Chapter III: Part 3

Leaving the dirty station, I made my way over fields, or apologies for them, not by the road which was ankle-deep in black mud. A few thin cattle were feeding off patches of ill-nourished grass growing unwillingly from cinders, mixed with poor and thin soil. Groups of black sheep hurried from patch to patch of sapless grass to find nourishment. Mostly wool these half-starved sheep were. Four tumble-down stone walls served as boundaries, which they only indicated. Straggling thin hedges there were making mourning black fringes to the desolate fields unpruned and almost leafless. Although it was July scarce a leaf remained on tree or shrub, none green, few even brown, being mostly crinkled up and black, poisoned in their early youth, but making a brave fight for existence in what should have been their prime. A few broken down buildings appeared as apologies for what had once been a considerable farmhouse in better times. A few blackened haystacks only served to deepen the sense of degradation. About these buildings, instead of flowers and shrubs, was heterogeneous rubbish. Broken saucepans, smashed crockery, tin boxes, glass bottles, rags, bits of old garments and soiled scraps of newspapers. I noticed some garments, men’s and women’s, hanging out to dry. I wondered how long it would take to do so, and what the colour of them would be presently. A few dirty hens were scratching among the débris. A pig or two, none too fat, were turning over rubbish with their snouts. There was a kind of farm yard, which stank of rotten wet straw, soaked in microbic poisons. Near by lay a pool, coated with black slime through which a duck or two pushed their way.

A dirty woman came out of a broken down doorway carrying a still dirtier child. She was pale--she looked permanently sad. Set, even resentful, was her countenance, as she glanced a moment at me--a stranger. What windows her hovel once had, now mostly broken, were patched with bits of newspaper. Three or four men languidly worked or lounged about. Every action pointed to ineptitude and indecision--out of their element, evidently they were. Walking on, I came to a knoll crowned with black, dead trees, once, perhaps, a sacred primitive burying place. I could see the City now, grim in wreaths of black smoke, now looming out as a cold metallic half-light, from what was the sun, struck for an instant upon the gloomy pile of factories. It was as a city of the dead from this distance, silent and grim, hideous, forlorn, and even menacing. There seemed to spread over it an awful silence, broken only now and then, as a light wind carried a dull thud of the throbbing pulse of machinery doing its monotonous task. I came nearer, even to the environs of this terrible place of slavery and black life to the thousands of human beings created to breathe the fresh air of God’s creation, now condemned to evil fumes and soul-killing labour--the offspring of a monotonous, poisonous existence. Hoarse voices, using not too choice language, made discordant music, the like of which I do not wish to hear again. It was now 12 o’clock. Hooters brayed, a cracked bell or two told the hour in mournful tones.

I made my way to the heart of the City. Its narrow, dirty streets, winding, serpentlike, among the black buildings. A slowly moving crowd came along. It moved automatically, just mechanically, like the revolving wheels it had just left. The men had no joy before them, they were just going to eat, to grease the wheels of their machine-made bodies, to return in an hour to resume the same soul-killing toil. Their faces were all alike--very pale, very dirty, very _neutral_. I thought to myself, this then is civilization, and these are the slaves to the much vaunted Industrialism which has gone to kill agriculture and stifle natural life wherever it is planted. This is the life the people choose to live with an occasional strike, and who can wonder? whose leisure is spent at football matches, too often in dog-fighting, man-fighting and gambling; and who can wonder!

In this stifling place, this kind of systemised Hell, wages are high, and _rightly_. The loss of the soul of living should be paid for at a high price in money, it pays a high price for suffering. It is some comfort to think that the majority of slaves to Industrialism are unconscious of what they lose in life. But that ought not to be a consolation; it should stimulate desire and determination to change it. I thought of the health and happiness that had been here in one of the most beautiful and fertile districts of England. The contrast seemed terrible. Nothing can compensate for such a change. Health, free agricultural life, invaded, ravished, and slaughtered by the horrors, inevitable (apparently) horrors, which are part and parcel of Industrialism. I thought of the silver streams once merrily flowing, now sluggishly creeping, half-solid with filth and poison, of the rich produce from a land of farms, of happy country festivals, of content, of the prosperity of England; how she fed herself from her own land, and in her craftsmanship was a leader of Europe. I seem to hear a hard voice saying, “That’s all very well, these people don’t know any other life than the one they live in and are used to.”

That may be true, but it only makes their case a sadder one. To lose sensibility, to be ground down to the level of an automatic machine, is an indignity. Man is an outdoor animal, not made to live the Artificial life of huge, unhealthy cities. Nothing can make up for the loss inflicted on man’s soul by depriving him of Light, by forcing him to live in smoke, squalor, and foul air. Habit does go a long way, no doubt; _they do get used to it_, but that does not lessen the evil that the life is doing to the best part of every man and woman who lives it. I hear another voice say, “But they don’t care for the sun, or beautiful landscape, for flowers, for the things _we_ care for,” as if these toilers were of a different race! “They have lost touch with what you call Nature, and of God they know nothing but as a kind of head of a rich firm who is autocratic and hard, if he pays any attention to them.” “It is no use to put sentiment into this class,” said the hard voice in my ear, “it would be dangerous if they cared for all you want for them. They would be discontented and cease work. Perhaps they would want to go back to the land, to _Freedom_; that would not suit us at all. It is only because they are ignorant of any other life that we get work out of them--machines they are, machines they must remain.”

