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'J 
 
 EREWHON REVISITED 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 EREWHON 
 
 OR OVER THE RANGE 
 
 "It is not wonderful that such a man as 
 Butler should be the author of 'Erewhon,' 
 a shrewd and biting satire on modern life 
 and thought — the best of its kind since 
 'Gulliver's Travels.' ... To lash the 
 age, to ridicule vain pretensions, to expose 
 hypocrisy, to deride humbug in education, 
 politics, and religion, are tasks beyond 
 most men's powers; but occasionally, 
 very occasionally, a bit of genuine satire 
 secures for itself more than a passing nod 
 of recognition. 'Erewhon,' I think, is 
 such a satire." 
 
 — Augustine Birrell, in The Speaker 
 E. P. BUTTON & COMPANY 
 
y:^..^^^ 
 
 Samuel Butler at Twenty-Three Years of Age 
 (From a Photograph taken in 1858) 
 
Erewhon Revisited 
 
 TWENTY YEARS LATER 
 
 BOTH BY THE ORIGINAL DISCOVERER OF 
 THE COUNTRY AND BY HIS SON 
 
 BY 
 
 SAMUEL BUTLER 
 
 AUTHOR OF "erewhon," "THE WAY OF ALL FLESH," 
 
 "life and habit," etc., etc. 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 MOREBY ACKLOM 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 
 
 68i FIFTH AVENUE 
 
Copyright, 1920, 
 By E. p. DUTTON & COMPANY 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 
 ORIGINAL EDITION, igoi 
 
 The Portrait of Samuel Butler, which forms the Frontispiece 
 of this volume, is reproduced from Mr. Henry Festing Jones* 
 "Samuel Butler, Author of Erewhoa," by special permission 
 of The Macmillan Company, New .York, Publishers. 
 
 Printed In the United States of America, 
 
 m Id 1920 
 ©11A571052 
 
AUTHOR'S PREFACE 
 
 TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION 
 
 I FORGET when, hut not very long after I had published 
 "Erewhon" in 1872, it occurred to me to ask myself 
 what course events in Erewhon would probably take 
 after Mr. Higgs, as I suppose I may now call him, had 
 made his escape in the balloon with Arowhena. Given 
 a people in the conditions supposed to exist in Erewhon, 
 and given the apparently miraculous ascent of a re- 
 markable stranger into the heavens with an earthly 
 bride — what would be the effect on the people gen- 
 erally f 
 
 There was no use in trying to solve this problem 
 before, say, twenty years should have given time for 
 Erezvhonian developments to assume something like 
 permanent shape, and in 1892 / was too busy with 
 books now published to be able to attend to Erewhon. 
 It was not till the early winter of 1900, i.e., as nearly 
 as may be thirty years after the date of Higgs's 
 escape, that I found time to deal with the question 
 above stated, and to anszvcr it, according to my lights, 
 in the book zvliich I nozv lay before the public. 
 
 I have concluded, I believe rightly, that the events 
 described in Chapter XXIV. of ''Erewhon'' woidd give 
 rise to such a cataclysmic change in the old Erezvhonian 
 opinions as zvould result in the development of a new 
 religion. Now the development of all new religions 
 follows much the same general course. In all cases the 
 
vi Author's Preface 
 
 times are more or less out of joint — older fcdths are 
 losing their hold upon the masses. At such times, let a 
 personality appear, strong in itself, and made to seem 
 still stronger by association with some supposed tran- 
 scendent miracle, and it will he easy to raise a Lo here! 
 that will attract many followers. If there be a single 
 great, and apparently well-authenticated, miracle, 
 others will accrete round it; then, in all religions that 
 have so originated, there will follow temples, priests, 
 rites, sincere believers, and unscrupidous exploiters of 
 public credidity. To chronicle the events that followed 
 Higgs's balloon ascent without shewing that they were 
 much as they have been under like conditions in other 
 places, would be to hold the mirror up to something 
 very wide of nature. 
 
