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Looking Backward From 2000 to 1887 .............................................................................................................1

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 realize that the present organization of society is, in its

completeness, less than a century old. No 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

wellnigh 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 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

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 aspect of the histories

which treat the subject. 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 the book by casting it in the form of a romantic

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 tritebut 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 bimillennial 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, 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

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

I first saw the light in the city of Boston in the year 1857. "What!" you say, "eighteen fiftyseven? That is an

odd slip. He means nineteen fiftyseven, 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

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 of 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 civilization of today, or anything like it, did not exist, although the elements which

were to develop it were already in ferment. Nothing had, however, 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 labor 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

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 greatgrandfather 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 the shoulders of others. The man who had accomplished this, and it was the end all sought, was

said to live on the income of his investments. To explain at this point how the ancient methods of industry

made this possible would delay us too much. I shall only stop now to say that interest on investments was a

species of tax in perpetuity 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

organizations prevailed. At the time of which I write, the latter part of the nineteenth century, governments

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 to

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. These seats on

top were very breezy and comfortable. Well up out of the dust, their occupants could enjoy the scenery at

their leisure, or critically discuss the merits 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 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 were 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

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 beings 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 of 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 another 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 of general relief when the specially bad

piece of road was gotten over. This 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 about 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 curious, which partly explain it. In the first place, it was firmly

and sincerely believed that there was no other way in which Society could get along, except the many pulled

at the rope and the few 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

always would be so. It was a pity, but it could not be helped, and philosophy forbade wasting compassion on

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 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. The 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 it I refer 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 refined 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 of their greatgrandmothers enables me to maintain that no deformity of costume can wholly

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 neighboring 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 so common at that period that people had

ceased to inquire into their particular grounds. In one department of industry or another, they had been nearly

incessant ever since the great business crisis of 1873. In fact it had come to be the exceptional thing to see

any class of laborers 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 which ended in the establishment of the modern industrial

system with all its social consequences. This is all so plain in the retrospect that a child can understand 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 workingman and the employer,

between labor and capital, appeared in some unaccountable manner to have become dislocated. 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 the 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 it, and the eager enthusiasm with

which they thronged about any one who seemed likely to give them any light on the subject lent sudden

reputation to many wouldbe leaders, some of whom had little enough light to give. However chimerical the

aspirations of the laboring classes might be deemed, the devotion with which they supported one another in

the strikes, which were their chief weapon, and the sacrifices which they underwent to carry them out left no

As to the final outcome of the labor 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 workingmen 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 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 laboring men were contending with, these maintained,

but the ironbound 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 workingmen's aspirations were impossible of fulfillment 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

This, of course, was an extreme opinion, but I 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 of

thoughtful men that society was approaching a critical period which might result in great changes. The labor

troubles, their causes, course, and cure, took lead of all other topics in the public prints, and in serious

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

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

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 honor 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 drawingroom, 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 strikers in particular. I had

abundant sympathy from those about me, and the remarks made in the desultory conversation which

followed, upon the unprincipled conduct of the labor 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 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'm 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, Patago nia, 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 goodby as

usual. There was no circumstance out of the common to distinguish this parting from previous occasions

when we had bade each other goodby for a night or a day. There was absolutely no premonition in my mind,

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 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

oldfashioned 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 colored 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 windmill on the

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 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

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 mesmerist. It was for the purpose of being put to sleep by his 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 mesmerizing process. The process for

awaking the sleeper was much simpler than that for putting him to sleep, and for convenience I had made Dr

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 precautions were exercised, and of this I hoped, 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 dressinggown, 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 laboring classes of America. The return of Sawyer with the

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 fine 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

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 dressinggown, 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

"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 an elbow and looked around. The room was empty. I certainly had never been in

"We will talk about that when you are stronger. Meanwhile, I beg you will feel no anxiety. You are among

"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."

"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

I repelled the glass with my hand and sat up on the couch, although with an effort, for my head was strangely

"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 you

did not insist upon explanations so soon, but if you do, I will try to satisfy you, provided you will first take

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

"When?" I replied, "when? Why, last evening, of course, at about ten o'clock. I left my man Sawyer orders to

"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

"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 odd sensation of having slept a long time. It was Decoration Day

"Why, of this month, of course, unless I have slept into June, but that can't be."

"September! You don't mean that I've slept since May! God in heaven! Why, it is incredible."

"We shall see," replied my companion; "you say that it was May 30th when you went to sleep?"

"Yes, of what year, if you please? After you have told me that I shall be able to tell you how long you have

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 just roused from a somewhat too long and profound sleep, and yet this is the tenth day of

September in the year 2000, and you have slept exactly one hundred and thirteen years, three months, and

Feeling partially dazed, I drank a cup of some sort of broth at my companion's suggestion, and, immediately

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

Something extraordinary had certainly happened to account for my waking up in this strange house with this

unknown companion, but my fancy was 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 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.

"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 color is good and your eyes are bright. How do you feel?"

"You remember your first waking, no doubt," he pursued, "and your surprise when I told you how long you

"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

I had to admit that, if I were indeed the victim of 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 have 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 favor 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 excava tion 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 frogpond 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 lantern, I found

myself in an apartment fitted up as a 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. That 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 once had 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 personality 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, 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

"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

"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

"Very well," replied my extraordinary host. "Since I cannot convince you, you shall convince yourself. Are

"I am as strong as I ever 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 persuaded that

you are the victim of a trick, lest the reaction, when you are convinced of the truth of my statements, should

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

At my feet lay a great city. Miles of broad streets, shaded by trees and lined with fine buildings, for the most

part not in continuous blocks but set in larger or smaller inclosures, stretched in every direction. Every

quarter contained large open squares filled with trees, among which statues glistened and fountains flashed in

the late afternoon sun. Public buildings of a colossal size and an 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 harbor stretched before me within its headlands, not one

I knew then that I had been told the truth concerning the prodigious thing which had befallen me.

I did not faint, but the effort to realize 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

"If you had told me," I replied, profoundly awed, "that a thousand years instead of a hundred had elapsed

"Only a century has passed," he answered, "but many a millennium in the world's history has seen changes

"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."

"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, he may wish to know, 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 a while, 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 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

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 easychairs, with the city

beneath and around us. After Dr. Leete had responded to numerous questions on my part, as to the ancient

landmarks I missed and the new ones which had replaced them, he asked me what point of the contrast

"To speak of small things before great," I responded, "I really think that the complete absence of chimneys

"Ah!" ejaculated my companion with an air of much interest, "I had forgotten the chimneys, it is so long

since they went out of use. It is nearly a century since the crude method of combustion on which you

"In general," I said, "what impresses me most about the city is the material prosperity on the part of the

"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 prevailed

was inconsistent with much public spirit. What little wealth you had seems almost wholly to have been

lavished in private luxury. Nowadays, on the contrary, there is no destination of the surplus wealth so popular

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

His words recalled to me the feminine voices which I had heard whispering about me as I was coming back

to conscious life; and, most curious to learn what the ladies of the year 2000 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 the 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,

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 these 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 but the 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

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

[1] 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

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

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 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 ground.

When, in the course of the evening the ladies retired, leaving Dr. Leete and myself alone, 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

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

"Before I acquired that," I replied, "I must know a little more about the sort of Boston I have come back 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 millennium. 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 labor 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 labor 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 had 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 solved itself. The solution came as the

result of a process of industrial evolution which could not have terminated otherwise. All that society had to

do was to recognize and cooperate with that evolution, when its tendency had become unmistakable."

"I can only say," I answered, "that at the time I fell asleep no such evolution had been recognized."

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 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 also have 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 widespread industrial and social

troubles, and the underlying dissatisfaction of all classes with the inequalities of society, and the general

"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

"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 today on a heap of

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 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

"You have not yet 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

"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 humor 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 labor troubles of your day?"

"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 organization of labor and the strikes were an effect, merely, of the

concentration of capital in greater masses than had ever been known before. Before this concentration began,

while as yet commerce and industry were conducted by innumerable petty concerns with small capital,

instead of a small number of great concerns with 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, workingmen were constantly becoming employers and there

was no hard and fast line between the two classes. Labor 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 laborer, 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. Selfdefense drove him to union

"The records of the period show that the outcry against the concentration of capital was furious. Men believed

that it threatened society with a form of tyranny more abhorrent than it had ever endured. They believed that

the great corporations were preparing for them the yoke of a baser servitude than had ever been imposed on

the race, servitude not to men but to soulless machines incapable of any motive but insatiable greed. Looking

back, we cannot wonder at their desperation, 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 clamor against it, the absorption of business

by ever larger monopolies continued. In the United States 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 small businesses as still remained were

fastfailing 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, as 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

manufactories, 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 bazar

crushed it 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

"The fact that the desperate popular opposition to the consolidation of business in a few powerful hands had

no effect to check it proves that there must have been a strong economical reason for it. The small capitalists,

with their innumerable petty concerns, had in fact yielded the field to the great aggregations of capital,

because they belonged to a day of small things and were totally incompetent to the demands of an age of

steam and telegraphs and the gigantic scale of its enterprises. To restore the former order of things, even if

possible, would have involved returning to the day of stagecoaches. Oppressive and intolerable as was the

regime of the great consolidations of capital, even its victims, while they cursed it, were forced to admit the

prodigious increase of efficiency which had been imparted to the national industries, the vast economies

effected by concentration 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 been proved efficient in proportion

to its consolidation. The restoration 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

"Was there, then, no way of commanding the services of the mighty wealthproducing 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

"Early in the last century the evolution was completed by the final consolidation of the entire capital of 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 say, organized as the one great business corporation in which all other corporations were absorbed;

it became the one capitalist in the place of all other capitalists, the sole employer, the final monopoly in

which all previous and lesser monopolies were swallowed up, a monopoly in the profits and economies of

which all citizens shared. The epoch of trusts had ended in The Great Trust. 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 that they had then organized for political purposes. 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 political government to kings and nobles to be conducted for their personal

"Such a stupendous change as you describe," said I, "did not, of course, take place without great bloodshed

"On the contrary," replied Dr. Leete, "there was absolutely no violence. The change had been long foreseen.

