halls and
buildings, art galleries, bridges, statuary, means of
transit, and the conveniences of our cities, great
musical and theatrical exhibitions, and in providing
on a vast scale for the recreations of the people. You
have not begun to see how we live yet, Mr. West. At
home we have comfort, but the splendour of our life
is, on its social side, that which we share with our
fellows. When you know more of it you will see where
the.money goes, as you used to say, and 1 think you
will agree that we do well so to expend it."
"I suppose," observed Dr. Leete, as we strolled
homeward from the dining hall, "that no reflectio
would have cut the men of your wealth-worshippin
Century mo    enly than   uggion that they did
not-krnuwtoi- to make moey    everhe-ss   t hatis__
just he erdict history has pasd on he m  Their
system of unorganized and antagonistic industries, was
as absurd ec   ically as it was moraly abuminable.
Selfishness was their only sciene, and in industrial
production, selfishness is suicide. Competition, which
is the instinct of selfishness, is another word for di.si
pation of e      leegy whil combination is the secret of
efficient rodaction-.and not tillhthe Tdf -finmcreasnmg
the indrvidual hoard gives place to the idea of increasing the common stock, can industrial combination be
realized, and the acquisition of wealth really begin.
Even if the principle of share and share alike for all
men were not the only humane and rational basis for
a society, we should still enforce it as economically
expedient, seeing that until the disintegrating influence
of self-seeking is suppressed no true concert of industry
is possible."




I84


LOOKING BACKWARD,


CHAPTER XXIII.
HAT evening, as I sat with Edith in the music
room, listening to some pieces in the programme
bf that day which had attracted my notice, I took
advantage of an interval in the music to say, " I have
a question to ask you which I fear is rather indiscreet."
" I am quite sure it is not that," she replied, encouragingly.
" I am in the position of an eavesdropper," I continued, " who, having overheard a little of a matter
not intended for him, though seeming to concern him,
has the impudence to come to the speaker for the
rest.'
" An eavesdropper!" she repeated, looking puzzled.
"Yes," I said, "but an excusable one, as I think
you will admit."
" This is very mysterious," she replied.
"Yes," said I, "so mysterious that I often have
doubted whether I really overheard at all what I am
going to ask you about, or only dreamed it. I want
you to tell me. The matter is this: When I was
coming out of that sleep of a century, the first impression of which I was conscious was of voices
talking around me, voices that afterwards I recognized
as your father's, your mother's, and your own. First,
I remember your father's voice saying, 'He is going
to open his eyes. He had better see but one person
at first.' Then you said, if I did not dream it all,
' Promise me, then, that you will not tell him." Your
father seemed to hesitate about promising, but you
insisted, and your mother interposing, he finally promised, and when I opened my eyes I only saw him."




LOOKING BACKWARD.


I had been quite serious when I said that I was not
sure that I had not dreamed the conversation I
fancied I had overheard, so incomprehensible was it
that these people should know anything of me, a contemporary of their great-grandparents, which I did
not know myself. But when I saw the effect of my
words upon Edith, I knew that it was no dream, but
another mystery, and a more puzzling one than any I
had before encountered. For from the moment that
the drift of my question became apparent, she showed
indications of the most acute embarrassment. Her
eyes, always so frank and direct in expression, had
dropped in a panic before mine, while her face
crimsoned from neck to forehead.
"Pardon me," I said, as soon as I had recovered
from bewilderment at the extraordinary effect of my
words. "It seems, then, that I was not dreaming.
There is some secret, something about me, which you
are withholding from me. Really, doesn't it seem a
little hard that a person in my position should not be
given all the information possible concerning himself?"
" It does not concern you-that is, not directly. It
is not about you-exactly," she replied, scarcely
audibly.
" But it concerns me in some way," I persisted. "It
must be something that would interest me."
"I don't know even that," she replied, venturing a
momentary glance at my face, furiously blushing, and
yet with a quaint smile flickering about her lips which
betrayed a certain perception of humour in the situation despite its embarrassment,-" I am not sure that
it would even interest you."
"Your father would have told me," I insisted, with
an accent of reproach.  "It was you who forbade
him. He thought I ought to know."
She did not reply. She was so entirely charming in
her confusion that 1 was now prompted as much by




i 86


LOOKING BACKWARD.


the desire to prolong the situation as by my original
curiosity, in importuning her further.
" Am I never to know? Will you never tell me?"
I said.
"It depends," she answered, after a long pause.
"On what? " I persisted.
"Ah, you ask too much " she replied, Then, raising
to mine a face which inscrutable eyes, flushed cheeks,
and smiling lips combined to render perfectly bewitching, she added, " What should you think if I said that
it depended on yourself?"
"On myself?" I echoed. "How can that possibly
be?"
" Mr. West, we are losing some charming music,"
was her only reply to this, and turning to the telephone, at a touch of her finger she set the air
swaying to the rhythm of an adagio. After that she
took good care that the music should leave no opportunity for conversation. She kept her face averted
from me, and pretended to be absorbed in the airs,
but that it was a mere pretence the crimson tide
standing at flood in her cheeks sufficiently betrayed.
When at length she suggested that I might have
heard all I cared to, for that time, and we rose to
leave the room, she came straight up to me and said,
without raising her eyes, " Mr. West, you say I have
been good to you. I have not been particularly so,
but if you think I have, I want you to promise me
that you will not try again to make me tell you this
thing you have asked to-night, and that you will not
try to find it out from any one else-my father or
mother, for instance."
To such an appeal there was but one reply possible.
"Forgive me for distressing you. Of course I will
promise," I said. " I would never have asked you if
I had fancied it could distress you. But do you blame
me for being curious?"
" I do not blame you at all."




LOOKING BACKWARD.


I87


' And some time," I added, " If I do not tease you,
you may tell me of your own accord. May I not
hope so? "
"Perhaps," she murmured.
"Only perhaps?"
Looking up she read my face with a quick deep
deep glance. "Yes," she said, "I think I may tell
you-some time;" and so our conversation ended, for
she gave me no chance to say anything more.
That night I don't think even Dr. Pillsbury could
have put me to sleep, till toward morning, at least.
Mysteries had been my accustomed food for days,
now, but none had before confronted me at once so
mysterious and so fascinating as this, the solution of
which Edith Leete had forbidden me evan to seek.
It was a double mystery. How, in the first place, was
it conceivable that she should know any secret about
me, a stranger from a strange age?  In the second
place, even if she should know such a secret, how
account for the agitating effect which the knowledge
of it seemed to have upon her? There are puzzles so
difficult that one cannot even get so far as a conjecture to the solution, and this seemed one of them.
I am usually of too practical a turn to waste time on
such conundrums; but the difficulty of a riddle embodied in a beautiful young girl does not detract from
its fascination. In general, no doubt, maidens' blushes
may be safely assumed to tell the same tale to young
men in all ages and races, but to give that interpretation to Edith's crimson cheeks, would, considering ly
position and the length of time I had known her, and
still more the fact that this mystery dated from before
I had known her at all, be a piece of utter fatuity.
And yet she was an angel, and I should not have
been a young man if reason and common sense had
been able quite to banish a roseate tinge from my
dreams that night.




x88


LOOKING BACKWARD.


CHAPTER XXIV,
IN the morning I went down stairs early in the
hope of seeing Edith alone. In this, however, I
was disappointed. Not finding her in the house, I
sought her in the garden, but she was not there. In
the course of my wanderings I visited the under.
ground chamber, and sat down there to rest. Upon
the reading table in the chamber several periodicals
and newspapers lay, and thinking that Dr. Leete
might be interested in glancing over a Boston daily of
I887, I brought one of the papers with me into the
house when I came.
At breakfast I met Edith.  She blushed as she
greeted me, but was perfectly self-possessed. As we
sat at table, Dr. Leete amused himself with looking
over the paper I had brought in. There was in it, as
in all the newspapers of that date, a great deal about
the labour troubles, strikes, lockouts, boycotts, the
programmes of labour parties, and the wild threats
of the anarchists.
" By the way," said I, as the doctor read aloud to
us some of these items, "what part did the followers
of the red flag take in the establishment of the new
order of things?  They were making considerable
noise the last thing that I knew."
"They had nothing to do with it except to hinder
it, of course," replied Dr. Leete. " They did that very
effectually while they lasted, for their talk so disgusted people as to deprive the best considered projects for social reform of a hearing. The subsidizing
of those fellows was one of the shrewdest moves of
the opponents of reform."
c" Subsidizinor them!" I exclaimed in astonishment.




LOOKING BACKWARD.


I89


"Certainly," replied  Dr. Leete.    "No historical
authority nowadays doubts that they were paid by
the great monopolies to wave the red flag and talk
about burning, sacking, and blowing people up, in
order, by alarming the timid, to head off any real
reforms. What astonishes me most is that you should
have fallen into the trap so unsuspectingly."
"What are your grounds for believing that the red
flag party was subsidized?" I inquired.
"Why simply because they must have seen that
their course made a thousand enemies of their professed cause to one friend. Not to suppose that they
were hired for the work is to credit them with an inconceivable folly.*   In the United States, of all
countries, no party could intelligently expect to carry
its point without first winning over to its ideas a
majority of the nation, as the national party eventually
did."
"The national party!" I exclaimed.     "That must
have arisen after my day. I suppose it was one of
the labour parties."
" Oh, no! " replied the doctor. " The labour parties,
as such, never could have accomplished anything on a
large or permanent scale. For purposes of national
scope, their basis as merely class organizations was
too narrow. It was not till a rearrangement of the
industrial and social system on a higher ethical basis,
and for the more efficient production of wealth, was
recognized as the interest, not of one class, but equally
of all classes, of rich and poor, cultured and ignorant,
old and young, weak and strong, men and women,
that there was any prospect that it would be achieved.
Then the national party arose to carry it out by
political methods.    It probably took    that name
* I fully admit the difficulty of accounting for the course of the anarchists on any other theory than that they were subsidized by the capitalists
but, at the same time, there is no doubt that the theory is wholly erroneous.
It certainly was not held at the time by any one, though it may seem so
obvious in the retrospect.




g90          LOOKING BACKWARD.
because its aim was to nationalize the funct-ions ot
production and distribution. Indeed, it could not well
have had any other name, for its purpose was to
realize the idea of the nation with a grandeur and
completeness never before conceived, not as an association of men for certain merely political functions
affecting their happiness only remotely and superficially, but as a family, a vital union, a common life,
a mighty heaven-touching tree whose leaves are its
people, fed from its veins, and feeding it in turn. The
most patriotic of all possible parties, it sought to
justify patriotism and raise it from an instinct to a
rational devotion, by making the native land truly a
father land, a father who kept the people alive and
was not merely an idol for which thev were expected
to die."




LOOKING BACKWARD.


I9I


CHAPTER XXV.
HE personality of Edith Leete had naturally impressed me strongly ever since I had come, in
so strange a manner, to be an inmate of her father's
house, and it was to be expected that after what had
happened the night previous, I should be more than
ever preoccupied with thoughts of her.  From the
first I had been struck with the air of serene frankness and ingenuous directness, more like that of a
noble and innocent boy than any girl I had ever
known, which characterized her.  I was curious to
know how far this charming quality might be peculiar
to herself, and how far possibly a result of alterations
in the social position of women which might have
taken place since my time.  Finding an opportunity
that day, when alone with Dr. Leete, I turned the
conversation in that direction.
" I suppose," I said, "that women nowadays, having
been relieved of the burden of housework, have no
employment but the cultivation of their charms and
graces."
"So far as we men are concerned," replied Dr.
Leete " we should consider that they amply paid their
way, to use one of your forms of expression, if they
confined themselves to that occupation, but you may
be very sure they have quite too much spirit to
consent to be mere beneficiaries of society, even as a
return for ornamenting it. They did, indeed, welcome
their riddance from housework, because that was, not
only exceptionally wearing in itself but also wasteful
in the extreme, of energy, as compared w th the cooperative plan; but they accepted relief from that
sort of work only that they might contribute in other




192


LOOKING BACKWARD.


and more effectual, as well as more agreeable ways
to the common weal.  Our women, as well as our
men, are members of the-i'dutrin f rsT ar.nd leave it
only when maternal duties claim them. The result is
that most women, at one time or another of their
lives, serve industrially some five or ten or fifteen
years, while those who have no children fill out the
full term."
"A woman does nor, then, necessarily leave the
industrial service on marriage?" I queried.
"No more than a man," replied the doctor." Why
on earth should she?   Married women have nc
housekeeping responsibilities now, you know, and a
husband is not a baby that he should be cared for."
" It was thought one of the most grievous features
of our civilization that we required so much toil from
women," I said: " but it seems to me you get more
out of them than we did."
Dr. Leete laughed. "Indeed we do, just as we do
out of our men. Yet the women of this age are very
happy, and those of the nineteenth century, unless
contemporary references greatly mislead us, were
very miserable. The reason that women nowadays
are so much more efficient co-labourers with the men,
and at the same time are so happy, is that, in regard
to their work as well as men's, we follow the principle
of providing every one the kind of occupation he or
she is best adapted to. Women being inferior in
strength to men, and further disqualified industrially
in special ways, the kinds of occupation reserved for
them, and the conditions under which they pursue
them, have reference to these facts. The heavier
sorts of work are everywhere reserved for men, the
lighter occupations for women. Under no circumstances is a woman permitted to follow anylployment niot perfect ly- Ftedo    as to.kind and
degree of labour, t her sex. Moreover. the hours of
wo mrn      aCo                        those of




LOOKING BACKWARV.


i93


men's, more frequent vacations are granted,andthe
mofstcarefii provision is made for rest when needed.
The men of thisday so well appreciate th teyhowe
to the beauty and grace of women the chief zest of
their lives and their main incentive to effort, that they
permit them to work at all only because it is fully
understood that a certain regular requirement of
labour, of a sort adapted to their powers, is well for
body and mind, during the period of maximum physical vigour. We believe that the magnificent health
which distinguishes our women from those of your
day, who seem to have been so generally sickly, is
owing largely to the fact that all alike are furnished
with healthful and inspiriting occupation,"
"I understood you," I said, "that the womenworkers belong to the army of industry; but how can
they be under the same system of ranking and discipline with the men when the conditions of their
labour are so different?"
"They are under an entirely different discipline,*
replied Dr. Leete, "and constitute ratihcr an allied
force than an integral part of the army of the men.
They have a woman general-in-chief and are under
an exclusively feminine regime. This general, as also
the higher officers, is chosen by the body of women
who have passed the time of service, in correspondence
with the manner in which the chiefs of the masculine
army and the president of the nation are elected.
The general of the women's army sits in the cabinet
of the president and has a veto on measures respect
ing women's work, pending appeals to Congress.
I should have said, in speaking of the judiciary
that we have women on the bench, appointed by
the general of the women, as well as men. Causes
in which both parties are women are determined by
women judges, and where a man and a woman are
parties to a case, a judge of either sex must consent
to the verdict."




r94


LOOKING BACKWARD.


"Womanhood seems to be organized as a sort of
imperium in imperio in your system," I said.
"To some extent," Dr. Leete replied; "but the
inner imperium is one from which you will admit
there is not likely to be much danger to the nation.
The lack of somesuch recognition of thedistinct
individualit of the sexes was one of the innumerable
defects of your societ-y.  The passional attraction
b-fewen men and women has too often prevented a
perception of the profound differences which make
the members of each sex in many things strange to
the other, and capable of sympathy only with their
own. It is in giving full play to the differences of
sex rather than in seeking to obliterate them, as was
apparently the effort of some reformers in your day,
that the enjoyment of each by itself, and the piquancy
which each has for the other, are alike enhanced. In
your da there was no career for women except in an
nnural rivalry with men. We hahve___giventhna
world of their own with its emulations ambitions and@
— sure you they areryhappy in it.
It-s-ems-f to-'is-itha women were more than any other
class the victims of your civilization. There is something which, even at this distance of time, penetrates
one with pathos in the spectacle of their ennuied,
undeveloped lives, stunted at niarriage, their narrow
horizon, bounded so often, physically, by the four
walls of home, and morally by a petty circle of personal interests. I speak now not of the poorer classes,
who were generally worked to death, but also of the
well to do and rich. From the great sorrows, as well
as the petty frets of life, they had no refuge in the
breezy outdoor world of human affairs, nor any
interests save those of the family. Such an existence
would have softened men's brains or driven them
mad. All that is changed to-day. No woman is
heard nowadays wishing she were a man, nor parents
r  desiring boy rather than girl children. Our girls are




LOOKING BACXWARD.