This was _true_ Industrial _talk_, and exactly typified the mind of the Arch-Priests of Industrialism. “Well, you must remember,” spoke the same voice, “they have their own pleasures, fitted for them and their condition, they like their bit of sport--prize-fights, dog-fighting and gambling--they can go to a ‘cinema,’ there are several here, where they can see the things they understand--stories of vice, of murder, a complete list from the Newgate calendar, that’s what they like.”

“But look,” said I, “at the little box outside that dirty window there; it has fading geraniums in it. Do you mean to tell me that the hand that tries to tend them, and the eyes that enjoy their colour, are yet quite paralysed?” “Oh, yes,” was the answer, “they do like a bit of greenery, of course, but it’s mostly the women that are sentimental.” At that moment a rough-looking fellow went by. “Look at that,” said I, “he has a geranium flower in his button-hole.” There was no answer! _I_ thought that geranium was a symbol of the life of that man’s soul, and reflects the Garden of Eden, and an instinctive desire to be there again. “Granted,” I went on to say, “that Industrial life is a necessity, do you think that it need be squalid, that the homes of these people should not be bettered, and their self-respect encouraged thereby?” “They do not want to be interfered with,” was the answer. “If they were given greater comfort, better dwellings, and little gardens, as sentimentalists desire, the dwellings would become squalid and dirty in a week, and the garden would yield nothing; they’ve lost all touch with such matters, they are grown to be of a different race; they like their condition as long as they have plenty of beer, and may do a little amateur prize-fighting and dog-fighting, and spend a good bit of their week’s money in journeys to football matches.”

“Do you think, then, that their life is the best imaginable for them? Is there no Ideal behind it?” “Yes, it _is_ the best for them. As to Ideals, I don’t know what you mean; they’ve got to take life as it is, there is no room in it for fanciful experiments! They are well paid; for the rest, leave them alone in their ‘squalor,’ as you call it; they like it, and would resent being made ‘respectable.’ Besides, if they were, they would get out of hand.” I saw it was no use to argue with the voice that came from a big, fat man, as hard as nails, and as prosperous as a fatted pig! I went to see the “Mechanics’ Institute.” There were a few billiard tables, a strong smell of stale tobacco and beer; a quantity of newspapers littered the tables, dirtily thumbed on the pages relating to sport and “all the winners,” the last prize fight, murder and burglary. Sport and crime appeared the favourites of the moment. Could this be bettered? I thought. Yes, was the answer from my better self, but it will not be if men of the type of him who talked just now lead public opinion.

§ 31

I went to the theatre, the play was not invigorating; it provided rotten food--money jugglery, a low love affair, and success of a villain, were the parts. What was not immoral was vulgar. What was neither, was dull. I venture to imagine whoever was there came away a little more debased than he went. I found my way to the Cathedral, a fine 15th century edifice. The stone (local and hard) was fast being pulverised by acid fumes. Black deposit filled every crevice of what once had been exquisite carving. The loving work of ancient craftsmen was being rapidly destroyed by the “necessities” (?) of Industrialism. An attempt was in progress to reface a portion of the exterior--far better have left the noble old work decay than replace it by commercial carving at so much a foot. It had been a noble building. Standing high, it dominated, by a survival of dignity, the hideous black factories. It was like a still small voice, speaking out of a great past to a people who, if they heard it, could not understand. Its chimes (eight bells) once echoing the hours to the hills, were silent--better so, perhaps. I did not stay long in the interior. It made me sad to think of the enlightened people who had worshipped there, for it was a Benedictine Abbey Church of the monastery hard by where was preserved all the learning of the times, and where men led “creative and industrious lives.”

A pure unsullied sun had glowed through glorious glass, of which fragments remained, but mostly had been replaced by commercial attempts at _so much a foot_--commercial, indeed, it was. On the very rock where stood the monastery--the place of scholarship, of art, a home for exquisite craftsmanship--is now a huge manufactory, belching out wreaths of black smoke, like serpents encircling shaft and building, writhing in poison even along the cobbled ways deep in black slush. Civilisation, so called? Here, are forged cannon to kill human creatures. A very apotheosis of hideous war, and one of the many homes of its implements. When will men be wise and see that war is not only a hideous crime, a recognised murderer of millions, an authorised waste of money and energy, but a folly as well? What waste, cannon to destroy, and to be destroyed after a few hours of vicious mischief! Oh, the foolishness of such a parody on Ambition, on Statesmen, on the whole world’s Progress!