Public 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. On 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 phase, 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 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. But 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 labors of hundreds of

thousands of men with an efficiency and economy unattainable in smaller operations. It had come to be

recognized as an axiom that the larger the business the simpler the principles that can be applied to it; that, as

the machine is truer than 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 contended."

Dr. Leete ceased speaking, and I remained silent, endeavoring to form some general conception of the

changes in the arrangements 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

"In my day," I replied, "it was considered that the proper functions of government, strictly speaking, were

limited to keeping the peace and defending the people against the public enemy, that is, to the military and

"And, in heaven's name, who are the public enemies?" exclaimed Dr. Leete. "Are they France, England,

Germany, or hunger, cold, and nakedness? In your day governments were accustomed, on the slightest

international misunderstanding, to seize upon the bodies of citizens and deliver them over by hundreds of

thousands 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 governments 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 directing 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 even for the best ends would men now allow their governments such powers as were then

"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 wealthproducing machinery of the country. Its material interests were quite too much the

"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."

"Not at all," was Dr. Leete's reply, "but the conditions of human life have changed, and with them the

motives of human action. The organization of society with you was such that officials were under a constant

temptation to misuse their power for the private profit of themselves or others. Under such circumstances it

seems almost strange that you dared entrust them with any of your affairs. Nowadays, on the contrary, society

is so constituted that there is absolutely no way in which an official, however illdisposed, could possibly

make any profit for himself or any one else by a misuse of his power. Let him be as bad an official as you

please, he cannot be a corrupt one. There is no motive to be. The social system no longer offers a premium on

dishonesty. 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 labor 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 labor question still remained. In assuming the

responsibilities of capital the nation had assumed the difficulties of the capitalist's position."

"The moment the nation assumed the responsibilities of capital those difficulties vanished," replied Dr. Leete.

"The national organization of labor under one direction was the complete solution of what was, in your day

and under your system, justly regarded as the insoluble labor problem. When the nation became the sole

employer, all the citizens, by virtue of their citizenship, became employees, to be distributed according to the

"That is," I suggested, "you have simply applied the principle of universal military service, as it was

"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 defense 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 labor that citizens were able to render this sort of service with any pretense either of universality

or equity. No organization of labor 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 labor 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."

"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 a weak way to state its absolute inevitableness. 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

"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 men, but we hold the period of youth 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 twentyfour years, beginning at the close of the course of education at twentyone and

terminating at fortyfive. After fortyfive, while discharged from labor, the citizen still remains liable to

special calls, in case of emergencies causing a sudden great increase in the demand for labor, till he reaches

the age of fiftyfive, 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 twentyone are then

mustered into the industrial service, and at the same time those who, after twentyfour years' service, have

reached the age of fortyfive, are honorably mustered out. It is the great day of the year with us, whence we

"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

"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 principle on which our industrial army is organized is that a

man's natural endowments, mental and physical, determine what he can work at most profitably to the nation

and most satisfactorily to himself. 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. A thorough study of the National industrial system, with the history and rudiments of all the great

trades, is an essential part of our educational system. While manual training is not allowed to encroach on the

general intellectual culture to which our schools are devoted, it is carried far enough to give our youth, in

addition to their theoretical knowledge of the national industries, mechanical and agricultural, a certain

familiarity with their tools and methods. Our schools are constantly visiting our workshops, and often are

taken on long excursions to inspect particular industrial enterprises. In your day a man was not ashamed to be

grossly ignorant of all trades except his own, but such ignorance would not be consistent with our idea of

placing every one in a position to select intelligently the occupation for which he has most taste. Usually long

before he is mustered into service a young man has found out the pursuit he wants to follow, has acquired a

great deal of knowledge about it, and is waiting impatiently the time when he can enlist in its ranks."

"Surely," I said, "it can hardly be that the number of volunteers for any trade is exactly the number needed in

"The supply of volunteers is always expected 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 arduous. It is the business of the administration to seek

constantly to equalize the attractions of the trades, so far as the conditions of labor 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 labor in different trades to differ according to their arduousness. The lighter trades, 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 workers and adding them to other

classes, simply follows the fluctuations of opinion among the workers themselves as indicated by the rate of

volunteering. The principle is that no man's work ought to 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 labor, 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 greedy of

honor, and do not let slip such opportunities. Of course you will see that dependence on the purely voluntary

choice 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 does not maim and slaughter

its workmen by thousands, as did the private capitalists and corporations of your day."

"When there are more who want to enter a particular trade than there is room for, how do you decide between

"Preference is given to those who have acquired the most knowledge of the trade they wish to follow. No

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. Meanwhile, if a man cannot at first win entrance into the

business he prefers, he has usually one or more alternative preferences, pursuits for which he has some degree

of aptitude, although not the highest. Every one, indeed, is expected to study his aptitudes so as to have not

only a first choice as to occupation, but a second or third, so that if, either at the outset of his career or

subsequently, owing to the progress of invention or changes in demand, he is unable to follow his first

vocation, he can still find reasonably congenial employment. This principle of secondary choices as to

occupation is quite important in our system. I should add, in reference to the counterpossibility 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 laborers."

"How is this class of common laborers 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, and very

glad our young men are to pass from this severe school into the comparative liberty of the trades. If a man

were so stupid as to have no choice as to occupation, he would simply remain a common laborer; but such

"Having once elected and entered on a trade or occupation," I remarked, "I suppose he has to stick to it the

"Not necessarily," replied Dr. Leete; "while frequent and merely capricious changes of occupation are not

encouraged or even permitted, every worker is allowed, of course, under certain regulations and in

accordance with the exigencies of the service, to volunteer for another industry which he thinks would suit

him better than his first choice. In this case his application is received just as if he were volunteering for the

first time, and on the same terms. Not only this, but a worker may likewise, under suitable regulations and not

too frequently, obtain a transfer to an establishment of the same industry in another part of the country which

for any reason he may prefer. Under your system a discontented man could indeed leave his work at will, but

he left his means of support at the same time, and took his chances as to future livelihood. We find that the

number of men who wish to abandon an accustomed occupation for a new one, and old friends and

associations for strange ones, is small. It is only the poorer sort of workmen who desire to change even as

frequently as our regulations permit. Of course transfers or discharges, when health demands them, are

"As an industrial system, I should think this might be extremely efficient," I said, "but I don't see that it

makes any provision for the professional classes, the men who serve the nation with brains instead of hands.

Of course you can't get along without the brainworkers. 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 laborer, 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 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

"Are not the schools flooded with young men whose only motive is to avoid work?"

"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 and

scientific schools of your day depended on the patronage of their pupils for support, and the practice 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

"This opportunity for a professional training," the doctor continued, "remains open to every man till the age

of thirty 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 nowadays that the natural aptitudes of some are later than those of others in developing, and

therefore, while the choice of profession may be made as early as twentyfour, it remains open for six years

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 determine just how much everybody shall earn, from the doctors to the 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

neighbor 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."

"Very true, very true," he said, "a general strike would most probably have followed the first pay day, and a

"How, then, do you avoid a revolution every pay day?" if demanded. "Has some prodigious philosopher

devised a new system of calculus satisfactory to all for determining the exact and comparative value of all

sorts of service, whether by brawn or brain, by 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 on the things of his neighbor'? One or the

"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

"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 wineglass of something or other which

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 halfdreaming, halfwaking 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 new 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 my 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

I think it must have been many seconds that I sat up thus in bed staring about, without being able to regain

the clew to my personal identity. I was no more able to distinguish myself from pure being during those

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 during 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

I do not know how long this condition had lastedit seemed an interminable timewhen, 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 all 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 reaction 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 laboring 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 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

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 downstairs. 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 burglary was not among the perils of the modern Boston, I found

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 today 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 astonished, but

he is not bewildered. He is aware of a great lapse of time, and of changes likewise occurring 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

"Oh, what is the matter, Mr. West?" she said. "I 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

Perhaps she involuntarily held out her hands in a gesture of compassion as she spoke. At any rate I had

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

"God bless you," I said, after a few moments. "He must have sent you to me just now. I think I was in danger

"Oh, Mr. West!" she cried. "How heartless you must have thought us! How could we leave you to yourself so

"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 her face, more expressive of her sympathy than a

volume of words. "You must not think us so 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

"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 in the city alone so early in the morning," she went on.

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.

"I can't quite say that," I replied. "It might be too early to say that, considering how strange everything will

"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

"Oh yes, yes, I beg you will," she said eagerly. "I would do anything to help you that I could."

"It is understood, then," she said, smiling with wet eyes, "that you are to come and tell me next time, and not

This assumption that we were not strangers seemed scarcely strange, so near within these few minutes had

"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 of thankfulness to God that your life in that age was so strangely cut off,

Dr. and Mrs. Leete were evidently not a little startled to learn, when they presently appeared, that I had been

all over the city alone that morning, and it was apparent that they were agreeably surprised to see that I

"Your stroll could scarcely have failed to be a very interesting one," said Mrs. Leete, as we sat down to table

"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

"Not so bad as that," replied Dr. Leete. "We have simply dispensed with them. Their functions are obsolete in

"There is neither selling nor buying nowadays; the distribution of goods is effected in another way. As to the

"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

"Father has no idea of jesting, I am sure," she replied, with a reassuring smile.