 Analogy, however, between courses of events is one 
 thing — historic parallelisms abound; analogy between 
 the mam actors in events is a very different one, and 
 one, moreover, of which few examples can be found. 
 The development of the new ideas in Erewhon is ai 
 familiar one, but there is no more likeness between 
 Higgs and the founder of any other religion, than there 
 is between Jesus Christ and Mahomet. He is a typical 
 middle-class Englishman, deeply tainted with priggish- 
 ness in his earlier years, but in great part freed from 
 it by the sweet uses of adversity. 
 
 If I may be allowed for a moment to speak about 
 myself, I would say that I have never ceased to profess 
 myself a member of the more advanced wing of the 
 English Broad Church. What those who belong to this 
 wing believe, I believe. What they reject, I reject. No 
 two people think absolutely alike on any subject, hut 
 when I converse with advanced Broad Churchmen I 
 
Author's Preface vii 
 
 find myself in substantial harmony with them. I be- 
 lieve — and should he very sorry if I did not believe — 
 that, mutatis mutandis, such men mill find the advice 
 given on pp. 250-253 and 259-263 of this book much 
 what, under the supposed circumstances, they would 
 themselves give. 
 
 Lastly, I should express my great obligations to Mr. 
 R. A. Streatfeild of the British Museum, who, in the 
 absence from England of my friend Mr. H. Festing 
 Jones, has kindly supervised the corrections of my book 
 as it passed through the press. 
 
 SAMUEL BUTLER. 
 May I, 1901 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PACK 
 
 Introduction by Morehy Acklom .... xiii 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. Ups and downs of Fortune — My father starts for 
 
 Erewhon i 
 
 II. To the foot of the pass into Erewhon .... i6 
 
 III. My father while camping is accosted by Professors 
 
 Hanky and Panky 22 
 
 IV. My father overhears more of Hanky and Panky's 
 
 conversation 35 
 
 V. My father meets a son, of whose existence he was 
 
 ignorant, and strikes a bargain with him . . 49 
 
 VI. Further conversation between father and son — The 
 
 Professor^s hoard 61 
 
 VII. Signs of the new order of things catch my father^ s 
 
 eye on every side 69 
 
 VIII. Yram, now Mayoress, gives a dinner-party, in the 
 course of which she is disquieted by what she 
 learns from Professor Hanky: she sends for her 
 
 son George and questions him 79 
 
 IX. Interview between Yram and her son .... 92 
 
 X. My father, fearing recognition at Sunch'ston, be- 
 takes himself to the neighbouring town of Fair- 
 mead 102 
 
 XL President Gurgoyle's pamphlet ^'On the Physics 
 
 of Vicarious Existence^' 113 
 
 ix 
 
X Contents 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XII. George fails to find my father, whereon Yram 
 
 cautions the Professors 125 
 
 XIII. A visit to the Provincial Deformatory at Fair- 
 
 mead 136 
 
 XIV. My father makes the acquaintance of Mr. Balmy, 
 
 and walks with him next day to Sunch^ston . 146 
 
 XV. The temple is dedicated to my father, and certain 
 
 extracts are read from his supposed sayings . 161 
 
 XVI. Professor Hanky preaches a sermon, in the course 
 of which my father declares himself to he the 
 Sunchild I7S 
 
 XVII. George takes his father to prison, and there obtains 
 
 some useful information 190 
 
 XVIII. Yram invites Dr. Downie and Mrs. Humdrum to 
 luncheon — A passage at arms between her and 
 Hanky is amicably arranged 199 
 