§ 32

Men, human beings, brothers, as they ought to be, earning their livelihood in making engines of Destruction. “Ypres,” “Louvain,” and “Rheims,” came into my mind, with the devastation of hundreds of square miles of fair agriculture in France and Belgium, and for what? That a materialistic nation, clever and unprincipled, and lost to all moral restraint, audacious and mendacious, might govern the world under the sovereignty of the mad egoist, William II. But Britain had to fight. Her honour would have been stained for ever, had she broken faith with Belgium in her extreme agony. Whether it is desirable to make implements of destruction in the abstract, is a question; during the war they had to be made and with all possible speed, and British factories played an honourable part in saving Britain, as her soldiers did who shed their blood for their country. Is it indeed, Utopia, that place where men may come to regard war as a folly, and where, being taught a better and higher Ideal than quarrelling, is a reality? I like to think the time will come when our greatest minds are concentrated on contributing to all that Peace designs, and our skilled labour and craftsmen are employed on things permanent. They will be things that last into the ages to come, that ennobled the men who designed and made them, and bring a pride for them in the making, and an honour gained in the estimation of them in the future. The abolition of War might depress the purse of Industrialism, but it would endow the country with riches that money cannot purchase. Enormous, scarcely calculable, sums of money now spent on “preparations” to kill our neighbours, would be converted to create things enduring and elevating. Perhaps it may never be, but why not dream of it and work for it as a possibility? There is an _Ideal_ somewhere. Why not reach after it? There is so much that needs doing for Education, for Beauty, provision of healthy work for every one, and healthier lives for every one.

We ought to have no time for war. The late struggle for Freedom has supplied Europe and Britain with the rest. Somehow or other, a change must come. If we are to prosper, aye, to exist, pre-war conditions cannot be renewed. We have to make a new start, to obtain a greater simplicity of life. If you like, more primitive. Many good old customs and systems may well be revived. We were in such a hurry to coin money. We forgot that what we were leaving behind was better than what we were recklessly trying to meet. We thought that money was the “Summum bonum” of existence, to buy transient pleasure, to gratify our lower instincts, to feed ourselves with luxuries, to be victims to Vanity Fair, and slaves to it; to eclipse the sun the giver of physical needs, the symbol of Eternal God, the Giver of Light; hence, Life, has been as great a folly as War. It is, indeed, a kind of war to do so, a war against Nature and her manifold gifts through the Spirit of God, which were visible in the Sun. To live under gloom, being poisonous to the body, is likewise poisonous to the Soul, which, in time, it must injure, if not destroy, for it paralyses Hope; it paralyses everyone of our finer sensibilities and aspirations. It blinds us to Beauty, it hardens the heart, destroys graceful sympathy, engenders selfishness, and, in time, it annihilates Love, because absence of Light is enervating to manhood.

And that is what a _few_ have been doing to the many under promise that they shall be enriched. Enriched with what? Money paid for bad work? And when the money is there, how have they been taught to use it? Palliatives in plenty have been offered them. More excitements for leisure hours, which devitalise, have been sown broadcast; and why? because, pandering to human weakness, it paid to keep the people quiet. We have reaped that which has been sown. The people have become restive, they want more wages, not for the purpose of uplifting their finer sensibilities, but to gamble with first one then another amusement. Instead of providing, for leisure hours of our workmen, stimulus to educate themselves to be provident, to be industrious, we have led them by promises to the silly idea that they are the right class to govern the country!

§ 33

The precious gift of leisure, in which our working class might acquire more funds, we have not taught them to use; on the contrary, their leaders have taught them that they have a right to be idle, to obtain high wages for bad work, and in their leisure do whatever they like. This is something very near to Anarchy; any way, it is a principle which, if persisted in, will ruin England. No! The thing to do them good is to teach high principles and lead them on to be useful citizens. And that must be done, unless Democracy is to prove a disastrous failure! We have got to begin again, to start from the bottom--that is the clear duty for the future, and the only one that will succeed in the long run. If Democracy fails, it will be through apathy in the conduct of our systems, of leaving them to chance, and bad organisation. We have got to bring classes together, not separate them. Working men have to bring their share of labour into the halls of Democracy. An educated class has to bring its share, and the rich class, in its own sphere, has to bring its share. The rich have to supply means for labour, the labourer to do his labour up to the highest point of honour. The Educated Class has to seminate from the flowers ripened by study, and so each class, working out its own destiny hopefully and earnestly will contribute to general progress, which is the end to which democracy, to succeed, must strive. One class must not try to supersede another. That would only mean some form of Tyranny. There can be Tyranny from _democracy_, but only through _Anarchy_, which is as destructive to one class as another. To put down Anarchy, Force has to be resorted to. Anarchy is quite as great an enemy to Freedom as Autocracy. It calls out the worst form of human passion, resulting in civil war, the greatest evil that any nation can encounter. Russia is going through it, poor Russia, perhaps presently to become a victim to godless Germany! France went through the fire. France, for a time, lost her soul. The most delicately organised people in Europe turned themselves into brutes for a time.

What came after? The great conqueror, Napoleon. What did he conquer? Practically all Europe, save England! What remains to-day of his conquests? Nothing! Had Napoleon used his genius, which was second to none other in history, in consolidating France, in putting her intellectually as well as conventionally at the head of nations, which, by her innate genius she might have been, Europe would be a different place to-day. Napoleon failed, not because he was a conqueror, but because he tried to conquer wrongly. He threw away his force in War, he might have spent it in Peace. The French Revolution was the parent of his egoistic ambition, as Tyranny is the child of Tyranny. A revolution in England--by that is meant a War of Classes--would certainly give rebirth to Military Rule. This has been said before; it needs to be enforced by reiteration.