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 favorite resort of his, that he recurred to the subject.

"You were surprised," he said, "at my saying that 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."

"It is very simple," said Dr. Leete. "When innumerable different 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 took the place of trade, and for this money was unnecessary."

"On the simplest possible plan," replied Dr. Leete. "A credit corresponding to his share of the annual product

of the nation is given to every citizen on the public books at the beginning of each year, and a credit card

issued him with which he procures at the public storehouses, found in every community, whatever he desires

whenever he desires it. This arrangement, you will see, totally obviates the necessity for business transactions

of any sort between individuals 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

"If you wanted to buy something of your neighbor, could you transfer part of your credit to him as

"In the first place," replied Dr. Leete, "our neighbors have nothing to sell us, but in any event our credit

would not be transferable, being strictly personal. Before the nation could even think of honoring 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. People nowadays

interchange gifts and favors out of friendship, but buying and selling is considered absolutely inconsistent

with the mutual benevolence and disinterestedness which should prevail between citizens and the sense of

community of interest which supports our social system. According to our ideas, buying and selling is

essentially antisocial in all its tendencies. It is an education in selfseeking 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 civilization."

"The provision is so ample that we are more likely not to spend it all," replied Dr. Leete. "But if 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. Of course if a man showed himself a reckless

spendthrift he would receive his allowance monthly or weekly instead of yearly, or if necessary not be

"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

"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 themselves

of any good thing. In your day, men were 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,

"That is a sweeping guarantee!" I said. "What certainty can there be that the value of a man's labor 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 wages question, on which you have hitherto said nothing. It was at just this point, 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 the market rate determined the price of labor of all sorts,

as well as of goods. The employer paid as little as he could, and the worker got as much. It was not a pretty

system ethically, I admit; but it did, at least, furnish us 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

"Yes," replied Dr. Leete, "it was the only practicable 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 labor 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 labor 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 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 favored 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

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 which at all corresponds

"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

"His title," replied Dr. Leete, "is his humanity. The basis of his claim is the fact that he is a man."

"The fact that he is a man!" I repeated, incredulously. "Do you possibly mean that all have the same share?"

The readers of this 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

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

"We leave no possible ground for any complaint of injustice," replied Dr. Leete, "by requiring precisely the

"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;

"And supposing all do the best they can," I answered, "the amount of the product resulting is twice greater

"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 alone is pertinent to the question of desert. All men who do their

best, do the same. A man's endowments, however godlike, 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 fulfillment."

"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 have only 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.

"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 could only be induced to do so by

rewarding them according to the amount of their product. That brings me to ask why, unless human nature

"We are," replied Dr. Leete. "I don't think there 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 endeavors of the average man in any direction."

"But what inducement," I asked, "can a man have to put forth his best endeavors 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

"Does it then really seem to you," answered my companion, "that human nature is insensible to any motives

save fear of want and love of luxury, that you should expect security and equality of livelihood to leave them

without possible incentives to effort? Your contemporaries did not really think 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 other incentives. Not higher wages, but honor 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 those motives did not call out what is best

and noblest in men. And not only this, but when you come to analyze 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 was but one 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 reputation 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 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 replaced by

higher motives wholly unknown to the mere wage earners of your age. Now that industry of whatever sort is

no longer selfservice, but service 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 as you used to supplement the motives of patriotism with the love of glory, in order to stimulate the

valor 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 service

is the sole and certain way to public repute, social distinction, and official power. The value of a man's

services to 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 objectlessons of biting poverty and wanton luxury on which you

depended a device as weak and uncertain as it was barbaric. The lust of honor even in your sordid day

notoriously impelled men to more desperate effort than the love of money could."

"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

"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

"My daughter," he added, turning to me, "is an indefatigable shopper, and can tell you more about the stores

The proposition was naturally very agreeable to me, and Edith being good enough to say that she should be

"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. I have never been able to understand it from all I have 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

"Father calls me an indefatigable shopper, but I should soon be a very fatigued one if I had to do as they did,"

"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

"But say there were a thousand shops in a city, hundreds, perhaps, of the same sort, how could even the idlest

"They really could not visit all, of course," I replied. "Those who did a great 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 this knowledge. Those who were too busy, or bought too 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

"It was like all our social arrangements," I replied. "You can see their faults scarcely more plainly than we

"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; but instead, above the portal,

standing out from the front of the building, a majestic lifesize 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 the first interior of a

twentiethcentury public building 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 played,

cooling 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 commodities the counters below were devoted. Edith directed

her steps towards one of these, where samples of muslin of a bewildering variety were displayed, and

"Where is the clerk?" I asked, for there was no one behind the counter, and no one seemed coming to attend

"It was the principal business of clerks to help people to make their selections in my day," I replied.

"But did not ladies find that very impertinent?" Edith asked, wonderingly. "What concern could it possibly be

"It was their sole concern," I answered. "They were hired for the purpose of getting rid of the goods, and were

"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 smiled as she added, "How exceedingly odd it must have seemed to have

clerks trying to induce one to take 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,

"No," said Edith, "that is not the business of the clerk. These printed cards, for which the government

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

"Nothing at all. It is not necessary that he should know or profess to know anything about them. Courtesy and

"What a prodigious amount of lying that simple arrangement saves!" I ejaculated.

"Do you mean that all the clerks misrepresented their 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

especial 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 customeror let him deceive himselfwas wellnigh

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.

He took down her order on a tablet with a pencil which made two copies, of which he gave one to her, and

enclosing the counterpart in a 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

"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

"Oh, no," she replied. "We buy where we please, though naturally most often near home. But I should have

gained nothing by visiting other stores. The assortment in all is exactly the same, representing as it does in

each case samples of all the varieties produced or imported by the United States. That is why one can decide

"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

"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. 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

"I suppose so," said Edith, "but of course we have never known any other way. But, Mr. West, you must 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 dispatching 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 carrierbox by

itself. The dispatching 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 my order will probably be at

"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 of tubes connect 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

[2] I am informed since the above is in type that 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 tubes.

"There must be many other respects also, no doubt, in which the country stores are inferior to the city stores,"

"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

As we walked home 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, elegance, and

location, so that everybody can find 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, Mr. West?"

"Well, you see, it could not be so nowadays; for everybody's income is known, and it is known that what is

When we arrived home, Dr. Leete had not yet returned, and Mrs. Leete was not visible. "Are you fond of

"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

"To me!" she exclaimed, laughing. "Did you think I was going to play or sing to you?"

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 hold our peace

"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

"Please look at today's music," she said, handing me a card, "and tell me what you would prefer. It is now

The card bore the date "September 12, 2000," and contained the longest 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,

quartettes, 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 allday one, divided into

twentyfour sections answering to the hours. There were but a few pieces of music in the "5 P.M." section,

"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 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

"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 a

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 fairies or genii, but by good, honest, and exceedingly clever human

hands. We have simply carried the idea of labor saving by cooperation 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 of 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 twentyfour hours. There are on that card for today, 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 housewire with the hall where it is

being rendered. The programmes are so coordinated 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 different motives from grave to gay, so that all tastes and

"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

"I am sure I never could imagine how those among you who depended at all on music managed to endure the

oldfashioned 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 favored 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

"Ah, well," Edith sighed, "when one really considers, it is not so strange that people in those days so often did

"Did I understand you rightly," I inquired, "that this musical programme covers the entire twentyfour hours?

It seems to 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

"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 tonight, 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 inheritance 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 liberty nowadays than you were

accustomed to. We require, indeed, by law 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 naturethe edict of Edenby which

it is made equal in its pressure on 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 landowner 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

"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 salable, would be of no

value to him except for their actual use or the enjoyment of their beauty. On the other hand, his income

remaining the same, he would have to deplete his credit to hire houses to store the goods in, and still further

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 spare room for and time to attend to. You 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

"You spoke of paying for service to take care of your houses," said I; "that suggests a question I have several

times been on the point of asking. How 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

"It is precisely because we are all social equals whose equality nothing can compromise, and because service

is honorable, 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.

"There is none to do," said Mrs. Leete, to whom I had addressed this question. "Our washing is all done at

public laundries at excessively cheap rates, and our cooking at public kitchens. The making and repairing of

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

"The fact," said Dr. Leete, "that you had in the 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 laborsaving 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."

"We 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 women of the merely

"Yes," said Mrs. Leete, "I have read something of that; enough to convince me that, badly off as the men, too,

"The broad shoulders of the nation," said Dr. Leete, "bear now like a feather the burden that broke the backs

of the women of your day. Their misery came, with all your other miseries, from that incapacity for

cooperation which followed from the individualism on which your social system was founded, from your

inability to perceive that you could make ten times more profit out of your fellow men by uniting with them

than by contending with them. The 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 another your servants, and securing

"There, there, father, if you are so vehement, Mr. West will think you are scolding him," laughingly

"When you want a doctor," I asked, "do you simply apply to the proper bureau and take any one that may be

"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 can imagine," I said, "that if the fee is always the same, and a doctor may not turn away patients, as I

suppose he may not, the good doctors are called constantly and the poor doctors left in idleness."

"In the first place, if you 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 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 he is not reasonably well employed, work is found for him."