 XIX. A council is held at the Mayor^s, in the course of 
 
 which George turns the tables on the Professors . 204 
 
 XX. Mrs. Humdrum and Dr. Downie propose a com- 
 promise, which, after an amendment by George, 
 is carried nem. con 214 
 
 XXI. Yram, on getting rid of her guests, goes to the 
 
 prison to see my father 221 
 
 XXII . Mainly occupied with a veracious extract from a 
 
 SuncKstonian journal 230 
 
 XXIII. My father is escorted to the Mayor^s house, 
 and is introduced to a future daughter-in- 
 law 241 
 
Contents xi 
 
 CHAPTER PAGB 
 
 XXIV. After dinner^ Dr. Downie and the Professors 
 would be glad to know what is to be done about 
 Sunchildism 248 
 
 XXV. George escorts my father to the statues; the two then 
 
 part 257 
 
 XXVI. My father reaches home, and dies not long after- 
 wards 267 
 
 XXVII. / meet my brother George at the statues, on the top 
 
 of the pass into Erewhon 274 
 
 XXVIII. George and I spend a few hours together at the 
 statues, and then part — / reach home — Post- 
 script 288 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 For all admirers of Samuel Butler special interest 
 attaches to Erewhon Revisited. It is the last book that 
 he wrote, though not the latest published. Not only 
 this, but being a sequel to one of his own books written 
 some thirty years before, and being concerned with 
 substantially the same locality and the same people, it 
 affords us a parallax, as it were, by means of which we 
 may appraise the evolution of Butlers mind and style 
 during the mature years of his life and thought. 
 
 There are great differences between Erewhon and 
 Erewhon Revisited. The former is very little of a 
 story and very much of a satirical comment on the cus- 
 toms and ideals of late-Victorian England. In fact, 
 with the exception of the description of Higgs' dis- 
 covery of the lost country Erewhon, and of his escape 
 from it about a year later in an amateur balloon with 
 his stolen Erewhonian bride, there is practically no 
 action and no story. In Erewhon Revisited, on the 
 other hand, we have an exceedingly clever and interest- 
 ing story with a good deal of ingenious action which 
 suggests that if Butler had not been so exclusively con- 
 cerned with matters of larger importance, he might 
 have written good detective yarns. Erewhon Revis- 
 ited is also a satire, but in this case the satire is nar- 
 rowed down to two principal matters instead of em- 
 bracing the whole of modern social conduct. The 
 
 xiii 
 
xiv Introduction 
 
 objects of attack are the professorial class and the 
 dogmas of tlie Christian Church. 
 
 Butler's antipathy for college professors as a class is 
 heartily reciprocated by the professors. Witness Pro- 
 fessor Lyon Phelps' characterization of The Way of 
 All Flesh as a ''diabolical novel," and Professor 
 Stewart P. Sherman's recent vitriolic attack on But- 
 ler's whole life and character in the columns of The 
 Evening Post. Yet it is rather amusing to contem- 
 plate that Butler himself stood for the Slade Profes- 
 sorship of Fine Arts in Cambridge University in 1886, 
 and apparently almost succeeded in capturing the 
 appointment. It is an interesting speculation to pic- 
 ture what would have been the mutual reaction of 
 Butler as a professor on Cambridge, and of a Cam- 
 bridge professorship on Butler. Hiere is no doubt» 
 however, that Butler's views on professors had evolved 
 considerably in the thirty years which lay between 
 Ere7ifhon and Erc^ifhon Reinsitetf. In Erewhon, 
 though he certainly says that they 
 
 seemed to devote themselves to the avoidance of 
 every opinion with which they were not perfectly 
 familiar and regarded their own brains as a sort 
 of sanctuary t(^ which if an opinion had once re- 
 sorted, none other was to attack it. 
 
 Erewhon (Chapter xxii). 
 
 he does speak of them as kindly, hospitable gentlemen, 
 whereas in Erczvhon Rcinsited he represents Hanky 
 and Panky, the professors, respectively, of Worldly 
 Wisdom and Unworldly Wisdom in the University of 
 Bridgeford, as despicable hypocrites who begin by 
 attempting to swindle Higgs, whom they suppose to 
 
Introduction xv 
 
 be a poverty stricken under-keeper of the royal for- 
 ests, out of a nugget of gold. And this sort of con- 
 temptuous depreciation of the honour and moral recti- 
 tude of the professorial class runs throughout the vol- 
 ume. 
 