§ 34

Germany knows that, and nothing would please that rapacious nation so much as England’s failure to make Democracy a success. The success of Democracy in Britain depends upon the British, not only on how they choose their leaders, but on the direction taken by the people as a whole. These, then, are the reasons that I have written and published this “Book.” I want Democracy to succeed, and I see only one way to it; _Perfect Unanimity_, a perfect system of education, simple, not complicated, large-minded, generous rule, without weakness, all embracing without being overbearing. I cannot see it arrive through class warfare. I see it in wise concessions, in whole-hearted justice; in _general_, not _particular_ rule; in the cultivation of the whole human machinery of our country, not in parts only; of the soul of England as well as her physical needs; in Industry of all kinds duly guided, duly answered; of the needs special to every district, each performing its part in a national enterprise. In that way, each man and woman can find a place, a usefulness, and position as citizens of “no mean country.” That is my Ideal for England of the future.

As I write, I know that professional politicians will sneer, that miles of red tape have to be unwound before what is now bad is made better, that extremists of every party will abuse me. I know I shall be called an unpractical dreamer. For these I care not one jot, having little, if any, respect for professional politicians, having an abhorrence of red tape and the jobbery it wraps up. For extremists I have pity more than scorn, as I know their tenets are but as grains of sand blown by the winds. That agitators, as a class, are wholly unreliable, being, _au fond_, mostly out for themselves, and that is the reason I warn the workers against them. I have chosen the form of a Dream to tell my story for several reasons. Some of the finest literature has been given in the form of Parable or Allegory! which is as illustrative to-day as it was in any period of History.

§ 35

The wanderings of Osiris, told in ancient Egyptian mythology, are ethically as beautiful as their progress is enchanting. The most beautiful and instructive passages in Christ’s teaching are in parable, as all Oriental disquisitions are. The story of Buddha is a poetic allegory affecting the lives of millions to-day. The Divine Comedy of Dante is in allegory, and our own great writer, Bunyan, the Bedfordshire tinker, chose a dream in which to relate his Christian progress. Bacon’s New Atlantis is a species of allegory interwoven with the science of his period. The first three chapters of Genesis, whoever written by, are in allegory. I know that the form I have chosen is not one in fashion. I am old-fashioned, and prefer the example of the greatest minds to those which, on a lower level, in my opinion, are, just now, uppermost. Imagination is at a discount; materialism is paying interest on Industrialism; but I believe in the Triumph of Imagination and the defeat of Materialism. This late war has cemented that faith in me which William Blake taught me, when he saw trees at Dulwich filled with angels, and his beautiful mind was filled with enthusiasm by vision of a more perfect existence than a mundane one.

Imagination is the torch that lights the intelligence of man. It is of the Spirit which God breathed into the mythical Adam, as he rose physically out of the newly created soil. Without Imagination the world would soon drift into a desolate chaos. Imagination is somewhere in the British character, else how came about our literature, second only to the Greek? Materialism created by Industrialism has sought to push it out as a vague and idle gift of no service in the acquisition of wealth. _Plutus_ has been on the throne of _Zeus_, but only temporarily. Olympus will be peopled again, for the gods never die. Another Parnassus, with Apollo and the Muses, will be here again, and great god Pan will come into his own when Agriculture is restored in the grand simplicity of its initial purpose, and Industrialism is organised so as not to be a nuisance and a _curse_, which it has been unquestionably, not because it is bad in the abstract (for nothing which includes labour is that), but because it has gone a ruthless way unchecked. Industrialism became a “Fetish” before which every one must bow. It has destroyed what and where it wished! Without discrimination it has acted the part of a Juggernaut by trampling down better things than it can show, which stood in the way of its tyrannical progress. It has darkened the face of fair England by smoke, poisoned its rivers, turned good land into ash heaps. Lowered the vitality of men, of animals, trees and plants wherever its autocratic will has prevailed.

Worse even than this it has done, it has created a false creed: “I believe in gold.” It helped to make the late war the most horrible in History. It has tended, wherever it has planted its foot, to urge that _Might is Right_. Without the abuses of Industrialism, the late war could not have been. Germany trusted to her Industrialism to win. She felt certain that she could turn out a hundred destroying machines to the Allies’ thirty. That the force created by her Industrialism was invincible. There was once a Soul in Germany--the worship of Industrialism killed it. Germany lost the war because she had first sold her soul. The Allies won it because, though sorely wounded, their souls were still alive, and their honour mostly unscathed.