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 goodnature appearing equally so, we sat up talking

for several hours after the ladies left us. Reminding my host of the point at which our talk had broken off that

morning, I expressed my curiosity to learn how the organization of 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 fileleaders 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 industrial army is organized. First

comes the unclassified grade of common laborers, men of all work, to which all recruits during their first

three years belong. This grade is a sort of school, and a very strict one, in which the young men are taught

habits of obedience, subordination, and devotion to duty. While the miscellaneous nature of the work done by

this force prevents the systematic grading of the workers which is afterwards possible, yet individual records

are kept, and excellence receives distinction corresponding with the penalties that negligence incurs. It is not,

however, policy with us to permit youthful recklessness or indiscretion, when not deeply culpable, to

handicap the future careers of young men, and all who have passed through the unclassified grade without

serious disgrace have an equal opportunity to choose the life employment they have most liking for. Having

selected this, they enter upon it as apprentices. The length of the apprenticeship naturally differs in different

occupations. At the end of it the apprentice becomes a full workman, and a member of his trade or guild.

Now not only are the individual records of the apprentices for ability and industry strictly kept, and

excellence distinguished by suitable distinctions, but upon the average of his record during apprenticeship the

"While the internal organizations of different industries, mechanical and agricultural, differ according to their

peculiar conditions, they agree in a general division of their workers into first, second, and third grades,

according to ability, and these grades are in many cases subdivided into first and second classes. According to

his standing as an apprentice a young man is assigned his place as a first, second, or third grade worker. Of

course only men of unusual ability pass directly from apprenticeship into the first grade of the workers. The

most fall into the lower grades, working up as they grow more experienced, at the periodical regradings.

These regradings take place in each industry at intervals corresponding with the length of the apprenticeship

to that industry, so that merit never need wait long to rise, nor can any rest on past achievements unless they

would drop into a lower rank. One of the notable advantages of a high grading is the privilege it gives the

worker in electing which of the various branches or processes of his industry he will follow as his specialty.

Of course it is not intended that any of these processes shall be disproportionately arduous, but there is often

much difference between them, and the privilege of election is accordingly highly prized. So far as possible,

indeed, the preferences even of the poorest workmen are considered in assigning them their line of work,

because not only their happiness but their usefulness is thus enhanced. While, however, the wish of the lower

grade man is consulted so far as the exigencies of the service permit, he is considered only after the upper

grade men have been provided for, and often he has to put up with second or third choice, or even with an

arbitrary assignment when help is needed. This privilege of election attends every regrading, and when a man

loses his grade he also risks having to exchange the sort of work he likes for some other less to his taste. The

results of each regrading, giving the standing of every man in his industry, are gazetted in the public prints,

and those who have won promotion since the last regrading receive the nation's thanks and are publicly

"Every industry has its emblematic device," replied Dr. Leete, "and this, in the shape of a metallic badge so

small that you might not see it unless you knew where to look, is all the insignia which the men of the army

wear, except where public convenience demands a distinctive uniform. This badge is the same in form for all

grades of industry, but while the badge of the third grade is iron, that of the second grade is silver, and that of

"Apart from the grand incentive to endeavor afforded by the fact that the high places in the nation are open

only to the highest class men, and that rank in the army constitutes the only mode of social distinction for the

vast majority who are not aspirants in art, literature, and the professions, 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 intended to be as little as possible invidious to

the less successful, have the effect of keeping constantly before every man's mind the great desirability of

"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 grades as well as the classes being made

numerically equal at each regrading, there is not at any time, counting out the officers and the unclassified

and apprentice grades, over oneninth of the industrial army in the lowest class, and most of this number are

recent apprentices, all of whom expect to rise. Those who remain during the entire term of service in the

lowest class are but a trifling fraction of the industrial army, and likely to be as deficient in sensibility to their

"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 excellence of record as a worker, honorable mention and various

sorts of prizes are awarded for excellence less than sufficient for promotion, and also for special feats and

single performances in the various industries. There are many minor distinctions of standing, not only within

the grades but within the classes, each of which acts as a spur to the efforts of a group. It is intended that no

"As for 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 anything whatever of the sort.

A man able to do duty, and persistently refusing, is sentenced to solitary imprisonment on bread and water till

"The lowest grade of 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 depends 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

"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 organization of labor, all industries are

carried on by great bodies of men, many of your farms or shops being combined as one. It is also owing

solely to the vast scale on which each industry is organized, with coordinate establishments in every part of

the country, that we are able by exchanges and transfers to fit every man so nearly with the sort of work he

"And now, Mr. West, I will leave it to you, on the 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. Does it not seem to you that

men who found themselves obliged, whether they wished or not, to work, would under such a system be

I replied that it seemed to me the incentives offered were, if any objection 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 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

"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 best be great or small. I have shown that the system is arranged

to encourage the weaker as well as the 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 is proportioned to their 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

"But all men, even in the last year of the twentieth century, are not of this high order, and the incentives to

endeavor 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

"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 and 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

"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 grateful to the feelings of its

"Charity!" repeated Dr. Leete. "Did you suppose that we consider the incapable class we are talking of

"Who is capable of selfsupport?" he demanded. "There is no such thing in a civilized society as

selfsupport. In a state of society so barbarous as not even to know family cooperation, 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, selfsupport 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 the duty and guarantee of mutual support; and that it did not in your day constituted the

"That may all be so," I replied, "but it does not touch the case of those who are unable to contribute anything

"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

"You said so," I answered, "but I supposed the rule applied only to the workers of different ability. Does it

"I am to understand, then, that the lame, the blind, the sick, and the impotent, are as well off as the most

"The idea of charity on such a scale," I answered, "would have made our most enthusiastic philanthropists

"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

"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

"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 the race and

the brotherhood of man, which to you were but fine phrases, are, to our thinking and feeling, ties as real and

"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 citizenship, which now 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 recognize 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 unaccountedfor 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

racemembers of one human family. The only coin current is the image of God, and that is good for all we

"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 don't quite follow you there," I said. "I admit the claim of this class to our pity, but how could they who

"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, thousands of years in contriving, found by you ready

made 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,

coheirs with you? What did you do with their 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

"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 grandchildren, if

unfortunate, would be deprived of the comforts and even necessities of life. It is a mystery how men with

children could favor 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 others, might be reduced to crusts and beggary. How men

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 which they were

relatively inefficient, because not naturally fitted for it. The 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 favorable accident, were shut to

them, to their own great loss and that of the nation. On the other hand, the welltodo, 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 moneymaking 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.

As Edith had promised he should do, Dr. Leete accompanied me to my bedroom 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

"I should strongly advise you to sleep if you can tonight, 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

Mindful of what had happened to me that very morning, I promised to heed his counsel.

He explained that, by a clockwork combination, a person could arrange to be awakened at any hour by the

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 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 lusciouslipped, 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

At the breakfasttable, 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

"By the way," I said, "I have not thought to ask you anything about the state of Europe. Have the societies of

"Yes," replied Dr. Leete, "the great nations of Europe as well as Australia, Mexico, and parts of South

America, are now organized industrially 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 worldwide 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 institutions.

"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. Customs duties of every sort are of course

superfluous. A nation simply does not import what its government does not think requisite for the general

interest. 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

"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 labor, but it is for the interest of all to

exchange some commodities. If a nation is regularly supplying another with certain goods, notice is required

"But what if a nation, having a monopoly of some natural product, should refuse to supply it to the others, or

"Such a case has never occurred, and could not without doing the refusing party vastly more harm than the

others," replied Dr. Leete. "In the fist place, no favoritism could be legally 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

"But," said I, "supposing a nation, having a natural monopoly 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

neighbors' necessities? Its own citizens would of course have to pay the higher price on that commodity, but

as a body would make more out of 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 respectively 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 eventual unification of the

world as one nation. That, no doubt, will 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 be completed, on the ground that the 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

"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 unfavorable 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

"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, for

"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

"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 twentyone 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 labor 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

"But how about mere pleasure 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 traveling

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

"Perhaps Mr. West would like to dine at the Elephant today," said Edith, as we left the table.

"That is the name we give to the general dininghouse in 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 dininghouse. 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

"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 occurred 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

"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,

"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 fulfillment would

have been a disappointment. She had introduced me to a circle of friends whom the century that had elapsed

since last I communed with them had aged 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 whiled away the hours of a former

century. Lonely I was not and could not be more, with this goodly companionship, however wide the gulf of

"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

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 been my prime favorite among the bookwriters 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

environment. 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 their

With a clearness which I had not been able before to attain, I saw now the past and present, like contrasting

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 of 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,

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 Till the wardrum throbbed no longer, and the battleflags were furled. In the Parliament of man,

Then the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe, And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in

For I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widened with the

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,

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! That is 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

A heavy rainstorm came up during the day, and I had concluded that the condition of the streets would be

such that my hosts would have to give up the idea of going out to dinner, although the dininghall I had

understood to be quite near. I was much surprised when at the dinner hour the ladies appeared prepared to go

The mystery was explained when we found ourselves on the street, for a continuous waterproof covering had

been let down so as to inclose 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 comers the entire open space was

similarly roofed in. 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 sidewalk 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

Dr. Leete, who was walking ahead, overhearing something of our talk, turned to say that the difference

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,

As we walked on, Edith said, "The private umbrella is father's favorite 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 neighbors the drippings, which he claims must have been meant by the artist as a satire on his

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 diningroom containing a table for four. Windows opened on a courtyard where a fountain played to

"You seem at home here," I said, as we seated ourselves at table, 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, 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 prepared at home. 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 depressing than the poor

"You would have found none of us disposed to disagree with you on that point," I said.

The waiter, a finelooking 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 in 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."