 When v^e come to consider Butler's attack on Chris- 
 tian dogma in llrcwhon Revisited, we have to deal with 
 a matter very much older and more fundamental in 
 his character than his distrust and dislike of profes- 
 sors, and we have to allow for the fact that in spite of 
 Butler's multifarious interests in other directions, in 
 art, in science, in music, and in general literature, his 
 basic interest was theology. This idea may seem a 
 strange one at first sight, but it will be confirmed by a 
 study of Butler's work in its entirety. 
 
 Butler, moreover, was the son of a Canon and the 
 grandson of a Bishop, and was brought up in an at- 
 mosphere of theological narrowness such as is almost 
 iTiconceivaljlc today; and it was as impossible for him 
 fo escape being permanently interested in theology as 
 it was for his ({uestioning, doubting soul to stay within 
 the fold of comfortable conformity. 
 
 The story of his lapse from orthodoxy, while he 
 was preparing for ordination in the Anglican (Episco- 
 pal) Church has often been told and need not be re- 
 peated here. The fact is that though by 1863 Butler 
 supposed that he had given up belief in the credibility 
 of Christianity, and the authority of its entire ecclesi- 
 astical system, theology remained his really dominant 
 preoccupation until the end of his life. The reason 
 that so little of it appeared in Erewhon is probably 
 that he was at that time relieving his mind on the 
 subject for a time by writing The Fair Haven, an 
 
xvi Introduction 
 
 apparent defense of the accuracy of the gospel accounts 
 of the resurrection and ascension of Jesus Christ, but 
 in reahty a searching and ingenious attack upon the 
 veracity and mental equipment of the Evangelists. 
 The Fair Haven was published the year after Ere^ 
 whon, under a pseudonym, and to Butler's great joy 
 was hailed by the Low Church journals of Great 
 Britain as a serious work in defense of Christianity. 
 It was the revelation of its true authorship and its true 
 meaning that did more than anything else to create the 
 suspicion and dislike of Butler which the orthodox 
 abundantly showed him from that time on. 
 
 In his own preface to Eren^hon Revisited (see page 
 v) Butler himself says that it was soon after the pub- 
 lication of Erezvhon that it suggested itself to him to 
 ask what effect a supposed miracle, such as the ascen- 
 sion of the mysterious visitor, Higgs, into the sky in 
 his secretly manufactured balloon, would have on the 
 religious beliefs and system of a simple, credulous and 
 imperfectly civilised people such as the Erewhonians. 
 However, it appears that this idea, which Mr. Henry 
 Resting Jones in his monumental biography, Samuel 
 Butler, Author of Erewhon, calls "the chief motive of 
 Erewhon Revisited'^ struck Butler before Erewhon 
 was written, for we find it in the concluding paragraph 
 of his pamphlet. The Evidence for the Resurrection of 
 Jesus Christ as contained in the Four Gospels critically 
 examined. This suggestion which is elaborated in The 
 Fair Haven (Chapter viii) is as follows: 
 
 To me it appears that if they (the ApostlesJ 
 be taken simply as honest but uneducated men, 
 subjected to a very unusual course of exciting 
 
Introduction xvii 
 
 incidents in an enthusiastic age and country, we 
 shall find that nothing less than the foundation of 
 Christianity could well have come about ... if I 
 have realized to myself rightly the effect which a 
 well proved miracle would have upon such men 
 as the Apostles, in such times as those they lived 
 in, I think I may be justified in saying that the 
 single supposed miracle of the Resurrection is suf- 
 ficient to account for all that followed. 
 
 Some criticism may be made of Butler for the exact 
 manner in which he carries out his representation of 
 the incidents following on such a supposed miracle in 
 Erewhon Revisited. The illegitimate birth of Higgs' 
 son of a mother whose name, Yram, is an obvious 
 travesty of "Mary," was fiercely assailed by Sir Arthur 
 Quiller Couch in the London Daily Nezvs as a scan- 
 dalous parallel to the nuptials of Mary and Joseph, 
 ''offensive by inadvertence almost incredible" ; but But- 
 ler absolutely denied any intention of satirising Christ, 
 both privately in a letter to Mrs. J. A. Fuller Maitland 
 (Feb. 10, 1901) and publicly in a protest against 
 Quiller Couch's criticism which caused the latter 
 to apologise and admit that he was mistaken. It is 
 interesting to note that it is in this protest of his to 
 the editor of the Daily News that Butler reveals "the 
 second leading idea of the book," that of a father try- 
 ing to win the love of a hitherto unknown son by self- 
 sacrifice, and succeeding — a pathetic commentary on 
 his recognition of the failure of his own filial relation. 
 The obvious parodies of creeds, commandments, scrip- 
 tures and other portions of the Church's ritual, such 
 as: 
 