I95


as full of ambition for their careers as our boys.
Marriage, when it comes, does not mean incarceration
for — em, nor does it separate them in anyora
the "large int&erests of s 3C               }
world. Only when maternity fills a woman's mind
with new interests does she withdraw from the world
for a time. Afterwards, and at any time, she may
return to her place among her comrades, nor need
she ever lose touch with them. Women are a very
happy race nowadays, as compare with wvhat tey
ever wvereeof-rc1nthe wor's history, and their
power of giving happiness to men has been of course
increased in proportion." --..
"I should imagine it possible," I said, "that the
interest which girls take in their careers as members
of the industrial army and candidates fbr its distinctions, might have an effect. to deter them from
marriage."
Dr. Leete smiled.  "Have no anxiety on that
score, Mr. West," he replied. "The Creator took
very good care that whatever other modifications the
dispositions of men and women might with time take
on, their attraction for each other should remain
constant. The mere fact that in an age like yours
when the struggle for existence must have left people
little time for other thoughts, and the future was so
uncertain that to assume parental responsibilities
must have often seemed like a criminal risk, there
was even then marrying and giving in marriage
should be conclusive on this point. As for love now,
adays, one of our authors says that the vacuum left in
the minds of men and women by the absence of care
for one's livelihood, has been entirely taken up by the
tender Passion. That, however, I beg you to believe,
is something of an exaggeration. For the rest, so far
is marriage from being an interference with a woman's
career that the higher positions in the feminine army
of indvitry are intrusted only to womeii who have




lte6


LOOKING tACKWARD.


been both wives and inothers, as they alone fully
represent their sew.," Are credit cards issued to the women jast as to
the men?"
"Certainly."
"The credits of the women I suppose are for
smaller sums, owing to the frequent suspension of
their labour on account of family responsibilities."
"Smaller I" exclaimed Dr. Leetc, "0, no! The
maintenance of all our people is the same. There
are no exceptions to that rule, but if any difference
were made on account of the interruptions you speak
of, it would be by making the woman's credit larger,
not smaller.  Can you think of any service constituting a ronger claim on the natidonS gratitfde
_t   _F h-' -- 'rnf -the-'nation's children?
According to our view, none deserve so well of the
world as good parents. There is no task so unselfish,
so necessarily without return, though the heart is
well rewarded, as the nurture of the children who are
to make the world for one another when we are
gone."
" It would seem to follow from what you have said,
that wives are in no way dependent on their husbands for maintenance."
"Of course they are not," replied Dr. Leete, "nor
children on their parents either, that is, for means o'
support, though of course they are for the offices of
affection. The child's labor, when he grows up, will go
to increase the common stock, not his parents', who
will be dead, and therefore he is properly nurtured
out of the common stock. The account of every
person, man, woman, and child, you must understand,
is always with the nation directly, and never through
any intermediary, except, of course, that parents, to a
certain extent, act for children as their guardians.
You see that it is by virtue of the relation of individuals to the nation, of their membership in it, that they


/




LOOKING BACKWARD.


are entitled to support; and this title is in no way
connected with or affected by their relations to other
individuals who are fellow members of the nation with
them. That any person should be dependent for tihemeans of support upon-anot-her, would-_heshQscking
to the moral sense _as well as indefensible on any
rational scial theory. What would become of per.
sonal liberty and dignity under such an arrangement?
I am aware that you called yourselves free in the
nineteenth century. The meaning of the word could
not then, however, have been at all what it is at
present, or you certainly would not have applied it
to a society of which nearly every member was in a
position of galling personal dependence upon others
as to the very means of life, the poor upon the rich,
or employed upon employer, women upon men, children upon parents. Instead of distributing the product of the nation directly to its members, which
would seem the most natural and obvious method, it
would actually appear that you had given your minds
to devising a plan of hand to hand distribution involving the maximum of personal humiliation to all
classes of recipients.
"As regards the dependence of women upon men
for support, which then was usual, of course natural
attraction in case of marriages of love may often have
made it endurable, though for spirited women I
should fancy it must always have remained humiliating. What, then. must it have been in the innumerable cases where women, with or without the form
of marriage, had to sell themselves to men to get
their living? Even your contemporaries, callous as
they were to most of the revolting aspects of their
society, seem to have had an idea that this was not
as it should be; but, it was still only for pity's sake
that they deplored the lot of the women. It did not
occur to them that it was robbery as well as cruelty
when men seized for themselves the whole product
14




198


LOOKING BACKWARD.


of the world and left women to beg and wheedle for
their share. Why-but bless me, Mr. West, I am
really running on at a remarkable rate, just as if the
robbery, the sorrow, and the shame which those poor
women endured were not over a century since, or as if
you were responsible for what you no doubt deplored
as much as I do."
"I must bear my share of responsibility for the
world as it then was," I replied. "All I can say in
extenuation is that until the nation was ripe for the
present system of organized production and distribution, no radical improvement in the position of woman
was possible. The root of her disability, as you say,
was her personal dependence upon man for her livelihood, and I can imagine no other mode of social
organization than that you have adopted which would
have set woman free of man, at the same time that it set
men free of one another. I suppose, by the way, that
so entire a change in the position of women cannot
have taken place without affecting in marked ways
the social relations of the sexes. That will be a very
interesting study for me."
"The change you will observe," said Dr. Leete,
" will chiefly be, I think, the entire frankness and unconstraint which now characterizes those relations, as
compared with the artificiality which seems to have
marked them in your time. The sexes now meet
Aith the ease of perfect equals, suitors to each other
for nothing but love. In your time the fact that
women were dependent for support on men, made the
woman in reality the one chiefly benefited by marriage.
This fact, so far as we can judge from contemporary
records, appears to have been coarsely enough recognized among the lower classes, while among the more
polished it was glossed over by a system of elaborate
conventionalities which aimed to carry the precisely
opposite meaning, namely, that the man was the party
chiefly benefited To keep up this convention it was




LOOKI1N BACKWARD.


Tl9


essential that he should always seem the suitor.
Nothing was therefore considered more shocking to
the proprieties than that a woman should betray a
fondness for a man before he had indicated a desire
to marry her. Why, we actually have in our libraries
books, by authors of your day, written for no other
purpose than to discuss the question whether, under
any conceivable circumstances, a woman might, without discredit to her sex, reveal an unsolicited love.
All this seems exquisitely absurd to us, and yet we
know that, given your circumstances, the problem
might have a serious side. When for a woman to
proffer her love to a man was in effect to invite him to
assume the burden of her support, it is easy to see that
pride and delicacy might well have checked the
promptings of the heart. When you go out into our
society, Mr. West, you must be prepared to be often
cross-questioned on this point by our young people,
who are naturally much interested in this aspect of
old-fashioned manners."*
"And so the girls of the twentieth century tell their
love."
"If they choose," replied Dr. Leete. "There is no
more pretence of concealment of feeling on their part
than on the part of their lovers. Coquetry would be
as much despised in a girl as in a man. Affected
coldness, which in your day rarely deceived a lover,
would deceive him wholly now, for no one thinks of
practising it."
"One result which must follow from the independence of woman, I can see for myself," I said. " There
can be no marriages now, except those of inclination."
"That is a matter of course," replied Dr. Leete.
* may say that Dr. Leete's warning lias been fully justified by my ex.
perience. The amount and intensity of amusement which the young
people of this day, and the young women especially, are able to extract
from what they are pleased to call the oddities of courtship in the nineo
teenth century, appear unlimited.




LOOKING BACKWARD,


" Think of a world in which there are nothing but
Matches of pure love! Ah, me, Dr. Leete, how far
you are from being able to understand what an astonshing phenomenon such a word seems to a man of
the nineteenth century! "
" I can, however, to some extent, imagine it," replied
the doctor. " But the fact you celebrate, that there
are nothing but love matches, means even more, perhaps, than you probably at first realize. It means
that for the first time in human history the principle
of sexual selection, with its tendency to preserve and
transmit the better types of the race, and let the inferior types drop out, has unhindered operation. The
necessities of poverty, the need of having a home, no
longer tempt women to accept as the fathers of their
children men whom they neither can love nor respect.
Wealth and rank no longer divert attention from per-.sonal qualities. Gold no longer 'gilds the straitened
forehead of the fool.' The gifts of person, mind, and
disposition,beauty, wit,eloquence, kindness, generosity,
geniality, courage, are sure oftransmission to posterity.
Every generation is sifted through a little finer mesh
than the last. The attributes that human nature admires are preserved, those that repel it are left behind.
There are, of course, a great many women who with
love must mingle admiration, and seek to wed greatly,
but these not the less obey the same law, for to wed
greatly now is not to marry men of fortune or title,
but those who have risen above their fellows by the
solidity or brilliance of their services to humanity.
These form nowadays the only aristocracy with which
alliance is distinction.
" You were speaking, a day or two ago, of the physical superiority of our people to your contemporaries.
Perhaps more important than any of the causes I
mentioned then as tending to race purification, has
been the effect of untrammelled sexual selection upon
the quality of two or three successive generations.  I




LOOKING BACKWARD.


201


believe that when you have made a fuller study of our
people you will find in them not only a physical, but
a mental and moral improvement. It would be strange
if it were not so, for not only is one of the great laws
of nature now freely working out the salvation of the
race, but a profound moral sentiment has come to its
support. Individualism. which i Par day was thdn
animating idearo society, not only was fataLtoy \
vital sentiment of brotherhood and common interest \
a     vng ivmg,-but-equayoaayrlization of
the responsibility ofthe ivingLfor thegeneration to  \
foIlow-To-day this sense of responsibility, practically {
unrecognized in all previous ages, has become one of
the great ethical ideas of the race, reinforcing, with an
intense conviction of duty, the natural impulse to seek
in marriage the best and noblest of the other sex. The
result is, that not all the encouragements and incentives of every sort which we have provided to develop
industry, talent, genius, excellence of whatever kind
are comparable in their effect on our young men with
the fact that our women sit aloft as judges of the race
and reserve themselves to reward the winners. Of all
the whips, and spurs, and baits, and prizes, there is
none like the thought of the radiant faces, which the
laggards will find averted.
" Celibates nowadays are almost invariably men
who have failed to acquit themselves creditably in the
work of life. The woman must be a courageous one,
with a very evil sort of courage, too, whom pity for
one of these unfortunates should lead to defy the
opinion of her generation-for otherwise she is freeso far as to accept him for a husband. I should add
that, more exacting and difficult to resist than any
other element in that opinion, she would find the
sentiment of her own sex. Our women have risen to
the full height of their responsibility as the wardens
of the world to come, to whose keeping the keys of
the future are confided. Their feeling of duty in this




202           LOOKING BACKWARD.
respect amounts to a sense of religious consecration.
It is a cult in which they educate their daughter.
from childhood."
After going to my room that night, I sat up late to
read a romance of Berrian, handed me by Dr. Leete,
the plot of which turned on a situation suggested by
his last words, concerning the modern view of parental
responsibility.  A similar situation would almost
certainly have been treated by a nineteenth century
romancist so as to excite the morbid sympathy of th(
reader with the sentimental selfishness of the lovers,
and his resentment towards the unwritten law which
they outraged. I need not describe-for who has not
read "Ruth Elton"?-how different is the courst
which Berrian takes, and with what tremendous effect
he enforces the principle which he states: " Over the
unborn our power is that of God, and our responsi.
bility like His towards us. As we acquit ourselves
toward them, so let Him deal with us."




LOOKING BACKWARD.


203


CHAPTER XXVI.
I THINK if a person were ever excusable for
losing track of the days of the week, the circumstances excused me. Indeed, if I had been told that
the method of reckoning time had been wholly changed
and the days were now counted in lots of five, ten,
or fifteen instead of seven, I should have been in no
way surprised after what I had already heard and
seen of the twentieth century. The first time that
any inquiry as to the days of the week occurred to
me, was the morning following the conversation related in the last chapter. At the breakfast table Dr.
Leete asked me if I would care to hear a sermon.
"Is it Sunday, then? "  exclaimed.
"(Yes," he replied. " It was Friday of last week
you see when we made the lucky discovery of the
buried chamber to which we owe your society this
morning. It was Saturday morning soon after midnight that you first awoke, and Sunday afternoon
when you awoke the second time with faculties fully
regained."
" So you still have Sundays and sermons," I said.
"We had prophets who foretold that long before this
time the world would have dispensed with both. 1
am very curious to know how the ecclesiastical systems fit in with the rest of your social arrangements
I suppose you have a sort of national church with
official clergymen."
Dr. Leete laughed, and Mrs. Leete and Edith
seemed greatly amused.
"Why, Mr. West," Edith said, "what odd people
you must think us.  You were quite done with
national reliious establishments in the nineeenth




204


LOOKING BACKWARD.


century. n  did you fancy we had gont back to
"But how can voluntary churches and an unofficial
clerical profession be reconciled with national ownership of all buildings, and the industrial service required
of all men?" I answered.
"The religious practices of the people have naturally
changed considerably in a century," replied Dr. Leete;
" but supposing them to have remained unchanged,
our social system would accommodate them perfectly.
The nation supplies any person or number of persons
with buildings on guarantee of the rent, and they
remain tenants while they pay it. As for the clergymen, if a number of persons wish the services of an
individual for any particular end of their own, apart
from the general service of the nation, they can always
secure it, with that individual's own consent of course,
just as we secure the service of our editors, by contributing from their credit-cards an indemnity to the
nation for the loss of his services in general industry.
This indemnity, paid the nation for the individual
answers to the salary in your day paid to the individual
himself; and the various applications of this principle
leave private initiative full play in all details to which
national control is not applicable. Now as to hearing
a sermon to-day, if you wish to do so, you can either
go to a church to hear it or stay at home."
" How am I to hear it if I stay at home?"
"Simply by accompanying us to the music room at
the proper hour, and selecting an easy chair. There
are some who still prefer to hear sermons in church,
but most of our preaching, like our musioal performances, is not in public, but delivered in acoustically
prepared chambers, connected by wire with subscribers'
houses. If you prefer to go to a church I shall be
glad to accompany you, but I really don't believe you
are likely to hear anywhere a better discourse than
fou will at home. I see by the paper that Mr. Barton




LOOKING BACKWARD.


Is to ireach this morning, and he preaches only by
telephone, and to audiences often reaching 50o,ooo.
" The novelty of the experience of hearing a sermon
under such circumstances would incline me to be one
of Mr. Barton's hearers, if no other reason," I said.
An hour or two later, as I sat reading in the library,
Edith came for me, and I followed her to the music
room, where Dr and Mrs. Leete were waiting. We
had not more than seated ourselves comfortably when
the tinkle of a bell was heard, and a few moments
after the voice of a man, at the pitch of ordinary
conversation, addressed us, with an effect of proceeding from In invisible person in *he room. This was
what the voice said:
MR BARTON'S SERMON.
"We have had among us, during the past week, a
critic from the nineteenth century, a living representative of the epoch of our great-grandparents. It
would be strange if a fact so extraordinary had not
somewhat strongly affected our imaginations. Perhaps most of us have been stimulated to some effort
to realise the society of a century ago, and figure to
ourselves what it must have been like to live then. In
inviting you now to consider certain reflections upon
this subject which have occurred to me, I presume
that I shall rather follow than divert the course of
your own thoughts."
Edith whispered something to her father at this
point, to which he nodded assent and turned to me.
" Mr. West," he said, " Edith uggests that you may
find it slightly embarrassing to listen to a discourse
on the lines Mr. Barton is laying down, and if so, you
need not be cheated out of a sermon. She will connect us with Mr. Sweetser's speaking room if you say
so, and I can still promise you a very good discourse&'




206


LOOKING BACKWARD.