§ 36

Man was not made to be a machine; Industrialism would make him one; man was created for a fair open-air life to be a healthy hearty animal under the sun. Into him had been breathed something God-like, if he chose to use it; to create a new Eden, not a new Hell. We have had enough of his creative powers for the latter, we mean to use them for the former! It’s just a matter of choice, that is all. We have only to change the direction of creative impulse from sources of destruction to sources which will insure construction and preservation of the fittest. It is by that habit of mind and direction of effort we shall fall again into the footpaths of our noble predecessors, and create in them new departures, which, not being ephemeral and time-serving, will act as sign-posts for those to come; because, surely we are not responsible for a temporary success, but for the fields we leave to be gleaned when we have passed! These thoughts took hold of me and held me tight, as I walked to and fro in the City, watching all and talking to some of its inhabitants, some of keen intelligence, more of sullen discontented demeanour, a few but little above animals; not their fault, but of the misdirection of their lives, the unwholesome teaching of their leaders (a little more intelligent than they, a good deal more self-seeking and artful), and generally, if not universally, defective in sound early education and example. Tired with the fatigues of the day, and passionately longing for better things, I found an inn, and went to bed, to sleep, perchance to dream.

A DREAM OF ENGLAND

§ 1

My body lay asleep. My Spirit was free! Unconscious cerebration led it where it willed. Free as a bird, my winged soul made its way with no impediment. Without ears I heard, without eyes I saw, without hands I touched, without restraint I observed. My Spirit created images--it was an absolute monarch! Nothing denied its progress, no walls forbid entry, and nothing clouded its vision. More real, not less, than before, was every scene presented in the journeys of my Spirit. Is this real Life? Is this unreality Reality? It seemed so to be. Innumerable impressions on a long life become facts. The dream of sixty years was being realised every moment. What I saw and touched was tangible. Nothing was vague. It was a lifetime concentrated into a moment. “A thousand years in Thy sight are but as yesterday, seeing they pass as a thief in the night.” Time was obliterated. Each of my senses was acute. I enjoyed beauty with a vivacity I had only dreamed of, the scent of flowers as I had not known before. I loathed the stenches of man’s making, for there was pain as well as pleasure to my acute sensibilities; in this state the Spirit is in a kind of Purgatory, half in, half out, of the world! half in Heaven, a bit in Hell. Dante tells it all. Virgil, Homer and Milton sang of it; the Golden Age lived it. Mankind has longed for it. To satisfy the longing man has created an Ideal existence the other side of the Grave. Not satisfied with that which is uncertain, we desire the Ideal life _here_, and as my Spirit gathers intimacy with what I see, hear and feel, the Ideal _is_ dawning! “There is more in dreams than we wot of.” How can we tell that Truth is not the master of dreamland? “Hypnos” and “Somnos” may be brothers who conduct us into a land of accomplishment. Are they prophets? I hope so, when they lead where they lead me. Maybe such a dream as mine may come to be an abiding reality; that is why I tell it? England would be better and happier if it did. If there were no such place as Utopia, should we want to get there?

The money-grabbers have theirs, an unlimited supply of gold; the sensualists theirs, unlimited, unrestrained sensuality; the realist his, and what a tiresome place it would be; the idealist seeks his. Utopia is a real place, not in the clouds, but here, somewhere, if we choose to recognise it. If it were not so, the soul, created before the body, would not seek it. When we give a party we do so to please our friends, and doing so to gratify ourselves. The Idealist casts the seeds of live ideas. He knows they will fall on sterile as well as productive soil. The Idealist is an optimist. Having tested his ideal, probably through suffering, he believes in its efficacy. May be he believes in its general acceptance finally, because he is confident of the ultimate conquest of “the best!”

§ 2

Now to my dream! A moment I hovered over my sleeping body: I left it to travel on the wings of my soul. In front of me is a City. A part of it--the most elevated--is enclosed by a high wall, pierced for eight gates, closed at night. Its plan is octagonal. Within it there rise high buildings and towers. They are constructed of stone and brick, mostly of stone, for the region is volcanic. The slopes of the hill descending to the undulating ground are richly furnished with fruit trees, and ample vegetable gardens. It is spring time! Rich is the blossom whose scent the sweet pure air brings to me. The air is as clear as crystal. As I hovered over the enclosed part of the City, I heard a hum, pleasant to the ear as that of bees; it proceeded from within the stately buildings. Yes! It was machinery, complex and wonderful. How is it that those vast wheels, those intricate valves and long straps spreading as spider’s web, are moved, and so silently? Science has discovered how to convert noise to silence. Science had been practical, she had set herself a problem, and she had solved it! What appeared to be inevitable had been conquered.

But how is generated the power to propel this gigantic movement--and silently? Science had discovered how to collect and use electric currents, whose power is greater than steam, to move, in perfect rhythmical order, the heaviest, most complicated machinery. I searched for, but found no ash-heaps. How can this be? Science had discovered how to separate heat-giving properties of all fuel from the waste. Where is the smoke? There was none! What, then, are those noble towers for? Partly for ventilation, partly as store rooms. Science had said: “It is time I set to work to use the forces of Nature with discretion. I have discovered many useful things, but, being in too great a hurry, have made much havoc with them; I have destroyed much that was lovely in the world in my haste to provide ‘facilities.’ I have been very clever and very stupid. It is time I made a new departure. I must no longer be a nuisance. I must set to, to order my going, that in my track I create blessings, not curses. I see it now. It is in my power, if I exert it, to render unpleasant things pleasant. In my mad zeal for discovery, I forgot adaptation. I forgot that it lay in my genius to use it unharmfully. Now I set to work and try to make the world pleasant again, much as it was before I became too proud, too inconsiderate and dominating.