"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

"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

"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 them for doing, or that you accepted services from them which you would have been

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 divides men, or allows them to be divided, into classes and castes, that it weakens the 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

distinct races. There is not, after all, such a difference as might appear between our ways of looking at this

question 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 equal opportunities of culture which all persons now enjoy have simply made us all

members of one class, which corresponds to the most fortunate class with you. Until this 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

"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

dininghouse 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 nation which he is serving. No difference is recognized between a waiter's functions and those

of any other worker. The 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 today to look down on me because I served him as a doctor, as

After dinner my entertainers conducted me about the building, of which the extent, the magnificent

architecture and richness of embellishment, astonished me. It seemed that it was not merely a dininghall, but

likewise a great pleasurehouse and social rendezvous of the quarter, and no appliance of entertainment or

"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 splendor of our public and common life

as compared with the simplicity of our private and home life, and the contrast which, in this respect, the

twentieth bears to the nineteenth 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 clubhouses as extensive as this, as

NOTE. In 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 labor. 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 defense than most of the other ways of getting a living

in that day, but to talk of dignity attaching to labor of any sort under the system then prevailing was absurd.

There is no way in which selling labor 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 the money measure for it, and renounced all clear claim

to be judged by any other. The sordid taint which this necessity imparted 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

marketplace. 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 printers' row. If I were asked to name the most distinguishing 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

labor by refusing to set a price upon it and abolishing the marketplace forever. By requiring of every man

his best you have made God his taskmaster, and by making honor the sole reward of achievement you have

When, 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 was furnished, and sat down in one of the booklined alcoves to rest

[3] I cannot sufficiently celebrate 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

"Edith tells me that you have been in the library all the morning," said Mrs. Leete. "Do you know, it seems to

"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,

"Yes, or Oates' poems, or `Past and Present,' or, `In the Beginning,' oroh, I could name a dozen books,

"I judge, then, that there has been some notable literature produced in this century."

"Yes," said Dr. Leete. "It has been an era of unexampled intellectual splendor. Probably humanity never

before passed through a moral and material evolution, at once so vast in its scope and brief in its time of

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 that 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 an era

of mechanical invention, scientific discovery, art, musical and literary productiveness to which no previous

"By the way," said I, "talking of literature, how are books published now? Is that also done by the nation?"

"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. He must pay for the privilege

of the public ear, and if 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 only the rich to be authors, but the

resources of citizens being equal, it merely measures the strength of the 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 author receiving a royalty on the sales as with us, I suppose," I suggested.

"Not as with you, certainly," replied Dr. Leete, "but nevertheless in one way. The price of every book is made

up of the cost of its publication with a royalty for the author. The author fixes this royalty at any figure he

pleases. Of course if he puts it unreasonably high it is his own loss, for the book will not sell. 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

mean time 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 education 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

favoritism 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

"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 favorable

verdict carries with it the artist's remission from other tasks to devote himself to his vocation. On copies of

his work disposed of, he also derives the same advantage as the author on sales of his books. 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 the 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 honors 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 a certain number wear it at any one

time, though every bright young fellow in the country loses innumerable nights' sleep dreaming of it. I even

"Just as if mamma and I would have thought any more of you with it," exclaimed Edith; "not that it isn't, of

"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 l had not assured her that I was bound

"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 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

"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 unfavorable 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 and magazines,

or that they lack the most absolute freedom. The newspaper press is organized so as to be a more perfect

expression of public opinion than it possibly could be in your day, when private capital controlled and

managed it primarily as a moneymaking business, and secondarily only as a mouthpiece for the people."

"But," said I, "if the government prints the papers at the public expense, how can it fail to control their

"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

"Nothing could be simpler. Supposing some of my neighbors or myself think we ought to have a newspaper

reflecting our opinions, and devoted especially to our locality, trade, or profession. We go about among the

people till we get the names of such a number that their annual subscriptions will meet the cost of the paper,

which is little or big according to the largeness of its constituency. The amount of the subscriptions marked

off the 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 reelect the 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 more and

"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 other 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."

"However earnestly a man may long for leisure for purposes of study or meditation," I remarked, "he cannot

get out of the harness, if I understand you rightly, except in these two ways you have mentioned. He must

either by literary, artistic, or inventive productiveness indemnify the nation for the loss of his services, or

must get a sufficient number of other people to contribute to such an indemnity."

"It is most certain," replied Dr. Leete, "that no ablebodied man nowadays can evade his share of work and

live on the toil of others, whether he calls himself by the fine name of student or confesses to being simply

lazy. At the same time our system is elastic enough to give free play to every instinct of human nature which

does not aim at dominating others or living on the fruit of others' labor. There is not only the remission by

indemnification but the remission by abnegation. Any man in his thirtythird year, his term of service being

then half done, can obtain an honorable discharge from the army, provided he accepts for the rest of his life

one half the rate of maintenance other citizens receive. It is quite possible to live on this amount, though one

must forego the luxuries and elegancies of life, with some, perhaps, of its comforts."

"If you should be wakeful tonight, 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 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 storywriters 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

unfretted 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 my mind as so

many separate impressions, which I had as yet succeeded but imperfectly in making cohere. Berrian put them

Next morning I rose somewhat before the 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

"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

"You discredit the efficacy of your own cure," I said, "by supposing that such a ramble would now be

"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."

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

selfassumed guardianship over me, had risen for the last two or three mornings at an unheardof 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

"Are you sure," she asked, "that you are quite 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

identity 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

"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." I spoke with

"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 to fancy myself in your

"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 toward this

sweet and lovely young girl, who had played so angelic a role toward 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

"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 strange century, and apparently a hundred years dead, raised to

"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

"But does it not come over you as astounding 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. We 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

"I had not thought of it in that way," I replied. "There is indeed much in what you say. One can look back a

thousand years easier than forward fifty. A century is not so very long a retrospect. I might have known your

"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 be able to tell

"Do you know your genealogy well enough to tell me who your forbears were in the Boston of my day?"

She was engrossed in arranging a troublesome spray of green, and did not reply at once. Steps upon the

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

"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

"Thanks, doctor," I said. "It would be absurd, certainly, for me to affect any oversensitiveness 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 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

"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 your 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,

"What can I possibly do?" I asked. "Perhaps you imagine 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 might be

"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 readymade 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."

I found the processes at the warehouse quite as interesting as Edith had described them, and became even

enthusiastic over the truly remarkable illustration which is seen there of the prodigiously multiplied

efficiency which perfect organization can give to labor. It is like a gigantic mill, into the hopper of which

goods are being constantly poured by the trainload and shipload, 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

As we set out homeward, I said: "After what I have seen today, 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 efforts? What supreme authority determines what shall be

done in every department, so that enough of everything is produced and yet no labor 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, 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, woolen, 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 estimates, with a proper margin for security, having been accepted by the general administration, the

responsibility of the distributive department ceases until the goods are delivered to it. I speak of the estimates

being furnished for an entire year ahead, but in reality they cover that much time only in case of the great

staples for which the demand can be calculated on as steady. In the great majority of smaller industries for the

product of which popular taste fluctuates, and novelty is frequently required, production is kept barely ahead

of consumption, the distributive department furnishing frequent estimates based on the weekly state of

"Now the entire field of productive and constructive industry is divided into ten great departments, 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

labor left for other employment is expended in creating fixed capital, such as buildings, machinery,

"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

"That would be tyranny indeed," replied Dr. 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 you 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

"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 labor which produced it was recognized 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 labor; 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 labor, you see, is just

the same as if the man working four hours were paid, under your system, twice the wages the others get. This

calculation applied to the labor 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, fresh 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. Of course the nation, as any other caterer for the public needs

must be, is frequently left with small lots of goods on its hands by changes in taste, unseasonable weather and

various other causes. These it has to dispose of at a sacrifice just as merchants often did in your day, charging

up the loss to the expenses of the business. Owing, however, to the vast body of consumers to which such lots

can be simultaneously offered, there is rarely any difficulty in getting rid of them at trifling loss. I have given

you now some general notion of our system of production; as well as distribution. Do you find it as complex

"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 to 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 manoeuvre a million men to victory than for a sergeant to manage a platoon in a

"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

"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 guild holds a splendid position, and one which amply satisfies the ambition

of most men, but above his rank, which may be comparedto follow the military analogies familiar to

youto that of a general of division or majorgeneral, 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 lieutenantgenerals, each having from a dozen to a score of generals of

separate guilds reporting to him. Above these ten great officers, who form his council, is the

"The generalinchief of the industrial army must have passed through all the grades below him, from the

common laborers up. Let us see how he rises. As I have told you, it is simply by the excellence of his record

as a worker 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,

"By suffrage!" I exclaimed. "Is not that ruinous to the discipline of the guild, by tempting the candidates to

"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

fortyfive we are mustered out of the 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. Recognizing 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

"Each of the ten lieutenantgenerals 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

"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 to 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 department

much before he is forty, and at the end of a five years' term he is usually fortyfive. 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 of the 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."

"Certainly not. That would be perilous to its discipline, which it is the business of the President to maintain as

the representative of the nation at large. His right hand for this purpose is the inspectorate, a highly important

department of our system; to the inspectorate come all complaints or information as to defects in goods,

insolence or inefficiency of officials, or dereliction of any sort in the public service. The inspectorate,

however, does not wait for complaints. Not only is it on the alert to catch and sift every rumor of a fault in the

service, but it is its business, by systematic and constant oversight and inspection of every branch of the

army, to find out what is going wrong before anybody else does. The President is usually not far from fifty

when elected, and serves five years, forming an honorable exception to the rule of retirement at fortyfive. 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 gratitude toward its high officers. As to their ability, to have risen

from the ranks, by tests so various and severe, to their positions, is proof in itself of extraordinary qualities,

while as to faithfulness, our social system leaves them absolutely without any other motive than that of

winning the esteem of their fellow citizens. Corruption is impossible in a society where there is neither pov

erty to be bribed nor wealth to bribe, while as to demagoguery or intrigue for office, the conditions of

"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 and 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 duties being the control and discipline of the industrial army, it is

essential that the President should have passed through all its grades to understand his business."