'No, no," I said. "Believe me, I would much
rather hear what Mr. Barton has to say."
" As you please," replied my host.
When her father spoke to me Edith had touched a
screw and the voice of Mr. Barton had ceased abruptly,
Now at another touch the room was once more filled
with the earnest sympathetic tones which had already
impressed me most favourably.
"I venture to assume that one effect has been
common with us as a result of this effort at retrospection, and that it has been to leave us more than
ever amazed at the stupendous change whicli one brief
century has made in the material and moral conditions
of humanity.
"Still, as regards the contrast between the poverty
of the nation and the world in the nineteenth century
and their wealth now, it is not greater, possibly, than
had been before seen in human history, perhaps not
greater, for example, than that between the poverty of
this country during the earliest colonial period of the
seventeenth century and the relatively great wealth it
hlad attained at the close of the nineteenth, or between
the England of William the Conqueror and that of
Victoria. Although the aggregate riches of a nation
did not then, as now, afford any accurate criterion of
the condition of the masses of its people, yet, instances like these afford partial parallels for the merely
material side of the contrast between the nineteenth
and the twentieth centuries. It is when we contemplate the moral aspect of that contrast that we find
ourselves in the presence of a phenomenon for which
history offers no precedent, however far back we may
cast our eye. One might almost be excused who
should exclaim, 'Here, surely, is something like a
miracle!' Nevertheless, when we give over idle wonder
and begin to examine the seeming prodigy critically,
we find it no prodigy at all, much less a miracle. It




LOOKING iACKWARD.


207


is not necessary to suppose a moral new birth of
humanity, or a wholesale destruction of the wicked,
and survival of the good, to account for the fact before
us. It finds its simple and obvious explanation in the
reaction of a changed environment upon human nature.
It means merely that a form of society which was
founded on the pseudo self-interest of selfishness, and
appealed solely to the anti-social and brutal side of
human nature, has been replaced by institutions based
on the true self-interest of a rational unselfishness,
and appealing to the social and generous instincts of
men.
"1AIy friends, if you would see men again the wild
beasts they seemed in the nineteenth century, all you
have to do is to restore the old social and industrial
system, which taught them to view their natural prey
in their fellow-men, and find their gain in the loss of
others. No doubt it seems to you that no necessity,
however dire, would have tempted you to subsist on
what superior skill or strength enabled you to wrest
from others equally needy. But suppose it were not
merely your own life that you were responsible for. I
know well that there must have been many a man
among our ancestors who, if it had been merely a
question of his own life, would sooner have given it up
than nourished it by bread snatched from others. But
this lhe was not permitted to do. He had dear lives
dependent on him.   Men loved women in those
days, as now. God knows how they dared be fathers,
but they had babies as sweet, no doubt, to them as ours
to us, whom they must feed, clothe, educate. The
gentlest creatures are fierce when they have young to
perovide for, and in that wolfish society the struggle for
bread borrowed a peculiar desperation from the
tenderest sentiments. For the sake of those dependent on him, a man might not choose, but must plunge
into the foul fight,-cheat, overreach, supplant, defraud,
buy below worth and sell above, break down the busi



LOOKING BACKWARD


ness by which his neighbour fed his young ones, tempt
men to buy what they ought not and to sell what they
should not, grind his labourers, sweat his debtors,
cozen his creditors. Though a man sought it carefully
with tears, it was hard to find a way in which he could
earn a living and provide for his family except by
pressing in before some weaker rival and taking the
food from his mouth. Even the ministers of religion
were not exempt from this cruel necessity. While they
warned their flocks against the love of money, regard
for their families compelled them to keep an out-look
for the pecuniary prizes of their calling. Poor fellows,
theirs was indeed a trying business, preaching to men
a generosity and unselfishness which they, and everybody, knew would, in the existing state of the world,
reduce to poverty those who should practice them,
laying down laws of conduct which the law of selfpreservation compelled men to break. Looking on the
inhuman spectacle of society, these worthy men
bitterly bemoaned the depravity of human nature; as
if angelic nature would not have been debauched in
such a devil's school f Ah, my friends, believe me, it is
not now in this happy age thaz humanity is proving
the divinity within it. It was rather in those evil days
when not even the fight for life with one another, the
struggle for mere existence, in which mercy was folly,
could wholly banish generosity and kindness from the
earth.
"It is not hard to understand the desperation with
which men and women, who under other conditions
would have been full of gentleness and truth, fought
and tore each other in the scramble for gold, when
we realize what it meant to miss it, what poverty
was in that day. For the body it was hunger and
thirst, torment by heat and frost; in sickness, neglect;
in health, unremitting toil; for the moral nature it
meant oppression, contempt, and the patient endurance
Qf indignity, brutish associations from infancy, the loss




LOOKING BACKWARD.


20


o' all the innocence of childhood, the grace of womanhod, the dignity of manhood; for the mind it meant
the death of ignorance, the torpor of all those faculties
wvhich distinguish us from brutes, the reduction of life
to a round of bodily functions.
" Ah, my friends, if such a fate as this were offered
you and your children as the only alternative of success
in the accumulation of wealth, how long do you
fancy would you be in sinking to the moral level of
vour ancestors?
" Some two or three centuries ago an act of barbarity
was committed in India, which, though the number of
fives destroyed was but a few score, was attended by
such peculiar horrors that its memory is likely to be
perpetual. A number of English prisoners were shut
up in a room containing not enough air to supply one
tenth their number. The unfortunates were gallant
men, devoted comrades in service, but, as the agonies
of suffocation began to take hold on them, they forgot
all else, and became involved in a hideous struggle,
each one for himself, and against all others, to force a
way to one of the small apertures at which alone it
was possible to get a breath of air. It was a struggle
in which men became beasts, and the recital of its
horrors by the few survivors so shocked our forefathers
that for a century later we find it a stock reference in
their literature as a typical illustration of the extreme
possibilities of human misery, as shocking in its moral
as its physical aspect. They could scarce have antici0ated that to us the Black Hole of Calcutta, with its
press of maddened men tearing and trampling one
another in the struggle to win a place at the breathing
holes, would seem a striking type of the society of
their age. It lacked something of being a complete
type, however, for in the Calcutta Black Hole there
were no tender women, no little children and old men
and women, no cripples. They were at least all men
strong to bear, who suffered.




210


LOOKING BACKWARD.


" When we reflect that the ancient order of which 1
have been speaking was prevalent up to the end of
the nineteenth century, while to us the new order
which succeeded it already seems antique, even our
parents having known no other, we cannot fail to be
astounded at the suddenness with which a transition
so profound beyond all previous experience of the
race, must have been effected. Some observation of
the state of men's minds during the last quarter of
the nineteenth century will, however, in great measure, dissipate this astonishment.  Though general
intelligence in the modern sense could not be said to
exist in any community at that time, yet, as compared with previous generations, the one then on the
stage was intelligent. The inevitable consequence of
even this comparative degree of intelligence had been
a perception of the evils of society, such as had never
before been general. It is quite true that these evils
had been even worse, much worse, in previous ages.
It was the increased intelligence of the masses which
made the difference, as the dawn reveals the squalor
of surroundings which in the darkness may have
seemed tolerable. The key-note of the literature._the period was one of compassion foPrfi    ndgun      e, and indignant outcry against the failure.
o                          -rate the.    -
men. It is plain from thes   '     at the moral
C hideousness of the spectacle about them was, at least
by flashes, fully realized by the best of the men of that
time, and that the lives of some of the more sensitive
and generous hearted of them were rendered well-nigh
unendurable by the intensity of their sympathies.
"Although the idea of the vital unity of the family
of mankind, the reality of human brotherhood, was
very far from being apprehended by them as the
moral axiom it seems to us, yet it is a mistake to
suppose that there was no feeling at all corresponding
to it.  I could read you pass.ges of great beauty




LOOKING BACKWARD.


211


from some of their writers which show that the conception was clearly attained by a few, and no doubt
vaguely by many more. Moreover, it must not be
forgotten that the nineteenth century was in name
Christian, and the fact that the entire commercial and
industrial frame of society was the embodiment of the
anti-Christian spirit, must have had some weight,
though I admit it was strangely little, with the
nominal followers of Jesus Christ.
" When we inquire why it did not have more, why
in general, long after a vast majority of men had
agreed as to the crying abuses of the existing social
arrangement, they still tolerated it, or contented
themselves with talking of petty reforms in it, we
come upon an extraordinary fact. It was the sincere
belief of even the best of men at that epoch that the
only stable elements in human nature, on which a
social system could be safely founded, were its worst
propensities.  They had been taught and believed
that greed and self-seeking were all that held mankind together, and that all human associations would
fall to pieces if anything were done to blunt the edge
of these motives or curb their operation. In a word,
they believed-even those who longed to believe
otherwise-the exact reverse of what seems to us selfevident; they believed, that is, that the anti-social
qualities of men and not their social qualities were
what furnished the cohesive force of society.  It
seemed reasonable to them that men lived together
solely for the purpose of overreaching and oppressing one another, and of being overreached and
oppressed, and that while a society that gave full
scope to these propensities could stand, there would
be little chance for one based on the idea of co-'
operation for the benefit of all. It seems absurd to
expect any one to believe that convictions like these
were ever seriously entertained by men; but that
they were not only entertained by our great-grand



212


LOOKING BACKWARD,


fathers, but were responsible for the long delay in
doing away with the ancient order, after a conviction
of its intolerable abuses had become general, is as
well established as any fact in history can be. Just
here you will find the explanation of the profound
pessimism of the literature of the last quarter of the
nineteenth century, the note of melancholy in its
poetry, and the cynicism of its humour.
" Feeling that the condition of the race was unendurable, they had no clear hope of anything better.
They believed that the evolution of humanity had
resulted in leading it into a cul de sac, and that there
was no way of getting forward. The frame of men's
minds at this time is strikingly illustrated by treatises
which have come down to us, and may even now bc
consulted in our libraries by the curious, in which
laborious arguments are pursued to prove that despite
the evil plight of men, life was still, by some slight
preponderance of considerations, probably better
worth living than leaving. Despising themselves,
they despised their Creator. There was a general
decay of religious belief. Pale and watery gleams,
from skies thickly veiled by doubt and dread, alone
lighted up the chaos of earth. That men should
doubt Him whose breath is in their nostrils, or dread
the hands that moulded them, seems to us indeed a
pitiable insanity; but we must remember that
children who are brave by day have sometimes
foolish fears at night. The dawn has come since
then. It is very easy to believe in the fatherhood oi
God in the twentieth century.
"Briefly, as must needs be in a discourse of this
character, I have adverted to some of the causes
Awhich had prepared men's minds for the change from
the old to the new order, as well as some causes of the
Coservatism of despair which for a while held it back: after the time was ripe. To wonder at the rapidity
with which the change was completed after its possi-?p




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213


bility was first entertained, is to forget the intoxi.
cating effect of hope upon minds long accustomed to
despair. The sunburst, after so long and dark a
night, must needs have had a dazzling effect. From
the moment men allowed themselves to believe that
humanity after all had not been meant for a dwarf,
that its squat stature was not the measure of its pos-ible growth, but that it stood upon the verge of an
vatar of limitless development, the reaction must
aeeds have been overwhelming. It is evident that
nothing was able to stand against the enthusiasm
which the new faith inspired.
" Here at last, men must have felt, was a cause
compared with which the grandest of historic causes
had been trivial. It was doubtless because it could
have commanded millions of martyrs, that none were
needed. The change of a dynasty in a petty kingdom of the old world often cost more lives than did
the revolution which set the feet of the human race at
last in the right way.
"Doubtless it ill beseems one to whom the boon of
life in our resplendent age has been vouchsafed to
wish his destiny other, and yet I have often thought
that I would fain exchange my share in this serene
and golden day for a place in that stormy epoch of
transition, when heroes burst the barred gate of the
future and revealed to the kindling gaze of a hopeless
race, in place of the blank wall that had closed its
path, a vista of progress whose end, for the very
excess of light, still dazzles us.  Ah, my friends!
who will say that to have lived then, when the weakest
influence was a lever to whose touch the centuries
trembled, was not worth a share, even in this era of
truition?
"You know the story of that last, greatest, and
most bloodless of revolutions. In the time of one
generation men laid aside the social traditions and
practices of barbarians, and assumed a social order
I5




1i4


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worthy of rational and human beings. Ceasing to be
predatory in their habits, they became co-workers,
and found in fraternity, at once, the science of wealth
and of happiness. 'What shall I eat and drink, and
wherewithal shall I be clothed?' stated as a problem
beginning and ending in self, had been an anxious
and an endless one. But when once it was conceived,
not from the individual but the fraternal standpoint,
'What shall we eat and drink, and wherewithal shal'
we be clothed? '-its difficulties vanished.
" Po    '     'i e   had been the result for the
of maintenance from the individua npot, but no
sooner had tMe n —ai-ofn"ecoom e the se-pialist and
employer, than not alone did plenty replace poverty,
but the last vestige of the serfdom of man to man,
disappeared from earth.  Human slavery, so often
vainly scotched, at last was killed. The means of
subsistence no longer doled out by men to women, by
employer to employed, by rich to poor, was distributed from a common stock as among children at the
father's table.  It was impossible for a man any
longer to use his fellow-men as tools for his own
profit.  His esteem was the only sort of gain he
could thenceforth make out of him. There was no
more either arrogance or servility in the relations of
human beings to one another. For the first time
since the creation every man stood up straight before
God. The fear of want and the lust of gain became
extinct motives, when abundance was assured to all
and immoderate possessions made impossible of attainment.  There were no more beggars nor almoners. Equity left charity without an occupation.
The ten commandments became well-nigh obsolete in
a world where there was no temptation to theft, no
occasion to lie either for fear or favour, no-room for
envy where all were equal, and little provocation to
violence where men were disarmed of power to injure




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215


one another. Humanity's ancient dream of liberty,
equality, fraternity, mocked by so many ages, at last
was realized.
"As in the old society the generous, the just, the
tender-hearted had been placed at a disadvantage by
the possession of those qualities, so in the new society
the cold-hearted, the greedy and self-seeking found
themselves out of joint with the world. Now that
the conditions of life for the first time ceased to
operate as a forcing process to develop the brutal
qualities of human nature, and the premium which
had heretofore encouraged selfishness, was not only
removed but placed upon unselfishness, it was for the
first time possible to see what unperverted human/
nature really was like.  Tie depraved tendencies,
which had previously overgrown and obscured the
better to so large an extent, now withered like cellar
fungi in the open air, and the nobler qualities showed
a sudden luxuriance which turned cynics into panegyrists and for the first time in human history tempted
mankind to fall in love with itself. Soon was fully
revealed what the divines and philosophers of the old
world never would have believed, that human nature
in its essential qualities is oodot bad, that men by
cir natural intention and r     e irTerO ius, not
selfish, pitiful, -not cu, sympathetic, not arrogant,
godlike in aspirations, instinct with divinest impulses of
tenderness and self-sacrifice, images of God indeed, not
the travesties upon Him they had seemed. The constant pressure, through numberless generations, of ccnditions of life which might have perverted angels, had
not been able to essentially alter the natural nobility
of the stock, and these conditions once removed, like
a bent tree, it had sprung back to its normal uprightness.
"To put the whole matter in the nutshell of a
parable, let me compare humanity in the olden time
to a rosebush planted in a swamp, watered with black




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LOOKING BACKWARD.


bog-water, breathing miasmatic fogs by day, and
chilled with poison dews at night. Innumerable generations of gardeners had done their best to make it
bloom, but beyond an occasional half-opened bud
with a worm at the heart, their efforts had been unsuccessful. Many, indeed, claimed that the bush was
no rosebush at all, but a noxious shrub, fit only to be
uprooted and burned. The gardeners, for the most
part, however, held that the bush belonged to the rose
family, but had some ineradicable taint about it which
prevented the buds from coming out, and accounted
for its generally sickly condition. There were a few,
indeed, who maintained that the stock was good
enough, that the trouble was in the bog, and that
under more favourable conditions the plant might be
expected to do better. But these persons were not
regular gardeners, and being condemned by the latter
as mere theorists and day dreamers, were, for the most
part, so regarded by the people. Moreover, urged
some eminent moral philosophers, even conceding for
the sake of the argument that the bush might possibly
do better elsewhere, it was a more valuable discipline
for the buds to try to bloom in a bog than it would be
under more favourable conditions. The buds that
succeeded in opening might, indeed, be very rare, and
the flowers pale and scentless, but they represented
car more moral effort than if they had bloomed spon.
taneously in a garden.
" The regular gardeners and the moral philosophers
had their way. The bush remained rooted in the bog,
and the old course of treatment went on. Continually
new varieties of forcing mixtures were applied to the
roots, and more recipes than could be numbered, each
declared by its advocates the best and only suitable
preparation, were used to kill the vermin and remove
the mildew. This went on a very long time. Occasionally some one claimed to observe a slight im.
provement in the appearance of the bush, but there