Alone I cannot do this! I have been too long separated from Art, too closely wedded to utility, which, though I do not divorce, I make obedient. Indeed, I rather scorned Art, and ridiculed those who stood in the way of my reckless march! I know now that I am responsible in a measure for the soul of MAN, as well as the use of nature’s forces. ‘Only _I_ matter’ has been my motto. I take Art to me, which, more than all else, presents the Soul of Man, and say we must be sisters, not antagonists. That I have brought evil into dominion I now know. From me, have been born hideous means to destroy life, property, and the gentler happiness of mankind. Foul gases to suffocate, explosives to be a curse to humanity to facilitate destruction in War-time. I have been a kind of earthquake, indiscriminating and cruel! I have destroyed more than preserved! What an odd creature I am!! I make wounds, then I heal them. I mangle bodies, and set them together again. With one hand I cut the world to pieces, with the other heal the wounds I’ve made. I have torn out eyes and replaced them as well as I could, with blind ones. Queer creature that I am. In making artificial light, I hid the sun. I subverted the natural order by turning day into night and night into day. I invented all kinds of implements for agriculture while I was killing vegetable life. I have been unguided by Art, yet I am entirely artificial! It is true that man has used me foolishly. He would have me to be Peace Maker and War Lord. He has abused my genius because he fancied that I only could satisfy his material ambitions and bring him wealth. What I made for his service he has used for murder and suicide! It is plain to me now! The blinkers are off and I see the right way.”

I listened while Science spoke, and gathered that she had become wise! Will men grow wiser with her? What I see here seems to promise it! I went on with my invisible peregrinations. The people of the City have not their homes where their daily labour is; after that is finished they go to their homes below the gardens, which entirely encircle the acropolis of Labour and the City. Hours for Labour are sufficient for all purposes not extreme. Eight hours do they labour, eight hours they sleep, eight hours for pastime and _home industries_. Home industries are many. Eight hours’ factory labour leave the men still fresh, because where they labour the air is pure; change of work is pleasant to them, be it cultivating their bit of the public gardens or in craftsmanship enjoyed in their homes, for it is becoming a habit to be craftsmen here, and _to give out no work which can be performed at home_; in this way the middle man, that raker-in of the gold of others’ labour, is mostly done away with. Work is not held to be a mark of slavery, but of Freedom. While the labourer is working for his commune, which gives him good wage, he is performing one duty; while he is working in his home or garden he is a home craftsman. And many and desirable are his productions: good, simple furniture, which only costs him the material, and gives him continual pleasure in the making. He who was an idler, or worse, is now an industrious artist in his long hours of recreation.

§ 3

There are pleasant places for refreshment, games, and the like, but, as far as I can see, they are not abused. Time is too fully occupied by duty and absorbing labour of craftsmanship to admit of drunkenness. I see none of that which was so killing a vice when men’s hours of leisure were poisoned by inertia. Now they do not want to drink; they are keen, not listless men. They are too busy to grumble, too happy to listen to agitators, who, if they began again to sow discontent, would be met by corporal punishment, so _determined_ is this new race of workmen to be Free! What is the government under which this new City prospers? It is Home Rule! Each county governs itself! Imperial Parliament has no power to control their liberty. London is the seat of Imperial Parliament, which is represented by one member from each county, selected as a wise and educated man by the Communes which represent their inhabitants; but they cannot hold their office for more than five years. Imperial Parliament is confined to Foreign affairs of State, having in it a representative from each of our Colonies. Imperial Parliament, of which the King is Prime Minister, is composed of learned and efficient citizens who are Privy Councillors, not because they are rich men (for the party chest and the jobbery it caused is a thing of the past), but because they are wise and learned. It meets at stated times which are subject to emergency. The King and his closest Ministers have the power to call it together. London is subject to the same rule as the counties; but London is no longer the centralised authority--she rules herself, but as yet this huge monster is chaotic. Being heavily populated, although the population of it has largely decreased owing to the abolition of slums, and a larger proportion of it than hitherto being under cultivation, Greater London is broken up, into Boroughs, which have powers of local Government, carried on by better educated men than heretofore. Their councils, composed exactly as those of the Counties, are represented by reliable men who are above profiteering. Each important trade is represented by one representative; this rule prevents any trade from working its own interests to the damage of another. Lawyers are used for reference, but are not allowed to initiate. Lessons from the past have taught that the legal mind is a zig-zag puzzle. Imperial Parliament has done away with Free Trade, except with British Colonies, which pay no entrance fee to our coasts.