"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

"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 exofficio 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."

"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

"Truly, there is very little more to tell than I have told already," I replied. "If we had the germ of your idea, it

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 fortyfive, a point brought up by his

"At fortyfive," said I, "a man still has ten years of good manual labor 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

"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, O child of

another race and yet the same, that the labor 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 enjoyments 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 labor of

irksomeness, and, except in a comparative sense, it is not usually irksome, and is often inspiring. But it is not

our labor, but the higher and larger activities which the performance of our task will leave us free to enter

"Of 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 manner of personal idiosyncrasies and special tastes, and the pursuit of every imaginable

form of recreation; in a word, a time for the leisurely and unperturbed appreciation 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 twentyone, so men nowadays look forward to fortyfive. At

twentyone we become men, but at fortyfive 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 constitution usually live to

eightyfive or ninety, and at fortyfive we are physically and mentally younger, I fancy, than you were at

thirtyfive. It is a strange reflection that at fortyfive, 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,

After this I remember that our talk branched into the subject of popular sports and recreations at the present

"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 `panem ef 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

second, and the nation caters for both. Americans of the nineteenth century were as unfortunate 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 a loss how to pass it agreeably. We are never in that

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

"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 nowadays. All cases of atavism are treated in the hospitals."

"Why, yes," replied Dr. Leete. "The idea of dealing punitively with those unfortunates was given up at least

"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

"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

"I was not in much danger of being vain of my generation before," I said; "but, really"

"This is your generation, Mr. West," interposed Edith. "It is the one in which you are living, you know, and it

"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

"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 that 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 misdemeanors, 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 welltodo.

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 crimes 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 monopoly 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 toward

the genuine kleptomaniac is precisely ours toward the victim of atavism, an attitude of compassion and firm

"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 offenses 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

"If he is a criminal he needs no defense, 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."

"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 guilty. When he makes a false plea and is clearly

proved guilty, his penalty is doubled. Falsehood is, however, so despised among us that few offenders would

"That is 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 millennium, 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 to fear from another or can gain anything by deceiving him, the contempt of falsehood is

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, while anything like bias in the tone of either of the judges stating the case would be a shocking

"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?"

"Certainly. The judges take turns in serving on the bench and at the bar, and are expected to maintain the

judicial 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

"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

"They are an honorable exception to the rule which discharges all men from service at the age of fortyfive.

The President of the nation appoints the necessary judges year by year from the class reaching that age. The

number appointed is, of course, exceedingly few, and the honor 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

"There being no legal profession to serve as a school for judges," I said, "they must, of course, come directly

"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 absolutely

required to interpret it, but only a few of 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 hairsplitting 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 use for 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 dependence 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. The efficiency of industry requires the strictest discipline in the army of labor, 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 offenses 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

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? I

"Necessarily," he replied. "The state governments 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 now is 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 or navy, and no military organization. We have no departments of state or

treasury, 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 police 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 temptation to it, which make the duties of judges so light, reduces the number and duties of the

"But with no state legislatures, and Congress meeting only once in five years, how do you get your legislation

"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

"Fully ninetynine 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

and guyropes in the form of laws. A central Congress and forty state legislatures, turning out some 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

"But you have at least municipal governments besides the one central authority?"

"Certainly, and they have important and extensive functions in looking out for the public comfort and

"But having no control over the labor 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 labor its citizens contribute to the nation. This proportion, being assigned it as so much credit, can be

That afternoon Edith casually inquired if I had yet revisited the underground chamber in the garden in which

"Not yet," I replied. "To be frank, I have shrunk thus far from doing so, lest the visit might revive old

"Ah, yes!" she said, "I can imagine that you have done well to stay away. I ought to have thought of that."

"No," 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 off, 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 of 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 dimly 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 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

"On the contrary," I replied, "it does not seem strange; that is the strangest part of it."

"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

"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 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

"I can conceive it," replied Edith, meditatively, "and I think we ought all to be thankful that it is so, for it will

"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

"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 the 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

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.

"I know that she was good and lovely enough to well deserve your tears," she said; "but remember her

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 one corner.

"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 would 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

As might be expected, I did not succeed in impressing Edith that there was anything remarkable in this fact.

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

"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 opportunities

of higher education which in your day only an infinitesimal portion of the population enjoyed. We should

think we had gained nothing worth speaking of, in equalizing the physical comfort of men, without this

"If it took half the revenue of the nation, nobody would grudge it," replied Dr. Leete, "nor even 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

"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 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 Massachusetts a

hundred years ago, a half dozen higher grades, carrying the youth to the age of twentyone and giving him

what you used to call the education of a gentleman, instead of turning him loose at fourteen or fifteen with no

"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

"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 labor, except the rudest, makes up in a short period for the

"We should also have been afraid," said I, "that a high education, while it adapted men to the professions,

"That was the effect of high education in your day, I have read," replied the doctor; "and it was no wonder,

for manual labor 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 highest education is deemed

necessary to fit a man merely to live, without any reference to the sort of work he may do, its possession

"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

"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 labor 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 inconveniencies 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 behavior in innumerable ways affects our enjoymentwho 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 not consider life worth living if we had to

be surrounded by a population of ignorant, boorish, coarse, wholly uncultivated men and women, as was the

plight of the few educated in your day. Is a man satisfied, merely 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 neighbors 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 neighbors. 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 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 today represents a greater volume of intellectual life than any five

"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 having educated parents. To put the matter in a nutshell, there are three main

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 his enjoyment of himself; second, the right of his

fellowcitizens to have him educated, as necessary to their enjoyment of his society; third, the right of the

I shall not describe in detail what I saw in the schools that day. Having taken but slight interest in educational

matters in my former 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

"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 physical, as well as mental, development of every one is the double

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 seen in the schools of the nineteenth century, I

was moved 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 today can speak with authority on this point. Your

opinion, when you state it publicly, will, I assure you, make a profound sensation. For 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 labor required of children, and the burdens laid on women, enfeebled the very springs of

life. Instead of these maleficent circumstances, all now enjoy the most favorable conditions of physical life;

the young are carefully nurtured and studiously cared for; the labor which is required of all is limited to the

period of greatest bodily vigor, and is never excessive; care for one's self and one's family, anxiety as to

livelihood, the strain of a ceaseless battle for lifeall these influences, 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

We had made an appointment to meet the ladies at the dininghall for dinner, after which, having some

engagement, they left us sitting at table there, discussing our wine and cigars with a multitude of other

"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 tonight as lasting as that other and

meanwhile the course of time were to take a turn backward 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 contemporaries,

and after expressing their admiration for the moral beauty and material splendor 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 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 few or any of its comforts. How

"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 contingency you speak of, for lack of a

"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 service, 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 for 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

ablebodied 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 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 overestimated. Again, consider that there are no idlers now, rich or poorno

"A very important cause of former poverty was the vast waste of labor and materials which resulted from

domestic washing and cooking, and the performing separately of innumerable other tasks to which we apply

"A larger economy than any of theseyes, of all togetheris 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 travelers, and middlemen of all sorts, with an excessive

waste of energy in needless transportation and interminable handlings, is performed by one tenth the number

of hands and an unnecessary turn of not one wheel. Something of what our distributing system is like you

know. Our statisticians calculate that one eightieth part of our workers suffices for all the processes of

distribution which in your day required one eighth of the population, so much being withdrawn from the

"I beg your pardon," replied Dr. Leete, "but you scarcely do as yet. The economies I have mentioned thus far,

in the aggregate, considering the labor 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 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

marvelous the progress of mechanical invention, they could never have raised themselves out of the slough of

"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 cooperation impossible."

"I will readily admit," I said, "that our industrial system was ethically very bad, but as a mere wealthmaking

"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

"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 labor, at

all times. Any one of these four great leaks, were all the others stopped, would suffice to make the difference

"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 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 favor 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 shoemaker, for

every pair of shoes he 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 battlefield as wide as the

world, in which the workers wasted, in assailing one another, energies which, if expended in concerted effort,

as today, 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 had

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 comrades and colaborers 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 throatcutting, 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 at

the expense of the community. If, in working to this end, he at the same time increased the aggregate wealth,

that was merely incidental. It was just as feasible and as common to increase one's private hoard 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 more of it should be produced than he himself could

produce. 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 their mutual warfare 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 day dream 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 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 appear 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

"Apart from the waste of labor and capital by misdirected industry, and that from the constant bloodletting of

your industrial warfare, your system was liable to periodical convulsions, overwhelming alike the wise and

unwise, the successful cutthroat 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 socalled dull times, during which the capitalists

slowly regathered their dissipated strength while the laboring 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 worldwide, 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 century, there were two years of bad times to one of good, and the

system of industry, never before so extended or so imposing, seemed in danger of collapsing by its own

weight. 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

drouths 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

"So far as considering the causes of the trouble inherent in their industrial system, your contemporaries were

certainly correct. They were 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

"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 were no natural glut, was taken

away, and, as a consequence, 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 favored, 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

crises. 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 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 to one another and to the banks and capitalists, and the prompt withdrawal of this credit at the first sign

"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 of a man building a

"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. Overproduction in special lines, which was the great hobgoblin of your day, is

impossible now, for by the connection between distribution and production supply is geared to demand 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 some other department

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 to carry any amount of product manufactured in excess of demand till the latter

overtakes it. In such a case of overproduction, 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 labor, of which money and credit were for you the very misleading representatives. In our

calcula tion 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 labor to produce the next year's consumption provided for. The

residue of the material and labor represents what can be safely expended in improvements. If the crops are

bad, the surplus for that year is less than usual, that is all. Except for slight occasional effects of such natural

causes, there are no fluctuations of business; the material prosperity of the nation flows on uninterruptedly

"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 forever; 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 labor. With us it is

the business of the administration to keep in constant employment every ounce of available capital and labor

in the country. In your day there was no general control of either capital or labor, 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, if security could have been

guaranteed it, the amount of capital devoted to productive industry could not have been greatly increased.