LOOKING BACKWARD.


aift


were quite as many who declared that it did not look
so well as it used to. On the whole there could not
be said to be any marked change. Finally, during a
period of general despondency as to the prospects of
the bush where it was, the idea of transplanting it
was again mooted, and this time found favour. 'Let
us try it,' was the general voice. 'Perhaps it may
thrive better elsewhere, and here it is certainly
doubtful if it be worth cultivating longer.' So it
came about that the rosebusl of humanity was trans.
planted, and set in sweet, warm, dry earth, where the
sun bathed it, the stars wooed it, and the south wind
caressed it. Then it appeared that it was indeed a
rosebush. The vermin and the mildew disappeared.
and the bush was covered with most beautiful red
roses, whose fragrance filled the world.
" It is a pledge of the destiny appointed for us that
the Creator has set in our hearts an infinite standard
of achievement, judged by which our past attainments
seem always insignificant, and the goal never nearer.
Had our forefathers conceived a state of society in
which men should live together like brethren dwelling
in unity, without strifes or envyings, violence or overreaching, and where, at the price of a degree of labour
not greater than health demands, in their chosen occupations, they should be wholly freed from care for the
morrow and left with no more concern for their livelihood than trees vhich are watered by unfailing
streams,-had they conceived such a condition, I say,
it would have seemed to them   nothing less than
paradise. They would have confounded it with their
idea of heaven, nor dreamed that there could possibly
lie further beyond anything to be desired or striven
for.
"But how is it with us who stand on this height
which they gazed up to? Already we have well-nigh
forgotten, except when it is especially called to our
minds by some occasion like the present, that it was




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LOOKING BACKWARD.


not always with men as it is now. It is a strain on
our imaginations to conceive the social arrangements
of our immediate ancestors. We find them grotesque.
The solution of the problem of physical maintenance
so as to banish care and crime, so far from seeming to
us an ultimate attainment, appears but as a preliminary
to anything like real human progress. We have but
relieved ourselves of an impertinent and needless
harassment which hindered our ancestors from undertaking the real ends of existence. We are merely
stripped for the race; no more. We are like a child
which has just learned to stand upright and to walk.
It is a great event from the child's point of view, when
he first walks. Perhaps he fancies that there can be
little beyond that achievement, but a year later he has
forgotten that he could not always walk. His horizon
did but widen when he rose, and enlarge as he moved.
A great event indeed, in one sense, was his first step,
but only as a beginning, not as the end. His true
career was but then first entered on. The enfranchisement of humanity in the last century, fiom mental and
physical absorption in working and scheming for the
mer,e bodily necessities, may be regarded as a species
of second birth of the race, without which its first
birth to an existence that was but a burden would forever have remained unjustified, but whereby it is now
abundantly vindicated.  Since then, humanity has
entered on a new phase of spiritual development, an
evolution of higher faculties, the very existence of
which in human nature our ancestors scarcely suspected. In place of the dreary hopelessness of the
nineteenth century, its profound pessimism as to the
future of humanity, the animating idea of the present
age is an enthusiastic conception of the opportunities
of our earthly existence, and the unbounded possibilities of human nature.  The betterment of mankind from generation to generation, physically,
mentally, morally, is recognized as the one great




LOOKING BACKWARD,             219
object supremely worthy of effort and of sacrifice.
We believe the race for the first time to have entered
on the realization of God's ideal of it, and each gene-ation must now be a step upward.
*" Do you ask what we look for when unnumbered
generations shall have passed away? I answer, the
way stretches far before us, but the end is lost in light.
For twofold is the return of man to God, 'who is our
home,' the return of the individual by the way of
death, and the return of the race by the fulfilment of
its evolution, when the divine secret hidden in the
germ shall be perfectly unfolded. With a tear for the
dark past, turn we then to the dazzling future, and,
veiling our eyes, press forward. The long and weary
winter of the race is ended. Its summer has begun.
Humanity has burst the chrysalis. The heavens are
before it."




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CHAPTER XXVIIo
I NEVER could tell just why, but Sunday afternoon during my old life had been a time when I
was peculiarly subject to melancholy, when the color
unaccountably faded out of all the aspects of life, and
everything appeared pathetically uninteresting.  The
hours, which in general were wont to bear me easily
on their wings, lost the power of flight and, toward the
close of the day drooping quite to earth, had fairly to
be dragged along by main strength. Perhaps it was
partly owing to the established association of ideas
that, despite the utter change in my circumstances,
I fell into a state of profound depression on the afternoon of this my first Sunday in the twentieth century.
It was not, however, on the present occasion depres.
sion without specific cause, the mere vague melancholy
I have spoken of, but a sentiment suggested and certainly quite justified by my position. The sermon of M r.
Barton, with its constant implication of the vast moral
gap between the century to which I -belonged and that
in which I found myself, had had an effect strongly to
accentuate my sense of loneliness in it. Considerately
and philosophically as he had spoken, his words could
scarcely have failed to leave upon my mind a strong
impression of the mingled pity, curiosity, and aversion
which I, as a representative of an abhorred epoch, must
excite in all around me.
The extraordinary kindness with which I had been
treated by Dr. Leete and his family, and especially the
goodness of Edith, had hitherto prevented my fully
realizing that their real sentiment toward me must
Necessarily be that of the whole generation to which
they belonged. The recognition of this, as regarded




LOOKING BACKWARD.


22I


Dr. Leete and his amiable wife, however painful, I
might have endured, but the conviction that Edith
must share their feeling was more than I could bear.
The crushing effect with which this belated perception of a fact so obvious came to me, opened my eyes
fully to something which perhaps the reader has
already suspected,-I loved Edith.
Was it strange that I did? The affecting occasion
on which our intimacy had begun, when her handj
had drawn me out of the whirlpool of madness; the
fact that her sympathy was the vital breath which had
set me up in this new life and enabled me to support
it; my habit of looking to her as the mediator between
me and the world around in a sense that even her
father was not,-these were circumstances that had
predetermined a result which her remarkable loveliness of person and disposition would alone have accounted for. It was quite inevitable that she should
have come to seem to me in a sense quite different
from the usual experience of lovers, the only woman
in this world. Now that I had become suddenly sensible of the fatuity of the hopes I had begun to cherish,
I suffered not merely what another lover might, but
in addition a desolate loneliness, an utter forlornness,
such as no other lover, however unhappy, could have
felt.
My hosts evidently saw that I was depressed in
spirits, and did their best to divert me.  Edith
especially, I could see, was distressed for me; but
according to the usual perversity of lovers, having
once been so mad as to dream of receiving something
more from her, there was no longer any virtue for me
in a kindness that I knew was only sympathy.
Toward nightfall, after secluding myself in my room
most of the afternoon, I went into the garden to walk
about. The day was overcast, with an autumnal
flavor in the warm, still air. Finding myself near the
excavation, I entered the subterranean chamber aud




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LOOKING BACKWARD.


sat down there. "This," I muttered to myself, "is
the only home I have. Let me stay here, and not go
forth any more." Seeking aid from the familiar
surroundings, I endeavoured to find a sad sort of
consolation in reviving the past and summoning up
the forms and faces that were about me in my former
life. It was in vain. There was no longer any life in
them. For nearly one hundred years the stars had
been looking down on Edith Bartlett's grave, and the
graves of all my generation.
The past was dead, crushed beneath a century's
weight, and from the present I was shut out. There
was no place for me anywhere. I was neither dead
nor properly alive.
" Forgive me for following you."
I looked up. Edith stood in the door of the subterranean room, regarding me smilingly, but with eyes
full of sympathetic distress.
"Send me away if I am intruding on you," she
said; "but we saw that you were out of spirits, and
you know you promised to let me know if that were
so. You have not kept your word."
I rose and came to the door, trying to smile, but
making, I fancy, rather sorry work of it, for the sight
of her loveliness brought home to me more poignantly
the cause of my wretchedness.
"I was feeling a little lonely, that is all," I said,
"Has it never occurred to you that my position is so
much more utterly alone than any human being's ever
was before that a new word is really needed to describe
it?"
"Oh, you must not talk that way,-you must not
let yourself feel that way,-you must not!" she
exclaimed, with moistened eyes. " Are we not your
friends? It is your own fault if you will not let us be.
You need not be lonely."
" You are good to me beyond my power of under4tanding," I said, " but don't you suppose that I know it




LOOKING BACKWARD.


223


is pity merely, sweet pity, but pity only. I should be a
fool not to know that I cannot seem to you as other
men of your own generation do, but as some strange
uncanny being, a stranded creature of an unknown
sea, whose forlornness touches your compassion despite
its grotesqueness. I have been so foolish, you were
so kind, as to almost forget that this must needs be
so, and to fancy I might in time become naturalized,
as we used to say, in this age, so as to feel like one of
you and to seem to you like the other men about you.
But Mr. Barton's sermon taught me how vain such a
fancy is, how great the gulf between us must seem to
you."
" Oh that miserable sermon!" she exclaimed, fairly
crying now in her sympathy, " I wanted you not to
hear it. What does he know of you? He has read
in old musty books about your times, that is all.
\Vhat do you care about him, to let yourself be vexed
by anything he said?  Isn't it anything to you,
that we who know you feel differently? Don't you
care more about what we think of you than what he
does who never saw you? Oh, Mr. West! you dont
know, you can't think, how it makes me feel to see
you so forlorn. I can't have it so. What can I say
to you? How can I convince you how different our
feeling for you is from what you think? "
As before, in that other crisis of my fate when she
had come to me, she extended her hands toward me
in a gesture of helpfulness, and, as then, I caught and
held them in my own; her bosom heaved with strong
emotion, and little tremors in the fingers which I
clasped emphasized the depth of her feeling. In her
face, pity contended in a sort of divine spite against
the obstacles which reduced it to impotence. Womanly
compassion surely never wore a guise more lovely.
Such beauty and such goodness quite melted me,
and it seemed that the only fitting response I could
make was to tell her just the truth  Of course I had




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not a spark of hope, but on the other hand I had no
fear that she would be angry. She was too pitiful for
that. So I said presently, "It is very ungrateful in
me not to be satisfied with such kindness as you have
shown me, and are showing me now. But are you so
blind as not to see why they are not enough to make
me happy? Don't you see that it is because I have
been mad enough to love you?"
At my last words she blushed deeply and her eyes
fell before mine, but she made no effort to withdraw
her hands from my clasp. For some moments she
stood so, panting a little. Then blushing deeper than
ever, but with a dazzling smile, she looked up.
" Are you sure it is not you who are blind?" she
said.
That was all, but it was enough, for it told me that
unaccountable, incredible as it was, this radiant
daughter of a golden age had bestowed upon me not
alone her pity, but her love. Still, I half believed I
must be under some blissful hallucination even as I
clasped her in my arms. "If I am beside myself," I
cried, " let me remain so."
"It is I whom you must think beside myself," she
panted, escaping from my arms when I had barely
tasted the sweetness of her lips. "Oh! oh! what
must you think of me almost to throw myself in the
arms of one I have known but a week? I did not
mean that you should find it out so soon, but I was so
sorry for you I forgot what I was saying. No, no,
you must not touch me againltill you know who I am.
After that, sir, you shall apologise to me very humbly
for thinking, as I know you do, that I have been over
quick to fall in love with you. After you know who
I am, you will be bound to confess that it was nothing
less than my duty to fall in love with you at first sight,
and that no girl of proper feeling in my place could
do otherwise."
As may be supposed, I would have been quite cons




LOOKING BACKWARD.


225


tent to waive explanations, but Edith was resolute
that there should be no more kisses until she had been
vindicated from all suspicion of precipitancy in the
bestowal of her affections, and I was fain to follow
the lovely enigma into the house. Having come where
her mother was, she blushingly whispered something
in her ear and ran away, leaving us together.
It then appeared that, strange as my experience
had been, I was now first to know what was perhaps
its strangest feature. From Mrs. Leete I learned that
Edith was the great grand-daughter of no other than
my lost love, Edith Bartlett.
After mourning me for fourteen years, she had made
a marriage of esteem, and left a son who had been
Mrs. Leete's father. Mrs. Leete had never seen her
grand-mother, but had heard much of her, and when her
daughter was born gave her the name of Edith. This
fact might have tended to increase the interest which
the girl took, as she grew up, in all that concerned her
ancestress, and especially the tragic story'of the supposed death of the lover, whose wife she expected to
be, in the conflagration of his house. It was a tale well
calculated to touch the sympathy of a romantic girl,
and the fact that the blood of the unfortunate heroine
was in her own veins, naturally heightened Edith's
interest in it. A portrait of Edith Bartlett and some
of her papers, including a packet of my own letters,
were among the family heirlooms. The picture represented a very beautiful young woman about whom it
was easy to imagine all rranner of tender and romantic things. My letters gave Edith some material for
forming a distinct idea of my personality, and both
together sufficed to make the sad old story very real
to her. She used-to tell her parents, half jestingly,
that she would never marry till she found a lover like
Julian West, and there were none such nowadays.
Now all this, of course, was merely the day-dreaming
of a girl whose mind had never been taken up by a




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love affair of her own, and would have had no serious
consequence but for the discovery that morning of the
buried vault in her father's garden and the revelation
of the identity of its inmate. For when the apparently
lifeless form had been borne into the house, the face
in the locket found upon the breast was instantly recognized as that of Edith Bartlett, and by that fact,
taken in connection with the other circumstances,
they knew that I was no other than Julian West.
Even had there been no thought, as at first there was
not, of my resuscitation, Mrs. Leete said she believed
that this event would have affected her daughter in a
critical and life-long manner. The presumption of
some subtle ordering of destiny, involving her fate with
mine, would under the circumstances have possessed
an irresistible fascination for almost any woman.
Whether when I came back to life a few hours
afterward, and from the first seemed to turn to her
with a peculiar dependence and to find a special
solace in hIr company, she had been too quick in
giving her love at the first sign of mine, I could now,
her mother said, judge for myself. If I thought so, I
must remember that this, after all, was the twentieth
and not the nineteenth century, and love was, no
doubt, now quicker in growth, as well as franker in
utterance than then.
From Mrs. Leete I went to Edith. When I found
her, it was first of all to take her by both hands and
stand a long time in rapt contemplation of her face.
As I gazed, the memory of that other Edith, which
had been affected as with a benumbing shock by the
tremendous experience that had parted us, revived,
and my heart was dissolved with tender and pitiful
emotions, but also very blissful ones. For she who
brought to me so poignantly the sense of my loss, was
to make that loss good. It was as if from her eyes
Edith Bartlett looked into mine, and smiled consolation to me. My fate was not alone the strangest, but




LOOKING BACKWARD.


the most fortunate that ever befell a man. A double
miracle had been wrought for me. I had not been
stranded upon the shore of this strange world to find
myself alone and companionless. My love, whom I
had dreamed lost, had been re-embodied for my consolation. When at last, in an ecstasy of gratitude
and tenderness, I folded the lovely girl in my arms
the two Ediths were blended in my thought, nor have
they ever since been clearly distinguished. I was not
long in finding that on Edith's part there was a
corresponding confusion of identities. Never, surely,
was there between freshly united lovers a stranger
talk than ours that afternoon. She seemed more
anxious to have me speak of Edith Bartlett than of
herself, of how I had loved her, than how I loved
herself, rewarding my fond words concerning another
woman with tears and tender smiles and pressures of
the hand.
"You must not love me too much for myself," she
said. "I shall be very jealous for he&- I shall not
let you forget her. I am going to tell you something
which you may think strange. Do you not believe
that spirits sometime come back to the world to fulfil
some work that lay near their hearts? What if I
were to tell you that I have sometimes thought that
her spirit lives in me,-that Edith Bartlett, not Edith
Leete, is my real name? I cannot know it; of course
none of us can know who we really are; but I can
feel it. Can you wonder that I have such a feeling,
seeing how my life was affected by her and by you,
even before you came. So you see you need not
trouble to love me at all, if only you are true to her.
i shall not be likely to be jealous."
Dr. Leete had gone out that afternoon, and I did
not have an interview with him till later. He was
not, apparently, wholly unprepared for the intelligence
I conveyed, and shook my hand heartily.
"Under any ordinary circumstances, Mr. West, I




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should say that this step had been taken on rather
short acquaintance;. but these are decidedly not
)rdinary circumstances. In fairness, perhaps, I ought
to tell yoi," he added, smilingly, that while I cheerfully consent to the proposed arrangement, you must
not feel too much indebted to me, as I judge my con.
sent is a mere formality. From  the moment the
secret of the locket was out, it had to be, I fancy,
Why, bless me, if Edith had not been here to redeem
her great grand-mother's pledge, I really apprehend
that Mrs. Leete's loyalty to me would have suffered
a severe strain."
That evening the garden was bathed in moonlight,
and till midnight Edith and I wandered to and fro
there, tiying to grow accustomed to our happines.s
" What should I have done if you had not cared
for me?" she exclaimed. "I was afraid you were
not going to. What should I have done then, when
I felt I was consecrated to you? As soon as you
came back to life, I was as sure as if she had told me
that I was to be to you what she could not be, but
that could only be if you would let me. Oh, how I
wanted to tell you that morning, when you felt so
terribly strange among us, who I was, but dared not
open my lips about that, or let father or mother-"
"That must have been what you would not let
your father tell me!" I exclaimed, referring to the
conversation I had overheard a I came out of my
trance.
"Of course it was," Edith laughed.  "Did you
only just guess that?  Father being only a man,
thought that it would make you feel among friends
to tell you who we were. He did not think of me at
all. But mother knew what I meant, and so I had
my way. I could never have looked you in the face
if you had known who I was. It would have beer
fbrcing myself on you quite too boldly. I am afraid
you think I did that to-day, as it was. I am sure I




LOOKING BACKWARD.