Each Commune guards itself and people from excessive taxation, and wisely, because heavy taxation is a clog in the wheel of production, for not unnaturally industry is averse to giving a large portion of the results of labour to bolster up the extravagance and want of foresight committed by Party Politicians who, after all, are, far more eager for the success of that miserable little idol, “Party,” than for the higher welfare of the people they are supposed to govern. Party Politics reflect the worst sides of Tory as well as Radical government. It is now accepted that excessive taxation is against the first principles of political economy. Care is taken that taxes shall be borne mostly by those who can best bear them. Trade is more taxed than Professions.

§ 4

Machinery of all kinds is taxed higher than the handicrafts, because it produces more swiftly, if less enduringly. Everything that tends to higher mental development is only nominally taxed. The Arts are not considered luxuries, but necessities; hence, instead of contributing to the purse of the country, they are recognised as contributing to its mental growth, its refinement, as well as strength, and are taxed as lightly as may be.

Unproductive land is taxed, but since much more of it is under cultivation than formerly, and Industrialism is no longer permitted to play the Juggernaut, since _Agriculture_ and _Arboriculture_ have been energetically pursued, waste land is an exception; even the least productive is used in some way or other for national benefit. A small voluntary army is kept in efficiency, but not extravagantly. It is supplied from training corps established in each county. The education of every boy includes military drill; in that way classes mix, under the same discipline. This method induces good-fellowship and promotes education; because the better educated, teach the less fortunate, by example. It is found to be a great factor in promoting peace, and conduces to good manners and courtesy. The boy scouts are in full swing.

Britain can provide almost all necessities of Life. Foreign goods, of whatever kind, are sufficiently taxed, but not so excessively as to prevent entrance. It has been found that unlimited free imports from foreign sources tended to limit local production; hence, labour suffered, and supervened. A habit in England had grown to pay for, rather than labour for, even the necessities of Life. It has been shown in the reconstruction, that if Britain and her Colonies cannot, inclusively, provide all, they _can_ provide the greater part of the countries’ needs. The following out of this principle in practice has arrested the growth of discontent so prevalent a while ago.

§ 5

The great war provided proof that military discipline, which means obligation of the items of a system to work for the success of the whole, did not unfit men for peaceful labour, but rather the contrary; because a habit of self-control in combination strengthens the fibres of individual physical and mental activity. So far advanced is the system of units in combination under the flag, that at any moment mobilisation can be effected, and in a time of necessity practically the whole male portion of the nation can be under arms. Industrialism provides arms which in time of peace need not be overwhelmingly costly to taxpayers, because in a moment of emergency war material can be produced with almost miraculous rapidity. It is not the intention of those who are organising reconstruction to be caught napping again. The nation, as a whole, being more intelligently equipped than it was, sees ahead, and mistrusting politicians, it follows the lead of good sense and keener intellects than those who are under the spell of party politics possess.

But I am moving too quickly, a habit which the mind has when it is keen and full of ideas. Government is on the basis of Home Rule, with some of the restrictions as well as advantages of the old Saxon Heptarchy. Imperial Parliament holds no sway over the Communes, which are governed by a Mayor selected not on account of his wealth, but his wisdom. He is elected for three years, and by the voice of the Commune. His Council is representative of each necessary trade and profession, hence it is truly democratic. Men of the law are used as referees (but are not except as such) allowed to be active members, the legal mind being held to be limited, and narrow, by its training to delay, and dangerous by its sophistry.

Not more than _one_ representative of each trade is permitted. This wise proviso has been accepted to prevent jobbery, for which the old Borough and Town Councils were renowned. Each representative, while his first duty is to look after the trade he represents, has a vote upon all subjects.

In order that the Council of the Commune shall be in a position to look after the interests of the entire community, what used to be called “country gentlemen” form a feature. All honest tradesmen are respected; dishonest ones and profiteers are held in no respect, but are considered aliens and unworthy of any responsible place in the State.

The House of Commons, as it was called, no longer exists. It was considered a clumsy assembly, and one out of touch with realities. It ceased to exist because the people became weary with too much talk, too many promises, and of muddle at every turn; so they ceased to vote for M.P.’s to sit at Westminster. It died quite a natural death, the country at large being scarcely aware of the moment of its demise which no one regrets. It has come to be borne into the minds of the honest democrat that too many laws framed by lawyers were every year passed, not one of which was sincerely intended to be applied, but were passed as sops to public opinion upon some more or less burning question of the moment. Imperial Parliament, which we have stated is under the presidency of the King, is composed of Privy Councillors selected from the County Communes as the wisest men of the moment, not necessarily rich, but trustworthy, and such as have proved to have no _personal axes to grind_. This implies that the King’s Councillors are men of learning and character, and are not likely to commit banalities in their dealing with foreign affairs, for which reason it is found desirable that they are travelled and not insular men, accustomed to meet foreigners and to speak their language, as well as to be conversant with their habits of thought and institutions.