The proportion of it so employed underwent constant extraordinary fluctuations, according to the greater or

less feeling of uncertainty 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 labor 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!' 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 chance to invest their capital and workmen rioted and burned because they could

"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 systems 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 of misdirected effort growing out of mistakes as to the demand, and inability to

command a general view of the industrial field. Suppose, also, there were no neutralizing and duplicating of

effort from competition. Suppose, also, there were no waste from business panics and crises through

bankruptcy and long interruptions of industry, and also none from the idleness of capital and labor.

Supposing these evils, which 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

"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 labor as of mechanical force resulting from the perfect interworking with the rest of every wheel and 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 independently. 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 millworkers was increased by cooperation. The effectiveness of the working force of a nation, under

the myriadheaded leadership of 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

generalsuch 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

"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 conducive 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 life. 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

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 splendor 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 I think you will agree that

"I suppose," observed Dr. Leete, as we strolled homeward from the dining hall, "that no reflection would

have cut the men of your wealthworshiping century more keenly than the suggestion that they did not know

how to make money. Nevertheless that is just the verdict history has passed on them. Their system of

unorganized and antagonistic industries was as absurd economically as it was morally abominable.

Selfishness was their only science, and in industrial production selfishness is suicide. Competition, which is

the instinct of selfishness, is another word for dissipation of energy, while combination is the secret of

efficient production; and not till the idea of increasing the individual 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 selfseeking is suppressed no true concert of industry is possible."

That evening, as I sat with Edith in the music room, listening to some pieces in the programme of that day

which had attracted my notice, I took advantage of an interval in the music to say, "I have a question to ask

"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."

"Yes," said I, "so mysterious that often I 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 saw only

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 greatgrandparents, 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

"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

"It does not concern youthat 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 humor in the situation

"Your father would have told me," I insisted, with an accent of reproach. "It was you who forbade him. He

She did not reply. She was so entirely charming in her confusion that I was now prompted, as much by the

desire to prolong the situation as by my original curiosity, to importune her further.

"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

"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 to 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 pretense the crimson tide standing at flood in her cheeks

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 tonight, and that you will not try to find it out from any

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

"And some time," I added, "if I do not tease you, you may tell me of your own accord. May I not hope so?"

Looking up, she read my face with a quick, deep glance. "Yes," she said, "I think I may tell yousome

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 even 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 as 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 my 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

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 underground 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 1887, 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 selfpossessed. 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 labor troubles, strikes, lockouts, boycotts, the programmes of

"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

"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

"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

"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.[4] 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."

[4] 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.

"The national party!" I exclaimed. "That must have arisen after my day. I suppose it was one of the labor

"Oh no!" replied the doctor. "The labor 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 because its aim was to nationalize the functions of 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 heaventouching 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

The 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

"I suppose," I said, "that women nowadays, having been relieved of the burden of housework, have no

"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

that 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 with the cooperative

plan; but they accepted relief from that sort of work only that they might contribute in other and more

effectual, as well as more agreeable, ways to the common weal. Our women, as well as our men, are

members of the industrial army, and 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

"A woman does not, 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 no 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

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 colaborers 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 any

employment not perfectly adapted, both as to kind and degree of labor, to her sex. Moreover, the hours of

women's work are considerably shorter than those of men's, more frequent vacations are granted, and the

most careful provision is made for rest when needed. The men of this day so well appreciate that they owe 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 labor, of a sort

adapted to their powers, is well for body and mind, during the period of maximum physical vigor. 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

"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 labor are so

"They are under an entirely different discipline," replied Dr. Leete, "and constitute rather an allied force than

an integral part of the army of the men. They have a woman generalinchief and are under 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 respecting 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."

"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 some such recognition of the distinct individuality of the

sexes was one of the innumerable defects of your society. The passional attraction between 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 day there was no career for women except in an unnatural rivalry with men. We have given

them a world of their own, with its emulations, ambitions, and careers, and I assure you they are very happy

in it. It seems to us that 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 marriage, 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 welltodo 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

today. No woman is heard nowadays wishing she were a man, nor parents desiring boy rather than girl

children. Our girls are as full of ambition for their careers as our boys. Marriage, when it comes, does not

mean incarceration for them, nor does it separate them in any way from the larger interests of society, the

bustling life of the world. Only when maternity fills a woman's mind with new interests does she withdraw

from the world for a time. Afterward, 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 compared with what they

ever were before in the world's history, and their power of giving happiness to men has been of course

"I should imagine it possible," I said, "that the interest which girls take in their careers as members of the

industrial army and candidates for 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 nowadays, 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 exaggestion. 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 industry are intrusted only to women who have been both wives and mothers, as they alone

"The credits of the women, I suppose, are for smaller sums, owing to the frequent suspension of their labor on

"Smaller!" exclaimed Dr. Leete, "oh, 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 stronger

claim on the nation's gratitude than bearing and nursing 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

"It would seem to follow, from what you have said, that wives are in no way dependent on their husbands for

"Of course they are not," replied Dr. Leete, "nor children on their parents either, that is, for means of 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 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 the means of support upon another would be shocking to the moral sense as well as

indefensible on any rational social theory. What would become of personal 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 quite 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 of the world and left women to beg and wheedle for their share. Whybut 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

"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

"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 with 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 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 crossquestioned on this

point by our young people, who are naturally much interested in this aspect of oldfashioned manners."[5]

[5] I may say that Dr. Leete's warning has been fully justified by my experience. 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 nineteenth century, appear unlimited.

"If they choose," replied Dr. Leete. "There is no more pretense of a 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 practicing it."

"One result which must follow from the independence of women I can see for myself," I said. "There can be

"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 astonishing phenomenon such a world seems to a man of the

"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 personal 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 of transmission 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

"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 untrammeled sexual selection upon the quality of two or three successive generations. I 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 in your day was the animating idea of society, not only was fatal to any vital sentiment

of brotherhood and common interest among living men, but equally to any realization of the responsibility of

the living for the generation to follow. Today 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 generationfor 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 respect amounts to a sense of religious consecration. It is a cult in which they

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 the reader with the sentimental selfishness of the lovers, and his

resentment toward the unwritten law which they outraged. I need not de scribefor who has not read "Ruth

Elton"?how different is the course 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 responsibility like His toward

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

"Yes," he replied. "It was on Friday, you see, when we made the lucky discovery of the buried chamber to

which we owe your society this morning. It was on 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. I 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."

"Why, Mr. West," Edith said, "what odd people you must think us. You were quite done with national

religious establishments in the nineteenth century, and did you fancy we had gone back to them?"

"But how can voluntary churches and an unofficial clerical profession be reconciled with national ownership

"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 today, if you wish to do so, you can either go to a church to

"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 musical 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 you will at home. I see by the paper that Mr. Barton is to preach this

morning, and he preaches only by telephone, and to audiences often reaching 150,000."

"The novelty of the experience of hearing a sermon under such circumstances would incline me to be one of

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 an invisible person in the room. This was what the voice said:

"We have had among us, during the past week, a critic from the nineteenth century, a living representative of

the epoch of our greatgrandparents. 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 realize 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

Edith whispered something to her father at this point, to which he nodded assent and turned to me.

"Mr. West," he said, "Edith suggests 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."

"No, no," I said. "Believe me, I would much rather hear what Mr. Barton has to say."

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

"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 which one brief century has

"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 had 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 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 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 selfinterest of selfishness, and appealed solely to the antisocial and brutal side

of human nature, has been replaced by institutions based on the true selfinterest of a rational unselfishness,

"My friends, if you would see men again the beasts of prey 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 fellowmen, 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 he 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 provide 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 fightcheat,

overreach, supplant, defraud, buy below worth and sell above, break down the business by which his

neighbor fed his young ones, tempt men to buy what they ought not and to sell what they should not, grind

his laborers, 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 outlook 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! Ah, my friends, believe me, it is not now in this happy age that 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

"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 of indignity, brutish associations from infancy, the loss of all the innocence of

childhood, the grace of womanhood, the dignity of manhood; for the mind it meant the death of ignorance,

the torpor of all those faculties which distinguish us from brutes, the reduction of life to a round of bodily

"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 your

"Some two or three centuries ago an act of barbarity was committed in India, which, though the number of

lives 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

onetenth 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 of the prison 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 scarcely have anticipated 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

"When we reflect that the ancient order of which I 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 keynote of

the literature of the period was one of compassion for the poor and unfortunate, and indignant outcry against

the failure of the social machinery to ameliorate the miseries of men. It is plain from these outbursts that the

moral 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

"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 passages of great beauty 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 antiChristian 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 selfseeking 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 believedeven those who longed to

believe otherwisethe exact reverse of what seems to us selfevident; they believed, that is, that the

antisocial 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 cooperation 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 greatgrandfathers, 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,

"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 be 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 of God in the twentieth century.