22g


did not mean to, for I know girls were expected to
hide their feelings in your day, and I was dreadfully
afraid of shocking you. Ah me, how hard it must
have been for them to have' always had to conceal
their love like a fault.  Why did they think it such a
shame to love any one till they had been given per.
mission?  It is so odd to think of waiting for permission to fall in love.  Was it because men in those
days were angry when girls loved them?  That is
iot the way women would feel, I am sure, or men
either, I think, now.  I don't understand it at alL
That will be one of the curious things about the
women of those days that you will have to explain to
me. I don't think Edith Bartlett was so foolish as the
others."
After sundry ineffectual attempts at parting, she
finally insisted that we must say goodnight. I was
about to imprint upon her lips the positively last kiss,
when she said with an indescribable archness:
" One thing troubles me.  Are you sure that you
quite forgive Edith Bartlett for marrying any one
else? The books that have come down to us make,out lovers of your time more jealous than fond, and
that. is what makes me ask.  It would be a great
relief to me if I could feel sure that you were not in
the least jealous of my great grand-father for marrying your sweetheart. May I tell my great grandmother's picture when I go to my room that you
quite forgive her for proving false to you? "
Will the reader believe it, this coquettish quip,
whether the speaker herself had any idea of it or not,
actually touched and with the touching cured a preposterous ache of smoothing like jealousy which I had
been vaguely conscious of ever since Mrs. Leete had
told me of Edith Bartlett's marriage.  Even while I
had been holding Edith Bartlett's great grandllaughter in my arms, I had not, till this moment, so
diogical are some of our feelings, distinctly realized




:l3       LOOKING B3ACKWA1D
that but for that marriage I could not have done so.
The absurdity of this frame of mind could only be
equalled by the abruptness with which it dissolved as
Edith's roguish query cleared the fog from my perceptions. I laughed as I kissed her.
" You may assure her of my entire forgiveness," I
said, "although if it had been any other man but your
great grand-father whom she married, it would have
been a very different matter."
On reaching my chamber that night 1 aid not open
the nmusical telephone that I might be lulled to sleep
with soothing tunes, as had become my habit. For
once my thoughts made better music than even twen<
tieth century orchestras discourse, and it held me
enchanted till well toward morning, when I fell asleep




LOOKING BACKWARD.


231


CHAPTER XXVIII.
JI T'S a little after the time you told me to wake
you, sir. You did not come out of it as quick
as common, sir."
The voice was the voice of my man Sawyer. I
started bolt upright in bed and stared around. I was
in my underground chamber. The mellow light of
the lamp which always burned in the room when i
occupied it, illumined the familiar walls and furnishings. By my bed side, with the glass of sherry in his
hand which Dr. Pillsbury prescribed on first rousing
from a mesmeric sleep by way of awakening the
torpid physical functions, stood Sawyer.
" Better take this right off, sir," he said, as I stared
blankly at him. "You look kind of flustered like,
sir, and you need it."
I tossed off the liquor and began to realize what
had happened to me. It was, of course, very plain.
All that about the twentieth century had been a
dream. I had but dreamed of that enlightened and
care-free race of men and their ingeniously simple institutions, of the glorious new Boston with its domes
and pinnacles, its gardens and fountains, and its
universal reign of comfort. The amiable familiarity
which I had learned to know so well, my genial host
and Mentor, Dr. Leete, his wife, and their daughter,
the second and more beauteous Edith, my betrothed,
these, too, had been but figments of a vision.
For a considerable time I remained in the attitude
in which this conviction had come over me, sitting up
in bed gazing at vacancy, absorbed in recalling the
scenes and incidents of my fantastic appearance.
Sawyer, alarmed at my looks, was meanwhile anxiousyl




232


LOOKING B3ACKWARI


inquiring what was the matter with me. Roused at
length by his importunities to a recognition of my
surroundings, I pulled myself together with an effort
and assured the faithful fellow that I was all right.
"I have had an   extraordinary  dream, that's all,
Sawyer," I said, "a most ex-traor-dinary-dream."
I dressed in a mechanical way, feeling light-headed
and oddly uncertain of myself, and sat down to the
coffee and rolls which Sawyer was in the habit of
providing for my refreshment before I left the house.
The morning newspaper lay by my plate, I took it
up, and my eye fell on the date May 31, 1887. I had
known, of course, from the moment I opened my eyes
that my long and detailed experience in another
century had been a dream, and yet it was startling tc
have it so conclusively demonstrated that the world
was but a few hours older than when I had lain down
to sleep.
Glancing at the table of contents at the head of the
paper which reviewed the news of the morning, I read
the following summary:
" FOREIGN AFFAIRS.-The impending war between
France and Germany. The French Chambers asked
or new military crcdits to meet Germany's increase
of her army. Probability that all Europe will be involved in case of war.-Great suffering among the
unemployed in London. They demand work. Monster
demonstration to be made. The authorities uneasy.Great strikes in Belgium. The government preparing
to repress outbreaks. Shocking facts in regard to the
employment of girls in Belgian coal mines.-Wholesale evictions in Ireland.
"HOME AFFAIRS.-The epidemic of fraud unchecked. Embezzlement of half a million in New
York.-Misappropriation of a trust fund by executors.
Orphans left penniless.-Clever system of thefts by a
bank teller; 50,000 dollars gone. —The coal barons




LOOKING BACKWARDI


233


decide to advance the price of coal and reduce production.-Speculators engineering a great wheat corner at
Chicago.-A clique forcing up the price of coffee.Enormous land-grabs of Western syndicate, —Revelations of shocking corruption among Chicago officials,
Systematic bribery.-The trials of the Boodle aldermen to go on at New York.-Large failures of business
houses. Fears of a business crisis.-A large grist of
burglaries and larcenies.-A woman murdered in cold
blood for her money at New Haven.-A householder
shot by a burglar in this city last night.-A man
shoots himself in Worcester because he could not get
work. A large family left destitute.-An aged couple
in New Jersey commit suicide rather than go to the
poor-house.-Pitiable destitution among the women
wage-workers in the great cities.-Startling growth of
illiteracy in Massachusetts.-More insane asylums
wanted.-Decoration  Day   addresses.  Professor
Brown's oration on the moral grandeur of nineteenth century civilization."
It was indeed the nineteenth century to which I had
awaked; tere could be no kind of doubt about that.
Its complete microcosm this summary of the day's
news had presented, even to that last unmistakable
touch of fatuous self-complacency. Coming after such
a damning indictment of the age as that one day's
chronicle of world-wide bloodshed, greed and tyranny,
it was a bit of cynicism worthy of Mephistopheles,
and yet of all whose eyes it had met this morning I
was, perhaps, the only one who perceived the cynicism,
and but yesterday I should have perceived it no more
than the others. That strange dream it was which
had made all the difference. For I know not how long
I forgot my surroundings after this, and was again in
fancy moving in that vivid dream-world, in that
glorious city, with its homes of simple comfort and its
gorgeous public palaces. Around me were again faces




234


LOOKING BACKWARD.


unmarred by arrogance or servility, by envy or greed,
by anxious care or feverish ambition, and stately forms
of men and women who had never known fear of a
fellow man or depended on his favour, but always, in
the words of that sermon which still rang in my ears,
had " stood up straight before God."
With a profound sigh and a sense of irreparable loss,
not the less poignant that it was a loss of what had
never really been, I roused at last from my revery, and
soon after left the house.
A dozen times between my door and Washington
Street I had to stop and pull myself together, such
power had been in that vision of the Boston of the
future to make the real Boston strange. The squalor
and malodorousness of the town struck me, from the
moment I stood upon the street, as facts I had never
before observed.  But yesterday, moreover, it had
seemed quite a matter of course that some of my
fellow citizens should wear silks, and others rags, that
some should look well fed, and others hungry. Now,
on the contrary, the glaring disparities in the dress
and condition of the men and women w h  brushed
each other on the sidewalks shocked me  ry step,
and yet more the entire indifference wh  the prosperous showed to the plight of the unfortunate. Were
these human beings, who could behold the wretchedness of their fellows without so much as a change of
countenance? And yet, all the while, I knew well
that it was I who had changed, and not my contemporaries.  I had dreamed of a city whose people
fared all alike as children of one family, and were one
another's keepers in all things.
Another feature of the real Boston which assumed
the extraordinary effect of strangeness that marks
familiar things seen in a nevw light, was the prevalence
of advertising. There hadtbeen no personal advertising in the Boston of the twentieth century, because,
there was no need of any, but:'re the walls of the




LOOKIN G BACKWARD.


235


buildings, the windows, the broadsides of the newspapers in every hand, the very pavements, everything
in fact in sight, save the sky, were covered with the
appeals of individuals who sought, under innumerable
pretexts, to attract the contributions of others to their
support. However the wording might vary, the tenor
of all these appeals was the same:
" Help John Jones Never mind the rest. They
are frauds. I, John Jones, am the right one. Buy of
me. Employ me. Visit me. Hear me, John Jones.
Look at me, Make no mistake, John Jones is the
man and nobody else. Let the rest starve, but for
God's sake remember John Jones!"
Whether the pathos, or the moral repulsiveness of
the spectacle most impressed me, so suddenly become
a stranger in my own city, I know not. Wretched
men, I was moved to cry, who, because they will not
learn to be helpers of one another, are doomed to be
beggars of one another from the least to the greatest!
This horrible babel of shameless self-assertion and
mutual depreciation, this stunning clamour of conflicting U'-1 s, appeals, and adjurations, this stupendous sys    of brazen beggary, what was it all but
the necessity of a society in which the opportunity to
serve the world according to his gifts, instead of
being secured to every man as the first object of
social organization, had to be fought for!
I reached Washington Street at the busiest point,
and there I stood and laughed aloud, to the scandal
of the passers by.  For my life I could not have
helped it, with such a mad humour was I mbved at
sight of the interminable rows of stores on either side,
up and down the street so far as I could see, scores of
them, to make the spectacle more utterly preposterous,
within a stone's throw devoted to selling the same sort
of goods. Stores! stores! 'stores! miles of stores! ten
thousand stores to distribute the goods needed by this
oiescity, which in my dream had been supplied with all




236


LOOKING BACKWARD.


things from a single warehouse, as they were ordered
through one great store in every quarter where the
buyer, without waste of time or labour, found under
one roof the world's assortment in whatever line he
desired. There the labour of distribution had been
so slight as to add but a scarcely perceptible fraction
to the cost of commodities to the user. The cost of
production was virtually all he paid. But here the
mere distribution of the goods, their handling alone,
added a fourth, a third, a half and more, to the cost.
All these ten thousand plants must be paid for, their
rent, their staffs of superintendence, their platoons of
salesmen, their ten thousand sets of accountants,
jobbers, and business dependents, with all they spent
in advertising themselves and fighting one another,
and the consumers must do the paying.  What a
famous process for beggaring a nation!
Were these serious men I saw about me, or children,
who did their business on such a plan? Could 'ktey
be reasoning beings who did not see the folly which,
when the product is made and ready for use, wastes
so much of it in getting it to the user  If people
eat with a spoon that leaks half its conteHts between
bowl and lip, are they not likely to go hungry?
I had passed through Washington Street thousands
of times before and viewed the ways of those who
sold merchandise, but my curiosity concerning them
was as if I had never gone by their way before. I
took wondering note of the show windows of the
stores, filled with goods arranged with a wealth of
pains and artistic device to attract the eye. I saw
the throngs of ladies looking in, and the proprietors
eagerly watching the effect of the bait. I went within
and noted the hawk-eyed floor-walker watching for
business, overlooking the clerks, keeping them up to
their task of inducing the customers to buy, buy,
6uy for money if they had it, for credit if they had it
tot, to buy what they wanted not, more than they




LOOKING BACKWARD.


237


wanted, what they could not afford.  At times I
momentarily lost the clew and was confused by the
sight. Why this effort to induce people to buy?
Surely that had nothing to do with the legitimate
business of distributing products to those who needed
them. Surely it was the sheerest waste to force upon
people what they did not want, but what might be
useful to another.  The nation was so much the
poorer for every such achievement. What were these
clerks thinking of? Then I would remember that
they were not acting as distributors like those in the
store I had visited in the dream Boston. They were
not serving the public interest, but their immediate
personal interest, and it was nothing to them what the
ultimate effect of their course on the general prosperity might be, if but they increased their own hoard,
for these goods were their own, and the more they
sold and the more they got for them the greater their
gain. The more wasteful the people were, the more
articles they did not want which they could be induced to buy, the better for these sellers. To encourage prodigality was the express aim of the ten
thousand stores of Boston.
Nor were these storekeepers and clerks a whit
worse men than any others in Boston. They must
earn a living and support their families, and how were
they to find a trade to do it by which did not necessitate placing their individual interests before those of
others and that of all? They could not be asked to
starve while they waited for an order of things such
as I had seen in my dream, in which the interest of
each and that of all were identical.  But, God in
heaven! what wonder, under such a system as this
about me, what wonder that the city was so shabby,
and the people so meanly dressed, and so many of
them ragged and hungry!
Some time after this it was that I drifted over Into
South Boston and found myself among the manufac



238


LOOKING BACKWARD.


turing establishments. I had been in this quarter of
the city a hundred times before just as I had been on
Washington Street, but here, as well as there, I now
first perceived the true significance of what I witnessed.
Formerly I had taken pride in the fact that, by actual
count, Boston had some four thousand independent
manufacturing establishments, but in this very multiplicity and independence I recognized now the secret
of the insignificant total product of their industry.
If Washington Street had been like a lane in Bedlam, this was a spectacle as much more melancholy as
production is a more vital function than distribution.
For not only were these four thousand establishments
not working in concert, and for that reason alone
operating at prodigious disadvantage, but, as if this
did not involve a sufficiently disastrous loss of power,
they were using their utmost skill to frustrate one
another's efforts, praying by night and working by
day for the destruction of one another's enterprises.
The roar and rattle of wheels and hammers resounding from every side was not the hum of a peaceful
industry, but the clangor of swords wielded by foemen.
Th lsen-l _ap1  shops were so many for, s eac
t    fag, its gua3n          mills and shops about
tjtepe.s b      usybe- lowund  cnltfing l g.
Within each of these forts the strictest organization
of industry was insisted on; the separate gangs
worked under a single central authority. No interference and no duplicating of work was permitted.
Each had his allotted task, and none were idle. By
what hiatus in the logical faculty, by what last link
of reasoning account, then, for the failure to recognize
the necessity of applying the same principle to the
organization of the national industries as a whole, tc
see that if lack of organization could impair the
efficiency of the shop, it must have effects as much
more disastrous in disabling the industries of the