§ 6

The Aristocracy of Learning takes a high place in the new democracy. We have seen that a party chest no longer exists, so men poor in purse, but rich in wisdom and understanding, if not called “Peers of the Realm,” have become so by their outstanding merits. Hereditary titles are the exception. The ancient titles and families go on, but it is an exception when they are added to. It is agreed that opportunists and place hunters were numerically increased by the facilities provided for the purchase of honours. In the new State no honours can be _purchased_, but they can be _won_! Money may make a prominent man, but not a great one. By making the King President of the Privy Councillors it was thought that the grave responsibility carried with it would strengthen the monarchy, and, holding on to the fine tradition of kingship, the country would benefit more than under repeated elections consequent upon a shifting Republic, meaning that stability is more likely to be reached under a Constitutional Monarch than under a vacillating Republic.

To sum up this portion of my dream. Centralisation is a thing of the past! Each county governs itself; and this plan has been thought to be wise because every county has its own idiosyncracy, its own needs, and its own powers of production, some _Industrial_, some _Agricultural_, but each one must, to be well governed, be represented by the most varied and highly trained minds. So each intellectual class is called upon to administer, which system prevents the commercial element from overriding the intellectual; hence a better balance is maintained than under the old system, which pushed into the background some of the best minds in the community, who, not being commercial, but taking another view, undoubtedly a higher one, were regarded as fanatics, their ideas being received with a shrug of the shoulders as a gesture of contemptuous pity.

But a wider education, hence better manners, has altered all this, and members of a class that held in contempt any intelligence applied other than to commerce have learnt that there are many sides to a nation’s greatness, none of which can be neglected without detriment to the whole. Besides the Mayor each Commune has its Minister of Public Health, who must be a capable authority not an amateur but an expert, who has under him a staff of officers ever on the watch for the good of the people. Next to him is the Minister for Agriculture. In industrial centres a Minister for Industrialism is at work, whose duty it is to see that all factories are sanitary, the workmen neither overcrowded or overworked. There is a protecting Minister of all rivers and lakes, into which no refuse from factories is permitted to drain. This law, if not obeyed, _the factory can be immediately shut up_. All coal smoke is forbidden, whether from factories or private houses. This law at first was resented, and until fines for its non-observance were heavy, was not obeyed. As soon as offenders found there was no way to avoid smoke, they applied science and now the evil never occurs. Electricity is used as energising power as well as for heat giving, all engines are driven by it, hence in the whole of England the scandal of a smoking chimney of any sort or kind is never presented.

“We are wiser now,” said a scientific man. “We know it to be not only folly to waste coal, but wrong to smirch the sky, hide the sun, and poison trees and vegetables with evil fumes--it can be prevented.” As I hovered over a part of England, not long ago blasted and blackened, where not a tree would grow, where the sun rarely penetrated through the evil clouds of unconsumed fuel, I wondered how it was we permitted that miserable state of things to go on. Now the country smiles under the sun; what was a desert is a garden, and what were pale, sad people are now sunburnt, merry and strong folk, as the British race was before the artificial tyrant Industrialism began to bleach them. The climate of the British Isles is not genial, we all know that, but the difference since coal smoke has ceased to darken the sun is so great as to provide another climate. Fogs there are and always will be in our Island, but smoke fogs are no more, hence an outdoor life is led which was impossible under the circumstances of the past. If the Communes had only effected that change they would have benefited the human race quite incalculably. Each Commune has its Minister of Education assisted by a staff of competent superintendents, who visit local schools and issue reports that are laid before a Council elected from chosen men of character and distinction. Each Commune has a Minister of Arts and Crafts, for music and the drama, including dancing, which I notice has become an art and an essential one, in the training of the young in good manners and graceful demeanour.

§ 7

The Mayor or Lord Mayor is elected from any class; preferably he is not a tradesman, but a man of wide learning and experience, hence he is not prejudiced in favour of any trade or profession. Lawyers are not eligible as Mayors, nor is it thought desirable that so dignified an office should be held by auctioneers or house agents. Indeed, the further the chief officer of the Commune is removed from temptations of class jobbery, the better is the service he renders to the community at large.

Prices of bread, meat and milk, the three absolute necessities, are regulated by the commune. They vary as little as possible, and being essential to the carrying on of life, fortunes are not made from their sale. The law at the root of this wise decision is the result of the profiteering of tradesmen during the late war, which became so serious a scandal that the people suffering from it endeavoured to make it impossible to be repeated.

The Council does its work in the capital of each county, but the smaller cities, townships and villages are permitted to act independently, as their several interests demand, so long as in the main features of policy they subscribe to the intention the Chief Council has in view. Once a year the heads of each country department meet in the capital and make their reports. The Conference lasts for one week, and is the occasion of a general holiday. The Conference is open to all comers, who, while it sits, have an opportunity of expressing their opinion upon questions of public interest. This system seems to be working well; the discontented can air their discontent and the contented their approval. It works well, because all discussion is open, none taking place under closed doors; that fact alone is conducive to confidence, by implying it and receiving it. Where there is honesty there is no need for secrecy. “Do nothing with closed doors,” said M. Aurelius. The whole system of government is in the best sense Socialistic, as opposed to Individualistic the mark of the Radical. “Every man out for himself” is a destructive policy. While this form of Socialism makes for order, it does not discourage individual enterprise. Opinions may be stated under a reasonable check by minds skilled in government, which, being open to new ideas as long as they are proved to promote _public good_, learn by listening.

§ 8