"Briefly, as must needs be in a discourse of this character, I have adverted to some of the causes which had

prepared men's minds for the change from the old to the new order, as well as some causes of the

conservatism 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 possibility was first entertained is to forget the intoxicating 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 possible growth, but that it stood

upon the verge of an avatar of limitless development, the reaction must needs 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

"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 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

"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 worthy of rational

and human beings. Ceasing to be predatory in their habits, they became coworkers, and found in fraternity,

at once, the science of wealth and 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

"Poverty with servitude had been the result, for the mass of humanity, of attempting to solve the problem of

maintenance from the individual standpoint, but no sooner had the nation become the sole capitalist 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

fellowmen 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 favor, no room for envy where all were equal, and little provocation to violence where

men were disarmed of power to injure one another. Humanity's ancient dream of liberty, equality, fraternity,

"As in the old society the generous, the just, the tenderhearted had been placed at a disadvantage by the

possession of those qualities; so in the new society the coldhearted, the greedy, and selfseeking 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. The 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 good,

not bad, that men by their natural intention and structure are generous, not selfish, pitiful, not cruel,

sympathetic, not arrogant, godlike in aspirations, instinct with divinest impulses of tenderness and

selfsacrifice, images of God indeed, not the travesties upon Him they had seemed. The constant pressure,

through numberless generations, of conditions 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

"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 bogwater, 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 halfopened 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 favorable 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 favorable conditions. The buds

that succeeded in opening might indeed be very rare, and the flowers pale and scentless, but they represented

"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 improvement in the appearance of the bush, but there 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 favor. `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 rosebush of humanity was transplanted, 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,

"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 envying, violence or overreaching, and where, at the price of a degree of labor 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 which 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

"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 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 ancestor 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, from mental

and physical absorption in working and scheming for the mere 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 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 generation must now be a step

"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 fulfillment of the 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."

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

It was not, however, on the present occasion a depression 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 Mr.

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,

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 Dr.

Leete and his amiable wife, however painful, I might have endured, but the conviction that Edith must share

The crushing effect with which this belated perception of a fact so obvious came to me opened my eyes fully

Was it strange that I did? The affecting occasion on which our intimacy had begun, when her hands 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

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

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 and 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

endeavored 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

I looked up. Edith stood in the door of the subterranean room, regarding me smilingly, but with eyes full of

"Send me away if I am intruding on you," she said; "but we saw that you were out of spirits, and you know

I rose and came to the door, trying to smile, but making, I fancy, rather sorry work of it, for the sight of her

"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 wayyou must not let yourself feel that wayyou 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

"You are good to me beyond my power of understanding," I said, "but don't you suppose that I know it 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. What 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 don't 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

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 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

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

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

"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 again till you know who I am. After that, sir, you shall

apologize 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 content 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 greatgranddaughter 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 grandmother, 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 manner 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 daydreaming of a girl whose mind had never been taken up by a 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

lifelong manner. The presumption of some subtle ordering of destiny, involving her fate with mine, would

under all 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 her 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

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 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

reembodied 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

"You must not love me too much for myself," she said. "I shall be very jealous for her. 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

sometimes come back to the world to fulfill some work that lay near their hearts? What if I were to tell you

that I have sometimes thought that her spirit lives in methat 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 should say that this step had been taken on rather short

acquaintance; but these are decidedly not ordinary circumstances. In fairness, perhaps I ought to tell you," 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 consent 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 there to redeem her greatgrandmother'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,

"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

"That must have been what you would not let your father tell me!" I exclaimed, referring to the conversation I

"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 been forcing myself on you quite too boldly. I am afraid you think I did that today, as it was. I

am sure I 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

permission? 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 not 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 believe Edith Bartlett was so foolish as the others."

After sundry ineffectual attempts at parting, she finally insisted that we must say good night. 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

greatgrandfather for marrying your sweetheart. May I tell my greatgrandmother's picture when I go to my

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 something 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 greatgranddaughter in my arms, I had not, till this moment, so illogical are some of

our feelings, distinctly realized 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

"You may assure her of my entire forgiveness," I said, "although if it had been any man but your

On reaching my chamber that night I did not open the musical 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 twentieth

century orchestras discourse, and it held me enchanted till well toward morning, when I fell asleep.

It'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 bedside, 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

"Better take this right off, sir," he said, as I stared blankly at him. "You look kind of flushed like, sir, and you

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 carefree 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 family 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

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 experience. Sawyer,

alarmed at my looks, was meanwhile anxiously 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

I dressed in a mechanical way, feeling lightheaded 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 the 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 to have it so conclusively demonstrated that the world was but a few hours

Glancing at the table of contents at the head of the paper, which reviewed the news of the morning, I read the

FOREIGN AFFAIRS.The impending war between France and Germany. The French Chambers asked for

new military credits 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 Belgium coal mines.Wholesale

"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 gone.The coal barons 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 landgrabs of Western syndicates.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 poorhouse. Pitiable destitution among the women

wageworkers 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

It was indeed the nineteenth century to which I had awaked; there 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 selfcomplacency. Coming after such a damning indictment of the age as that one day's chronicle of

worldwide bloodshed, greed, and tyranny, 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 dreamworld, in that glorious city, with its homes of simple comfort and its gorgeous public

palaces. Around me were again faces 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 favor, but always, in the words of that sermon which still rang in my ears, had "stood up

With a profound sigh and a sense of irreparable loss, not the less poignant that it was a loss of what had never

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 fellowcitizens

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 who brushed each other on the

sidewalks shocked me at every step, and yet more the entire indifference which 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

Another feature of the real Boston, which assumed the extraordinary effect of strangeness that marks familiar

things seen in a new light, was the prevalence of advertising. There had been no personal advertising in the

Boston of the twentieth century, because there was no need of any, but here the walls of the 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 of others to their support. However the

"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.

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 selfassertion and mutual depreciation, this stunning clamor of conflicting

boasts, appeals, and adjurations, this stupendous system 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

I reached Washington Street at the busiest point, and there I stood and laughed aloud, to the scandal of the

passersby. For my life I could not have helped it, with such a mad humor was I moved at sight of the

interminable rows of stores on either side, up and down the street so far as I could seescores 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 one

city, which in my dream had been supplied with all things from a single warehouse, as they were ordered

through one great store in every quarter, where the buyer, without waste of time or labor, found under one

roof the world's assortment in whatever line he desired. There the labor 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

Were these serious men I saw about me, or children, who did their business on such a plan? Could they 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 contents between bowl and

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 hawkeyed floorwalker watching for business,

overlooking the clerks, keeping them up to their task of inducing the customers to buy, buy, buy, for money if

they had it, for credit if they had it not, to buy what they wanted not, more than they wanted, what they could

not afford. At times I momentarily lost the clue 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

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 mewhat 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 manufacturing

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

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

effort, 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. These mills and shops were so many forts, each under

its own flag, its guns trained on the mills and shops about it, and its sappers busy below, undermining them.

Within each one 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 were permitted. Each had

his allotted task, and none were idle. By what hiatus in the logical faculty, by what lost 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, to see that if lack of organization could impair the efficiency of a shop, it

must have effects as much more disastrous in disabling the industries of the nation at large as the latter are

People would be prompt enough to ridicule an army in which there were neither companies, battalions,

regiments, brigades, divisions, or army corpsno 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

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 cues of

depositors at the tellers' windows. An old gentleman whom I knew, a director of the bank, passing me and

"Interesting sight, isn't it, Mr. West," he said. "Wonderful piece of mechanism; I find it so myself. I like

sometimes to stand and look on at it just as 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

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 effectedhow equitably,

might be seen in a walk from the tenement house districts to the Back Bayat the cost of an army of men

taken from productive labor to manage it, with constant ruinous breakdowns of its machinery, and a generally

debauching influence on mankind which had justified its description, from ancient time, as the "root of all

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

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 Common, 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 whispers 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 insurance. 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 welltodo, I remembered, might purchase a precarious confi

dence 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 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

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. A regiment was passing. It was the first sight in that dreary day which

had inspired me with any other emotions than wondering pity and amazement. Here at last were order and

reason, an exhibition of what intelligent cooperation can accomplish. The people who stood looking on with

kindling faces,could it be that the sight had for them no more than but 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 which the nation went to war with the unscientific manner

in which it went to work? Would they not query since what time 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

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 labor; 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 fetid air. The streets and

alleys reeked with the effluvia of a slave ship's betweendecks. As I passed I had glimpses within of pale

babies gasping out their lives amid sultry stenches, of hopelessfaced 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 halfclad

brutalized children filled the air with shrieks and curses as they fought and tumbled among the garbage that

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 woful 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 human 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 saw but felt in my body

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 hic jacet of a

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 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 with 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

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

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 roisterers. I sat

in silence until Edith began to rally me upon my sombre looks, What ailed me? The 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

"I have been in Golgotha," at last I answered. "I 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 halfway 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

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 eyeglass 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 thoughtful 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 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

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 responsible 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 even 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 hardheartedness, 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

worlddarkening blunder. And then I showed them how four fifths of the labor 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, I instanced the case of arid lands where the soil yielded the means of life only by careful use of the

watercourses 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 caprice were not permitted to dam it or divert it, or in any way to tamper with it.

The labor 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 wasted the precious fluid as he wished, animated only by the equal motives of saving his

own crop and spoiling his neighbor'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

Let but the faminestricken nation assume the function it had neglected, and regulate for the common good

the course of the lifegiving 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

"Put the fellow out!" exclaimed the father of my betrothed, and at the signal the men sprang from their chairs

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

Although 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 was 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, forever 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 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 selfreproach, 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 had 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 been every whit as indifferent to the wretchedness of my brothers, as

cynically incredulous of better things, as besotted a worshiper of Chaos and Old Night, 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

"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

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 breast its consummate flower. Fortunate is he who, with a case so