LOOKING BACKWARD,


239


nation at large as the latter are vaster in volume and
more complex in the relationship of their parts.
People would be prompt enough to ridicule an
army in which there were neither companies, battalions, regiments, brigades, divisions, or army corps.no unit of organization, in fact, larger than the
corporal's squad, with no officer higher than a corporal, and all the corporals equal in authority. And
yet just such an army were the manufacturing industries of nineteenth century Boston, an army of four
thousand independent squads led by four thousand
independent corporals, each with a separate plan of
campaign.
Knots of idle men were to be seen here and there
on every side, some idle because they could find no
work at any price, others because they could not get
what they thought a fair price.
I accosted some of the latter and they told me
their grievances. It was very little comfort I could
give them. "I am sorry for you," I said. "You get
little enough, certainly, and yet the wonder to me is,
not that industries conducted as these are do not pay
you living wages, but that they are able to pay you
any wages at all."
Making my way back again after this to the peninsular city, toward three o'clock I stood on State Street,
staring as if I had never seen them before, at the
banks and brokers' offices, and other financial institutions, of which there had been in the State Street of
my vision no vestige.  Business men, confidential
clerks, and errand boys, were thronging in and out of
the banks, for it wanted but a few minutes of the
closing hour.  Opposite me was the bank where I
did business, and presently I crossed the street, and
going in with the crowd, stood in a recess of the
wall looking on at the army of clerks handling, money,
and the cue of depositors at the tellers' windows. An
old gentleman whom I knew, a director of the bank,




240


LOOKING BACKWARD.


passing me and observing my contemplative attitude.
stopped a moment.
"Interesting sight, isn't it, ir. West," he said.
"Wonderful piece of mechanism; I find it so, myself.
I like sometimes to stand and look on at it just af
you are doing. It's a poem, sir, a poem, that's what I
call it. Did you ever think, Mr. West, that the bank
is the heart of the business system? From it and to
it, in endless flux and reflux, the life-blood goes. It
is flowing in now. It will flow out again in the
morning;" and pleased with his little conceit, the old
man passed on smiling.
Yesterday I should have considered the simile apt
enough, but since then I had visited a world incomparably more affluent than this, in which money waS
unknown and without conceivable use. I had learned
that it had a use in the world around me only because the work of producing the nation's livelihood,
instead of being regarded as the most strictly public
and common of all concerns, and as such conducted
by the nation, was abandoned to the haphazard
efforts of individuals. This original mistake necessitated endless exchanges to bring about any sort of
general distribution of products.  These exchanges
money effected-how equitably, might be seen in a
walk from the tenement house dist:icts to the Back
Bay-at the cost of an army of men taken from
productive labour to manage it, with constant ruinous
break downs of its machinery, and a generally debauching influence on mankind which had justified its
description, from ancient time, as the "root of all
evil."
Alas for the poor old bank director with his poem
He had mistaken the throbbing of an abscess for the
beating of the heart. What he called "a wonderful
piece of mechanism," was an imperfect device to
remedy an unnecessary defect, the clumsy crutch of a
self-made cripple.




LOOKING B3ACKWARD.


241


After the banks had closed I wandered aimlessly
about the business quarter for an hour or two, and
later sat a while on one of the benches of the Com,
mon, finding an interest merely in watching the
throngs that passed, such as one has in studying the
populace of a foreign city, so strange since yesterday
had my fellow citizens and their ways become to me.
For thirty years I had lived among them, and yet I
seemed to have never noted before how drawn and
anxious were their faces, of the rich as of the poor,
the refined, acute faces of the educated as well as the
dull masks of the ignorant. And well it might be so,
for I saw now, as never before I had seen so plainly,
that each as he walked constantly turned to catch the
whisper of a spectre at his ear, the spectre of Uncertainty. " Do your work never so well," the spectre
was whispering, —" rise early and toil till late, rob
cunningly or serve faithfully, you shall never know
security. Rich you may be now and still come to
poverty at last. Leave never so much wealth to your
children, you cannot buy the assurance that your son
may not be the servant of your servant, or that your
daughter will not have to sell herself for bread."
A man passing by thrust an advertising card in my
hand, which set forth the merits of some new scheme
of life assurance. The incident reminded me of the
only device, pathetic in its admission of the universal
need it so poorly supplied, which offered these tired
and hunted men and women even a partial protection
from uncertainty. By this means, those already wellto-do, I remember, might purchase a precarious
confidence that after their death their loved ones would
not, for a while at least, be trampled under the feet of
men. But this was all, and this was only for those
who could pay well for it. What idea was possible to
these wretched dwellers in the land of Ishmael, where
every man's hand was against each and the hand of
each against every other, of true life insurance as I




242


LOOKING BACKWARD.


had seen it among the people of that dream land,
each of whom, by virtue merely of his membership in
the national family, was guaranteed against need of
any sort, by a policy underwritten by one hundred
million fellow countrymen.
Some time after this it was that I recall a glimpse
of myself standing on the steps of a building on Tremont Street, looking at a military parade.,Aegiment was      gI.       tfstsight in that drear
ay wich had inspired me with any      montions
tLhan won      pzetmetd-.alen      Here at lastwere order and reason, an exhibition oTfhat intelligent co-operation can accomplish. The people who
stood looking on with kindling faces,-could it be
that the sight had for them no more than a spectacular
interest? Could they fail to see that it was their
perfect concert of action, their organization under one
control, which made these men the tremendous
engine they were, able to vanquish a mob ten times
as numerous? Seeing this so plainly, could they fail
to compare the scientific manner in W 1f11T1'ato-iton
— went to warwth th. uncintific manner n-wh it
wefJ      e      d i W oWIc n they noFqt qeiy- sAicc *wMta
ime the killing of men had been a task so much
more important than feeding and clothing them, that
a trained army should be deemed alone adequate to
the former, while the latter was left to a mob?
It was now toward nightfall, and the streets were
thronged with the workers from the stores, the shops,
and mills. Carried along with the stronger part of
the current, I found myself, as it began to grow dark,
In the midst of a scene of squalor and human degradation such as only the South Cove tenement
district could present. I had seen the mad wasting
of human labour; here I saw in direst shape the want
that waste had bred.
From the black doorways and windows of the
rookeries on every side came gusts of fcetid air. The




LOOKING BACKWARD.


243


Streets and alleys reeked with the effluvia of a slave
ship's between-decks. As I passed I had glimpses
within of pale babies gasping out their lives amid
sultry stenches, of hopeless-faced women deformed by
hardship, retaining of womanhood no trait save weakness, while from the windows leered girls with brows
of brass. Like the starving bands of mongrel curs
that infest the streets of Moslem towns, swarms of
half clad brutalized children filled the air with shrieks
and curses as they fought and tumbled among the
garbage that littered the court yards.
There was nothing in all this that was new to me.
Often had I passed through this part of the city and
witnessed its sights with feelings of disgust mingled
with a certain philosophical wonder at the extremities
mortals will endure and still cling to life. But not
alone as regarded the economical follies of this age,
but equally as touched its moral abominations, scales
had fallen from my eyes since that vision of another
century.  No more did I look upon the woeful
dwellers in this inferno with a callous curiosity as
creatures scarcely human. I saw in them my brothers
and sisters, my parents, my children, flesh of my flesh,
blood of my blood. The festering mass of humah
wretchedness about me offended not now my senses
merely, but pierced my heart like a knife, so that I
could not repress sighs and groans. I not only sax
but felt in my body all that I saw.
Presently, too, as I observed the wretched beings
about me more closely, I perceived that they were all
quite dead Their bodies were so many living sepulchres. On each brutal brow was plainly written the
hicfacet of a soul dead within.
As I looked, horror struck, from one death's head to
another, I was affected by a singular hallucination.
Like a wavering translucent spirit face superimposed
upon each of these brutish masks, I saw the ideal, the.
possible face that would have been the actual if mind




IFAA


LOOKING BACMWARA


and soul had lived. - It was not till I was aware of
these ghostly faces and of the reproach that could not
be gainsaid which was in their eyes, that the full
piteousness of the ruin that had been wrought, was
revealed to me. I was moved with contrition as wilth
a strong agony, for I had been one of those who had
endured that these things should be. I had been one
of those who, well knowing that they were, had not
desired to hear or be compelled to think much of them,
but had gone on as if they were not, seeking my own
pleasure and profit. Therefore now I found upon my
garments the blood of this great multitude of strangled
souls of my brothers. The voice of their blood cried
out against me from the ground. Every stone of the
reeking pavements, every brick of the pestilential
rookeries found a tongue and called after me as I fled:
What hast thou done with thy brother Abel?
I have no clear recollection of anything after this
till I found myself standing on the carved stone steps
of the magnificent home of my betrothed in Commonwealth avenue. Amid the tumult of my thoughts
that day, I had scarcely once thought of her, but now
obeying some unconscious impulse my feet had found
the familiar way to her door. I was told that the
family were at dinner, but word was sent out that I
should join them at table. Besides the family, I found
several guests present, all known to me. The table
glittered with plate and costly china. The ladies were
sumptuously dressed and wore the jewels of queens.
The scene was one of costly elegance and lavish
luxury. The company was in excellent spirits, and
there was plentiful laughter and a running fire of jests.
To me it was as if, in wandering through the place
of doom, my blood turned to tears by its sights, and
my spirit attuned to sorrow, pity and despair, I had
happened in some glade upon a merry party of
roysterers. I sat in silence until Edith began to rally
me upon my sombre looks. What ailed me? The




LOOKING BACKWARD.


245


others presently joined in the playful assault, and I
became a target for quips and jests. Where had I
been, and what had I seen to make such a dull fellow
of me?
" I have been in Golgotha," at last I answered. "1
have seen humanity hanging on a cross. Do none of
you know what sights the sun and stars look down on
in this city, that you can think and talk of anything
else? Do you not know that close to your doors a
great multitude of men and women, flesh of your
flesh, live lives that are one agony from birth to
death? Listen! their dwellings are so near that if
you hush your laughter you will hear their grievous
voices, the piteous crying of the little ones that suckle
poverty, the hoarse curses of men sodden in misery,
turned half way back to brutes, the chaffering of an
army of women selling themselves for bread. With
what have you stopped your ears that you do not
hear these doleful sounds?  For me I can hear
nothing else."
Silence followed my words. A passion of pity had
shaken me as I spoke, but when I looked around
upon the company, I saw that, far from being stirred
as I was, their faces expressed a cold and hard astonishment, mingled in Edith's with extreme mortification, in her father's with anger. The ladies were
exchanging scandalized looks, while one of the
gentlemen had put up his eye-glass and was studying
me with an air of scientific curiosity. When I saw
that things which were to me so intolerable moved
them not at all, that words that melted my heart to
speak had only offended them with the speaker, I
was at first stunned and then overcome with a desperate
sickness and faintness at the heart. What hope was
there for the wretched, for the world, if thouThtlful
men and tender women were not moved by things
like these  Then I bethought myself that it must be
because I had not spoken aright. No doubt I had
'7




246


LOOKING BACKWARD.


put the case badly. They were angry because they
thought I was berating them, when God knew I was
merely thinking of the horror of the fact without any
attempt to assign the responsibility for it.
I restrained my passion, and tried to speak calmly
and logically that I might correct this impression. I
told them that I had not meant to accuse them, as if
they, or the rich in general, were responsibl.- for the
misery of the world. True indeed it was that the
superfluity which they wasted would, otherwise bestowed, relieve much bitter suffering. These costly
viands, these rich wines, these gorgeous fabrics and
glistening jewels represented the ransom of many
lives. They were verily not without the guiltiness of
those who waste in a land stricken with famine.
Nevertheless, all the waste of all the rich, were it
saved, would go but a little way to cure the poverty
of the world. There was so little to divide that eve,)
if the rich went share and share with the poor, there
would be but a common fare of crusts, albeit made
very sweet then by brotherly love.
The folly of men, not their hard-heartedness, was
the great cause of the world's poverty. It was not
the crime of man, nor of any class of men, that made
the race so miserable, but a hideous, ghastly mistake,
a colossal world-darkening blunder.  And then I
showed them how four-fifths of the labour of men was
utterly wasted by the mutual warfare, the lack of
organization and concert among the workers. Seeking to make the matter very plain sI instanced the
case of arid lands where the soil yie ded the means of
life only by careful use of the water courses for irrigation. I showed how in such countries it was counted
the most important function of the government to see
that the water was not wasted by the selfishness or
ignorance of individuals, since otherwise there would
be famine. To this end its use was strictly regulated
and systematized, and individuals of their mere




LOOKING BACKWARD.


247


caprice were not permitted to dam it or divert it, or in
any way to tamper with it.
The labour of men, I explained, was the fertilizing
stream which alone rendered earth habitable. It was
but a scanty stream at best, and its use required to be
regulated by a system which expended every drop to
the best advantage, if the world were to be supported
in abundance. But how far from any system was the
actual practice! Every man wanted the precious fluid
as he wished, animated only by the equal motives of
s'.ving his own crop and spoiling his neighbour's, that
his might sell the better. What with greed and what
with spite some fields were flooded while others were
parched and half the water ran wholly to waste. In
such a land, though a few by strength or cunning might
win the means of luxury, the lot of the great mass
must be poverty, and of the weak and ignorant bitter
want and perennial famine.
Let but the famine-stricken nation assume the function it had neglected and regulate for the common good
the course of the life-giving stream, and the earth would
bloom like one garden, and none of its children lack
any good thing. I described the physical felicity,
mental enlightenment, and moral elevation which
would then attend the lives of all men. With fervency
I spoke of that new world blessed with plenty, purified
by justice and sweetened by brotherly kindness, the
world of which I had indeed but dreamed, but which
might so easily be made real.
But when I had expected now surely the faces
around me to light up with emotions akin to mine,
they grew ever more dark, angry, and scornful. Instead of enthusiasm, the ladies showed only aversion
and dread, while the men interrupted me with shouts
of reprobation and contempt. "Madman!" "Pestilent
fellow! " "Fanatic! " " Enemy of Society '" were some
of their cries, and the one who had before taken his




248


LOOKING BACKWAki.


eye-glass to me exclaimed, " He says we are to have
no more poor. Ha! Ha! "
" Put the fellow cut! " exclaimed the father of my
betrothed, and at the signal the men sprang from their
chairs and advanced upon me.
It seemed to me that my heart would burst with
the anguish of finding that what was to me so plain
and so all-important, was to them meaningless, and
that I was powerless to make it other. So hot had
been my heart that I had thought to melt an iceberg
with its glow, only to find at last the overmastering
chill seizing my own vitals. It was not enmity that
I felt toward them as they thronged me, but pity
only, for them and for the world.
Though despairing, I could not give over. Still I
strove with them. Tears poured from my eyes. In
my vehemence I became inarticulate. I panted, I
sobbed, I groaned, and immediately afterward found
myself sitting upright in bed in my room in Dr. Leete's
house, and the morning sun shining through the open
window into my eyes. I was gasping. The tears were
streaming down my face, and I quivered in every nerve.
As with an escaped convict who dreams that he has
been recaptured and brought back to his dark and
reeking dungeon, and opens his eyes to see the
heaven's vault spread above him, so it was with me,
as I realized that my return to the nineteenth century
had been the dream, and my presence in the twentieth
the reality.
The cruel sights which I had witnessed in my vision,
and could so well confirm from the experience of my
former life, though they had, alas,! once been, and
must in the retrospect to the end of time move the
compassionate to tears, were, God be thanked, for ever
gone by. Long ago oppressor and oppressed, prophet
and scorner, had been dust. For generations rich and
poor had been forgotten words.
But in that moment, while yet I mused with




LOOKING BACKWARD.             24
unspeakable thankfulness upon the greatness of the
world's salvation, and my privilege in beholding it,
there suddenly pierced me like a knife a pang of
shame, remorse, and wondering self-reproach, that
bowed my head upon my breast and made me wish
the grave had hid me with my fellows from the sun.
For I had been a man of that former time. What
lad I done to help on the deliverance whereat I now
Presumed to rejoice? I who had lived in those cruel,
insensate days, what had I done to bring them to an
end? I had hePn -      ery whit a indiferentt t -the
wretchedness of my brothkers as cynically incredulous
Ings, as b      esotted a worshipper of Chaos
and-4 —Nig ---as-any of my fellows. So far as my
personal influence went, it had been exerted rather to
hinder than to help forward the enfranchisement of
the race which was even then preparing. What right
had I to hail a salvation which reproached me, to
rejoice in a day whose dawning I had mocked?
" Better for you, better for you," a voice within me
rang, "had this evil dream been the reality, and this
fair reality the dream; better your part pleading for
crucified humanity with a scoffing generation, than
here, drinking of wells you digged not, and eating of
trees whose husbandmen you stoned;" and my spirit
answered, "Better, truly."
When at length I raised my bowed head and looked
forth from the window, Edith, fresh as the morning,
had come into the garden and was gathering flowers.
I hastened to descend to her. Kneeling before her,
with my face in the dust, I confessed with tears how
little was my worth to breathe the air of this golden
century, and how infinitely less to wear upon my
areast its consummate flower. Fortunate is he who,
with a case so desperate as mine, finds a judge so
merciful




250


LOOKING BACKWARD.


BRIEF SUMMARY
OF THE
INDUSTRIAL     PLAN    OF   NATIONALISM
SET FORTH IN " LOOKING BACKWARD" FOR CLASS STUDY.
"Looking Backward" is chiefly devoted, under the
form of a romance, to a description of the state of
Society supposed to exist in the United States in the
gear A.D. 2000.
The labour question, so-called, and all problems!rowing out of the division of labour and its results,
have been solved by the union of the entire nation in a
general business partnership, in which every man and
woman is an equal partner. The conduct of the industries, commerce and general business of the country
is committed by the national firm bt a so-called army
of industry, which includes all the able-bodied citizens,
meTnand' women, between the ages of 21 and 45, the
intellectual and professional services being rendered by
associated corps. All persons choose their occupations
in the army of industry, according to natural tastes and
gifts, provided, of course, when there are too many
volunteers for the needs of a particular branch that the
fittest are taken. In order to equalize the attractive;
ness of different occupations, the hours of work in those
which are more labourious or otherwise unattractive, are
shortened as compared with the easier and more
attractive trades. The conditions of a trade which does
not attract volunteers are lightened until the necessary
force is attracted, and on the other hand, a persistent




LOOKING BACKWARD.


251


excess of volunteers for a particular trade is taken to
indicate that its conditions are unfairly easy. The
intellectual pursuits are as open to all as the industrial,
on the sole condition that the fittest find preference.
In view of the fact that most women marry and
become mothers, and in view also of the comparative
weakness and uncertainty of their health, the feminine
half of the army of industry is organised under exclusively feminine control, and is altogether devoted to the
lighter classes of occupations, the discipline being in
all ways adapted to feminine conditions.
There is also an invalid corps attached to the
industrial army in which the sickly and feeble who still
desire and are able to do something, are enabled to
undertake what they safely can for the common wealth.
At the age of 45 both men and women are discharged
from further service, and remain absolutely free to
occupy themselves as they will for the remainder of
life.
That is to say, the industrial duty of citizens has
been placed upon the same basis on which their military
duty now rests. As it is at present held to be the duty
of all citizens to fight for their country, so then it is
held their equally obvious duty to work for it, and it is
considered self-evident that to be efficient, working
requires system and unity of action quite as much as
fighting. The 'ation has, in fine, been organized for
peace as at prt. nt for war. The people stand shoulder
to shoulder, not as now, to resist the foreign foe (for
that peril is no longer known), but against hunger, and
cold, and nakedness, and every wrong and every want
that human valour can repel; an invincible square of
men, with the women and the children, the sick, the
aged and the infirm in the centre.
As all the members of a nation of to-day, whether
able to fight or not, share equally in the protection of
the army and the prosperity it ensures, so in the nation
of the year 2000, all alike, whether men or women,
strong or weak, able-bodied or defective, share in the
wealth produced by the industrial army, and the share
of all is equal. This share, varying only with the




252


LOOKING BACKWARD.


general prosperity of the national business, is the sole
income and means of maintenance of all, whether
during active industrial service or after discharge from
it. Owing to the method of organising industry upon
the mutual obligation of citizen to nation, and nation to
citizen, duty has wholly taken the place of contract, as
the basis of industry and the cement of society.
The only exceptions to the rule of equality of portions
is made in the case of the children. While these are
regarded as equally partners in the national concern,
and are by no means left dependent upon the caprice
of parents for any part of their support, the pension
allotted them is naturally less than that of adults, their
needs being less.
If any question could be supposed to arise as to the
comparative claims upon maintenance at the nation's
table of the able bodied and the defective, it would be
the latter who would come first, for it is an ethical
axiom in the year 2000, that every generation receives
the common inheritance of organized society subject to
certain liens and charges, and that the first and most
sacred of these charges is an ample provision for the
care of those who are dependent on account of weakness
of mind or body.
But, indeed, no one in that age would think of
demanding an accounting for his personal services,
rather than his share as partner, were it only for selfish
reasons.  It is recognized that ninety-nine one
hundredths of the value of any person's work, and often
the very possibility of the work itself, is created by the
social organization, which is the joint and indivisible
inheritance of all, so that even if any body of metaphysicians and mathematicians were able to determine
the element in the value of an individual's work which
he had himself absolutely originated and independently
created, it would doubtless be a pittance too beggarly
to support life. The royalty, that is to say, which
society would have to claim from an individual for
permission to use the social organization for his personal enrichment would be so large as to be in danger
of leaving him in debt.




LOOKING BACKWARD.


2.53


But while as regards the part each has in the annual
product of the nation, it is share and share alike; the
honours and distinctions, the offices of rank and
authority in the army of industry and in the nation, are
allotted to men and women according to their comparative diligence or brilliancy or achievement, to the end
that the fittest may lead and rule, and all be encouraged
by the hope of honourable distinction to do their best.
While for example a man receives no more rations of
bread and meat or changes of clothing for doing twice
as much work, as the artizan at his side, he does
unfailingly win promotion in authority and position,
with the social rank such promotion brings in a community in which no other basis of distinction is
recognized. As to the rule of equality in the shares of
all workers, whether more or less skilful, it is merely
the extension to all trades of the rule of uniformity of
wages practically enforced in particular trades by the
trade unions of to-day.
Owing to the fact that the relation of work and
maintenance is directly between the nation and each
individual, no man's livelihood is dependent upon the
favour or patronage of any other or group of others, nor
any woman's upon a man, nor can a child suffer privation. All citizens consequently enjoy moral independence, and are free from social or personal dictation or
pressure as to belief, speech, or practice, so far as they
infringe upon no other's rights, The development of a
robust and unfettered individuality, which is rendered
so difficult to-day by the partial or complete dependence
of nearly everybody upon others for support or business
patronage, is thus open to all.
Owing to the fact that all forms of capital are held in
trust by the nation for the people, and all commodities
produced by the nation, it follows that everything the
individual needs can and can only be procured directly
from the nation. That is to say, there is no buying or
selling, or trade of any sort, among individuals. Therefore there is no use for money and no money. The
citizen is credited with his annual dividend of the product of the great partnership, and receives vouchers,




254


LOOKING BACKWARD.


upon presentation of which at the public stores be
obtains what he wants, at such times and in such
quantities as he likes. He expends his share altogether
as he pleases, whether his tastes run to renting a fine
house, having a fine table, or wearing fine clothes.
These vouchers are good only for the year for which
they are issued,and cannot be accumulated beyond that,
whatever is not taken up being turned over to the
public surplus. Spendthrifts becoming public burdens
are placed under guardianship as to their expenses.
The portions of children are also, of course, expended
for them.
While the nation undertakes and controls all public
business, smaller groups of citizens co-operate at will,
as now, for social, religious, political, or other semiprivate purposes, and are able, substantially as at the
present time, to raise common funds for such ends, by
contributions from their private credits.
Crime has shrunken to almost imperceptible proportions. Robbery, theft, and fraud of every sort are without a motive in a society where all have abundance,
where covetousness is not stimulated by different
degrees of luxury, and where equality of resources is
annually renewed. Not only fraud, but even falsehood,
is almost unknown, owing to the fact that none are
dependent for their livelihood or for any advantage
upon the favour of their fellows, and having nothing to
fear or hope from them, are without temptation to prevaricate. As to crimes of violence, the universal refinement of manners which results from a general high
education has tended to reduce them to the same small
proportions in which they now occur among the
educated classes,  As for corruption among public
officials, there are no corporate or personal interests
opposed to the public interests to create a motive for
bribery, neither is their any wealth to bribe with nor
poverty to be bribed.
Owing to the equality of wealth, marriages are based,
always solely upon personal preference, and never upon
sordid or prudential calculations.  The unhindered
operation of the principle of sexual selection in marriage




LOOKING BACKWARD.


255


has exerted a marked effect upon the physical, intellectual and moral character of the race.
The general wealth of society is represented as vastly
greater ia the year 2,000 than it is now. This is owing
In part to the continuance for another century of the
scientificprogress which has already so enriched the
world of to-day as compared with the world of the
eighteenth century.  Quite as much, however, it is
owing to the vast positive gains and negative savings,n the use of labour resulting from the substitution of
the scientific methods of organised and unified industrial
system for the wasteful struggle of the present competitive plan with its countless warring and mutually destructive undertakings.
The account ot che manner in which the change was
made from the industrial system of to-day to that of the
yea. 2,000 represents it as resulting from the development to its logical conclusion of the tendency now
observable to the consolidation of entire trades under
the single management of great corporations, syndicates.
and trusts. As individual ownership and control of
great business enterprises has already almost wholly
given place to corporate management, and as corporate
management is now before our eyes giving place to the
still larger concentrations of the trusts -or — syndicates.
so, it is represented, the syndicates and trusts in due
time realised their manifest destiny by absorption in
the great trust of the nation, the universal partnership
of the peop".
The enthusiasm of the people of the United States
when they began to foresee the manner in which their
salvation was thus destined to be wrought out, and to
realise the greatness of it, is described to have been
unparalleled and to have resulted in a popular uprising,?eaceful because irresistible, without precedent in
history.
While the condition of society in the year 2,000 is
described as being in all ways vastly improved upon
that of the present day, it is represented that the people
oftha- epochl by no means rested satisfied in it or considered it anything moec than a single step in the in



256           LOOKING-BACKWARD.
finite progression of humanity towards the divine. In
looking back upon our time their sentiment was chiefly
one of amazement that the race should have been so
slow to apply to industrial organisation principles at
once so obviously just, and so economically advantageous.




INDEX.
Note: —(9) signifies I9tll century; (20) 20th century; (19-20) comparison of periods.
Ability, waste of, in legal profession (19), I54; Clergy, How maintained, (so) 204, (see Chris
Moral Obligations of, 71, 97 (see Service  tianity.)
Aptitudes).                             Coach, Analogy of, 9.
Accumulations Personal. Absence of laws Commerce (see Foreign.)
against consistent with personal equality Competition and  Co-operation, compared.
(20), 87.                                 90-I, II5, 128, I73-4, I9I, 208, 2II, 238 (see
Advertising, Lack of (20), 76; Substitute for  Co-operation, Cooking,  Laundries, In(20), 78; Satire on (I9), 234.            dividualism.)
Alumni, Government by (19-2o), 145.       Concerts and Operas (I9-20), 86.
Amusements (see Recreation).              Cooking, 89; Dining-houses, Iio, I6, (9x-20o
Apprentices (20), 94.                       II6, 171 (see Competition.)
Aptitudes, Special means of testing (2o), 54 Co-operation in music, 85, in housework, go
(see Freedom).                            I9I (see Competition.)
Anarchists, theirThreats, I6; their supposed Corporations, Soulless machines (41.)
subsidizing by capitalists, I89.        Corruption of public men,(I9-20),47; ImpossiArchitecture (see Boston).                  bility of in (20) I44.
Aristocracy, the only real, 200.          Courtship (see Love.)
Army and Navy abolished, 156, I70 (see Credit Cards, 65-6; Their use abroad, og9;
Organization).                            Issued to women as well as to men, I96.
Army, Industrial: its perfect organisation Credit System, Evils attending, I77.
and self-devotion, 73, chap. I2, I40, 241.  Crime regarded as atavism, 149; Largely due
Atavism (see Crime).                       to inequality of possessions, (I9), 150; InAuthors (see books).                       fluence of Education upon, I5; (seeEduca.
Art, how encouraged, I23.                   tion, Ten Commandments, Money.)
Crises Industrial (I9), I75.
Banks (see Merchants).
Black Hole of Calcutta-a picture of I9 Debts, National, and municipal (I9-20) I70.
Century, 209.                           Demand and supply, I35-7; 178 (see Distribu
Books (as friends), IIo; how published, 122  tion).
(see Literature-Newspapers, Novels).     Dependence Mutual, universal, 99, poor on
Boston (I9-20), 30, 32, 38, 59, I19, chap. 28.  rich, employee on employer, women upon
Buying and Selling, anti-social, 66.        men, children upon parents (I9), 197 (see
Brotherhood of Man,belief in (I9-20), Ioo, 210;  Self-support.)
appeals to sense of, ioo, 190, 2II, 243-5 (see Deserts, 71, 97.
Class Distinctions, Duty, God, Nation.)  Dickens, III-II3.
Dining houses (see Cooking.)
Capital and Labour (see Labour and Capital). Discontent of the working  classes  (see
Capital, growing concentration of (19), 40;  Strikes.)
Effect of this onindividual workmen, (19)41; Dishonesty, Premium on, (19-20), 207.
Outcry against (19) 41; Effect on small Distribution, How effected, 65, 76-82 (I9-2o),
enterprises (I9), 42; Strong  economical  79, I35, 171, J97, 236 (see Individualism:
reasons for   Efficient in    proportion  Demand and Supply.)
to its consolidation, 42-3; But increase Doctors, How engaged and paid, 91.
of wealth chiefly goes to make rich richer Dollar, An algebraical symbol for comparand poor poorer (I9), 43; Final consolida-  ing value of products, 66.
tion of the whole capital of the nation (20), Domestic servants, 89 (see Cooking.)
44, I50,'I89, 247 (see Production, Waste, Dress (19-20), 12, 32, 35.
Employer and Employed.)                 Duty of strong to weak, o0x.
Censorship, Absence of (o),                      (see newspapers.)
Charity, Misuse of term, 98, IoO, Io02; Equity Education, Period of youth sacred to (60), 49;
leaves without occupation, 214.           Manual and industrial training no part of
Children  (1920),  49; maintained by the    (20), 5c; Effect on crime. 15 i; Higher EduState but nurtured by their parents, I96;  catior opportunity of universal, 24, 54, 123,
Neglect of (Ig) 243.                      15T, I62, Greater efficiency it gives tc
Choice, Power of (see Occupation, Freedom   labour.i63; Inhumanity of a partial system
Liberty, Selection.)                      of (i9), 165; Interest of the coming genera.
Churches, Voluntary, 204.                   tion in having educated parents, i66; The
Christianity, (I9), Nominal only; Entire    three main grounds on which the educacommercial and industrial system   anti-  tional system rests, i66; Technical (iceao
christian, 211 (See Clergy, God, Religion.)  54.
Class Distinctions, Rich and poor, educated Efficiency, testing of, 94
and ignorant, 4 classes or nations (I9), 8, I, I Equality of opportunity, rt2.
13, 17, II8 (see Brotherhood,)          Electricity for fire and lighting, 89.




II.                               INDEX.
Emigration (2o), 1o8                    Illustrations-(Continued).
Employer and   employed, Dislocation of   Horse and Goat, 7I.
relation (I9), I4, 41; the State, the sole  Umbrella dripping on one's neighbors, 115.
employer, every citizen an employee (2o),  Borrowing without intending to repay, II7.
48; Unsatisfactory nature of relation (I9),  General in balloon, Sergeant in thicket,I4o
68, 197 (see Capital and Labour).       Love of money, a tap root of poisonous
Employment, Lack of (see Labour).           growth, I5o.
Emulation (see Incentive).                Society, a pyramid poised on its apex inEnvironment (see Human Nature, Poverty).   stead of resting on its base, 158.
olution,  Industrial, 38, 43, I22, I89;  As the poorest land best repays cultivation
United States, the pioneer of, Io5; Nation  (in the widest sense), so do the coarsest
educated for the controlof its business by a  and dullest minds, 164.
series of object lessons, 45.           Society in I9th Century compared to
tvolution-of Man, 219.                      palace with windows opening into stable
Exchange, Wasteful and Unnecessary, 65      yards, 165.
(see Foreign).                          And to few small oases in vast wilderness,
Excise services abolished, i56.             i66.
Exploitation of men impossible, 214.      Cultured man in 19 Century compared to a
Faith, the insight of, I13.                 person in a nauseous bog. solacing himFavoritism, absence of, I23.                self with smelling bottle, 165.
Faculties, higher, the exercise of, 146.  Shoemaker who spoils the leather of 4 or
" Federation of the World," Io5.            5 pairs of boots to every pair he makes,
Firing and Lighting, 89.                    a picture of 19 Century methods, I73.
Foreign exchanges, o06; Natural staples   Competition compared to war, I73.
employed to settle final balances, Io8.  Credit, like the use of dynamite for
Foremen, how appointed, 96.                 mortar, I78.
Freedom, Choice of employment according to  Supply geared to demand,like an engine to
aptitude, 50; Note to p. I02, I24; Limita-  its governor, 178
tions, 52; Choice of occupations, 55; Of  (I9-20) Industry compared to horde of
Press, 122; Rights of minorities, I38 (see  barbarians with a thousand petty chiefs,
Dependence, Personal tastes).             andGerman Army under Von Moltke,i82.
Furniture (I9-20), 35.                    Black hole of Calcutta, I9th   century
civilization compared to, 209.
God, Fatherhood of, Belie in (19-20), 2I2   civilization compared to,
Man the Imnage of God, o, 215; God's    Humanity compared to rosebush planted
Ideal of Man, 217, 2I9 (see Brotherhood,  mon s  p suhic    lurishes when reReligion),                                moved to suitable soil, 215.
Gold (see Money.                          Humanity in the 2oth century, with the
Government Functions of (19-20), 46, 55; By  problem of physical maintenance solved
alumni, I45;   Municipal,  157; State     compared to a child who has but learned
abolishe,                      to stand and to walk, 218.
Gabdihed, I559                          The second birth of the race, the burstGuarantee, National, to all, 67 (see Life Insu-  Te  of e atin ith a leain so,
The folly of eating with a leaking spoon,236.,       onorary   emers s        t      The banking system, not a "heart," but
als, 4, (see Army, Iustrial).             an abscess, or the clumsy crutch of a selfgenerals, 4I, (see Army, Industrial).     made cripple, 240.
made cripple, 240.
Health and Safety (I9-20), 34, 52, I47, I67, 197,  The superposition of the ideal upon the
2oo (see Physical Culture).               actual face, 243.
Hindsight better than Foresight, 39, I3I.  Labor, fertilising stream of water.
Hope, Ground for (I9), 40; Intoxicating effect Inc entives.
of, 213.                                Hunger (I9), 9, 72.
Horse and Goat, Illustration of, 71.      Private gain (I9), I74.
Hours of Labor (see Labor).               Premium on baseness removed (20), 47.
Housework, go, I91 (see Co-operation-     Desire of national esteem, 52, I44, 214.
Women).                                 Honour, patriotism, inspiration of duty(I9 -Houses, Variety in, 81, 89, II9.           20), 72, 8i, 190.
Human Nature, No radical change in, 72;   Emulation, Chap. 12, 140, 148.
Effectof Environment, 47, 56, 20o, 206, 215;  This not a high motive, 98.
Divinity of, 208, 215; Evolution of new  Red-ribbon, I24.
faculties 218.                          Admiration and love of women, I24, 193,
Hunger, the driver of the coach, 9, 72; the  201 (see Human Nature.)
natural enemy and not foreign countries, Independence (see Dependence.)
46 (see Incentives).                  Individualism; Excess of inconsistent with
Ignorant Classes (19-20), I63 (see Education).  public spirit, 33, 201; Folly of conducting
Illustrations.                           industry and commerce from individual
Use without consumption, warmth with-   standpoint, 44, 65, 91, I38, 172, I89, 214, 236,
out combustion, 8.                    240, 246 (see competition.)
he coach, 9.                         Industrial Army (see Army.)
Aphelion of barbarism, perihelion of civili- Industrial disputes, how settled, I54.
sation, 15.                         Industrial Republics, 105.
Civilisation dynamite in disguise, i8.  Inheritance, Law of, 87, (cec A( cumulation.)
-ociety, a ship dragging anchor, 39   Insanity and suicide (qq-2o). I68.




INDEX.                                   Iii.
Insecurity of position (19) Io, i8 (19-20), 67, Military service of (I9), compared with
241 (See Guarantee, Life Insurance.)      industrial of (20), 48, ioo.
Interest, A perpetual tax upon industry, 9; Minorities, the rights of, 137 (see Freedom).
Efforts to regulate rate of. 9.         Money, obsolete, 64, i61, 240; the explanaInternational Relations (see Foreign).      tion, 48, 65, ioo; No indication of rightful
Invalid Corps, 98.                          title, 66; Love of, analysed, 72; Sordid
Invention, Impulsegiven to, 90; Recognition  taint involved in seeking money return,
of, 123.                                  119; Motive of all crime, 150; Economy
fiected by abolition, 170; Its tendency to
Jails (see prisons).                        produce crises, 177 (see Crime-Waste.)
udges, their functions, 152 (see women).  Monopolies National (20), 107.
ury system abolished, I53.               Motive (see Incentive).
Music (19-20), 83, 104, II5.
Kitchens (see Cooking),                   Municipalities (see Government).
Labor, Lack of employment (I9), 48, 239; Nation, The sole capitalist, 44, 48; A family,
Hours   of (I9), 14 (20), 51; Attractions  190,234.
equalised (20), 5I; How regarded (20), 146; National enemies, not Foreign Countries,
Never excessive, I67; Waste of, and the   but hunger, cold, and nakedness, 64.
want it brings, 171, 242, 246; Compared to National party. the rise of,89.
fertilising streams of water, which should National staples (see Forign exchange.)
not be wasted, 246 (see Labor and Capital, I Navy (see Army.)
Organisation, Ability, Service, Education, Newspapers, howpublished, 124, 125; Satii.
Waste).                                   cal Summary of News in I9th Century
Labor and Capital, Dislocation of relation,  paper, 232 (see Books.)
I4; Diverse views as to ultimate issue, 15, Nineteenth and Twentieth centuries coin39; Absorbing topic (I9), I6; Solved and pared, 206, chap. 28.
no longer heard of, 38, 47 (19); The Sphinx Novels(2o),I2i,I27(Ig-2o),I28(see Love,Books.)
riddle, 38; Solution, result of natural pro- Obsequiousness (see servility.)
cess of evolution, 38; Nature of crisis not Occupation (see Freedom.)
recognised-general fear that Society Operas and Concerts (see Music.)
would drift on to the rocks, 39; In reality Organisation, of Labor (I9), 40, 43; The
it was moving towards deeper channel, 39;  necessity of on a national scale shown
Idleness of labor involved in idleness of  from the necessity of in a si gl workshop,
capital, 179-80 (see Labor, Service, Organi-  239; The folly of an  army  without;
sation).                                  Science in war, want of in industry (19), 224
Labor parties, their scope,:89.           (see Production, Labor.)
Iaborers, all are for three years, 53-93.  Over production in special lines impossible
Labor-saving, indifference to, arising from  in (2), I78.
serfdom (19), 90.
Ladies, costumes of (9), 12 (see Women).  Parental responsibility (see responsibility,
Laundries, public, 89; their economy. 171.  Patriotism, once  an instinct becomes a
Law   as a special science obsolete. 153;   rational devotion, 190.
almost entirely concerned with protection Personal tastes, scope for (see Freedom), 81.
of private property and relations of buyers Pessimism, explanation of i9th century, 212
and sellers (19), 156 (see Ability).     its overthrow, 215, 218.
Leisure, how used, 147-8.                 Physicians (see doctors.)
Liberty (19-20), 87; Realisation of dream of Physical culture, prominence given to, 166
liberty, equality, fraternity, 215.       (see health.)
Life, fulness of (20), 147 (19-20), 2I2, 245 Piecework, adopted wherever possible, 94.
(see Health).                           Poor (see Poverty.).
Life Insurance (19-20), 242 (see Guarantee). Poverty, Current belief in the inevitableness
Literature (20), 121; Key note of (19), one of  of, Preface, ii, 15, 234; Is due to the Induscompassion for poor, II3, 210.            trial system, 33, chap. 22; What the term
Love, courtship   (19-20), I98; Love   in  involves, I67, 208; Removed when the proromances (20), 128, 130, I94, chaps. 20, 23.  blem of maintenance is dealt with from
27; p. 200; Quicker in growth, franker in  fraternal standpoint, 214; Due to folly
expression (20), 226 (see Marriage, Sexes,  rather than hard-heartedness, 246 (see
Novels.)                                  Literature, Riches. Waste.)
Lying, saving in (19-20), 78, 152.        President, How selected, I40.
Luxury (19-20), I71.                      Prices, 66, io6, 107, I37-139.
Prisons, abolished, I49.
Machine truer than the hand and system in a Private enterprise. imribecilitv of, 180.
large business, takes the place of master's Production, Statistics rof.I36; Svsem of, 136
eye, 45.                                  On large and small scale compared,45, 140o,
Magazines, how published, 124 (see Books).  chap. 22, 162, 237 8 (see  Organisation,
Mairiage (I9-20), I95-9 (see Love).         Labor, Waste, Capital concentration of.)
Meals (see Cooking).                      Professional training, opportunities for, 53-4
Menial, the word obsolete, 116.             men, 144.
Merchants and bankers, their functions Progress, Preface, Disbelief in (19), I5,
obsolete, 64, 239 (see Money).            2i2, just begun (20) 218.
Millenium, 2:.                            Property, private (see Accumulation-)




Iv.                                 IN]
Prophecy, x3.
Public opinion, Itsexpression, I25 (see Newspapers.)
Pyramid, Illustration of, i56.
Rsik, How determined (20).
Recreation, 142, I48, 183.
Reformers, Treatment they must expect,
247.
Religion, free from State control, 204, Decay
of religious belief (19), 212; Its revival (20),
212 (see Christianity).
Renaissance, a second and more glorious,
122.
Responsibility, Parental (20) I96, Deepened
sense of the generation to follow (20) 20O-2;
Driving men to anti-social conduct (19),
208, 237.
Revenue service abolished, 156, I70.
Revolution, its sudden but bloodless character explained, 44, 2I3.
Riches and poverty, the effects of (i9), i17,
(see Poverty.)
Safety (see Health.)
Sample stores, 79.
Selection of goods, how made, 78, of occupation (see Freedom).
Selfishness, buying and selling induces, 66;
The folly of, Io7, 183; the pseudo selfinterest of, 207; i9th century belief in its
cohesive  force,  21I; premium    upon
removed (20), 215. The true self-interest of
a rational unselfishness, 207 (19-20), 208, 215.
Self-support, Impossibility of, 99.
Sermon of Mr. Barton, 205.
Service, Means of support without service
(I9) 8; Rather inevitable than compulsory
(20) 48; Period of, 49; Exceptions to this,
49, 143, I53. Objections to plan dealt with,
146; Best service demanded of all, 70;
Reward for in (ig), not dependent upon
difficulty, danger, &c., but rather the contrary, 68; Opportunity to each to serve the
world, the first object of social organisDtion, 235; Meanness of accepting without
being willing to return, iI7.
Servility, Absence of (20), 116, 214.
Sexes, Recognitionof their mental differences
(19-20),I94; Their mutual attraction constant
through all changes, I95; The female sex
only truly represented by those who have
been wives and mothers, 196; Unhindered
operation of sexual selection, 2oo; Effects
of this, 2oo.
Shopmen, No need ot, 77.
Shopping (I9-20), 75, 236.
Singing, chapter eleven.
Slavery, though often scotched is at last
killed (20), 2io.
Smelling-bottle, Illustration of, i65.
Smoke, absence of (20), 33.
Social qualities, the cohesive force of
society, 2ir.
Social life, the splendor of (2so), II9, I83.
Socialists, how regarded (I9), i8.
Society, growing perception of its evils (I9)
210.
Solidarity of race (Brotherhood).
Speech but little altered (i9-20), 35.
Sports (see Recreation).


DEX
State (see Nation).
State Governments abolished, I55.
Stoire ward described, chap. io.
Strikes, Frequency o (19), I3. chief weapon
of workmen, 14; Sacrifice endured during,
14; First incoherent phase of a great
movement, 13; Objurgations levied on
strikers, 16, 17, 21 (see Labor and Capital).
Struggle for existence leaves little time foi
other thoughts, 195; Compared to the Black
Hole of Calcutta, 219.
Suffrage, General of guild appointed by, 14I.
Suicide (see Insanity).
Sunday retention, p. 203.
Supply (see Demand).
Syndicates (see Capital, concentration of, 42).
Technical schools (see Education).
Telephone, its use for music (see chap. eleven,
for sermons, 205).
Ten Commandments, the need to preach
well nigh obsolete, 214 (see C-'ne).
Thrift, no need for personal [4o), 67,
national thrift remains, I37, I39, 147.
Trade, its unnecessary waste, 65.
Trades Unionism, growth of, 41.
Trusts (see Capital, concentrate  of).
Transferment of employment, I55.
Umbnrella, Illustration of, II4.
Uncertainty of future in i9th Century, 24I;
Life Insurance, partial protection for, 24I
(see Guarantee).
United States, the pioneer of the Evolution,
105.
Unselfishness (see Selfishness).
Wages, Demand for higher (ig), 14; Adjustment of Difficulty stated, 55, 58; How
regulated (I9), 68; Possibility of governmental regulation of wages dealt with, 69;
Equality of (20o), 69, 99, 183; Basis of a
man's claim to the tact that he is a man, 69,
99, I96; Objections to this, 70, Ioo; The
answer to them, 70, Ioo, I83; Of Women
(20), 1 96.
Waiters, ti6.
War, The folly of, 46.
Warehouse, great central, 79.
Washing (see laundries.)
Waste of i9th century production (i) mistaken undertaking (2) From competition (3)
gluts and crises (4) Idle capital and labor,
Chap. 22, p. 242; Waste of the rich, its
effects, 246 (see Distribution, Labor.)
Weak, how encouraged, 95, 97; Their equal
rights and claims, 101-2.
Wealth. Increase of, with organisation (I9),
43; Love of analysed, 72; (9-20o), compared
with causes chap. 22. see Waste.)
Women (Chap. 25): Their freedom    fron
household cares, 9c, I9I; Form part oi
the industrial army, i92; Choice of Occupation, i92; Happiness and health (I9-2o),
I93, 243; As Judges in certain cases, 193;
Victim of i9 Century civilisation, I94; Recognition of their individuality, I94; Their
independence of their husband for maintenance, I96; Evil effects of dependence (I9), I97- Responsibility as wardens
of the world to come, 2OI; Sexes-(see
Ladies.)




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Price Is. 6d. net, paper covers, or cloth, 3s. net.
OVER-PRODUCTION
AND WANT
THE
ECONOMIC AND SOCIAL PROBLEM
AND SOLUTION
BY MICHAEL FLURSCHEIM
CONTENTS:
PAGES
1.  A Problem and its Solution......  1-16
2.  Land.............   17-69
3.  Money........  69-114
4.  Circulation.............  115-149
5.  Capital, Capitalism  and Interest...  149-177
6.  Democracy...............  177-200
7.  Co-operation...........  201-227
8.  Socialism  and Trusts.........  227-267
LONDON:
WM. REEVES, 83 CHARING CROSS ROAD, W.C


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