xviii Introduction 
 
 "When the righteous man tumeth away from 
 the righteousness that he hath committed, and 
 doeth that which is a Httle naughty and wrong, 
 he will generally be found to have gained in 
 amiability what he has lost in righteousness." — 
 Sunchild Sayings, Chapter xiii, v. 15. 
 
 may also be considered in bad taste, though Butler 
 supposed himself to have removed from the book all 
 obvious causes of offense on the suggestion of Mrs. 
 J. A. F. Maitland, mentioned above; but it is hardly 
 possible for any man to satirise the birth and growth 
 of a new religion without more or less parodying the 
 religious formularies of his own generation, and Ere- 
 whon Revisited is no exception to this. 
 
 The story in the book is simplicity itself. Higgs, 
 the discoverer of Erewhon, twenty years after his mys- 
 terious evasion, returns to see what the country is now 
 like; and discovers that he himself has become the cen- 
 tral figure of a new religion, owing to his unexplained 
 disappearance sky-ward and from the garbled recollec- 
 tion of his claims that he had a father in Heaven. He 
 also discovers that he left behind him an unsuspected 
 son who has now become a person of some importance 
 in the community. He is just in time to attend the 
 dedication of the great temple to himself as the Sun- 
 child, and endeavors to interrupt the service and reveal 
 himself as an ordinar}^ human being. His efforts are 
 defeated and he is hustled secretly out of the country 
 to prevent an upheaval. 
 
 Although, as has already been explained, the under- 
 lying idea in the story is the exploitation of a theolog- 
 
Introduction xix 
 
 ical conception, no intending reader may fear reading 
 the book on that account. Butler's humour is as lively 
 as ever, his character-drawing is as satirical, and his 
 eye for social defects and absurdities as acute. For 
 instance, in his description of the professors at the 
 mayoress' reception : 
 
 There was Dr. Downie,* Professor of Logo- 
 machy, and perhaps the most subtle dialectician in 
 Erewhon. He could say nothing in more words 
 than any man of his generation. His text-book 
 on The Art of Obscuring Issues had passed 
 through ten or twelve editions, and was in the 
 hands of all aspirants for academic distinction. 
 He had earned a high reputation for sobriety of 
 judgment by resolutely refusing to have definite 
 views on any subject ; so safe a man was he con- 
 sidered, that while still quite young he had been 
 appointed to the lucrative post of Thinker in Or- 
 dinary to the Royal Family. There was Mr. 
 Principal Crank, with his sister Mrs. Quack ; Pro- 
 fessors Gabb and Bawl, with their wives and two 
 or three erudite daughters. (Chapter viii.) ; 
 
 in his attack on our reformatory system when he de- 
 scribes the ^'Deformatory" at Fairmead; in his gibing 
 at our fashionable girls' boarding-schools, in his picture 
 of Madame Lafrime's school, where the successful 
 marriages of the pupils are recorded on the panels of 
 the school hall, and in his parody of our up-to-date 
 journalism in the report of the temple dedication as 
 given in The Sunch'ston Journal, his pen shews no 
 sign of having lost its force or point. He deals very 
 
 * "Downy," some thirty years ago, was English semi-slang 
 for sly or sophisticated. 
 
XX Introduction 
 
 trenchantly, moreover, with the ethical value of ideas of 
 eternal punishment and eternal bliss in comparing them 
 humorously with the classic myths of Sisyphus, th« 
 Danaids and Tantalus, while his burlesque of the dif- 
 ferences of High Church and Low Church in the two 
 schools of the Sunchild followers, who wore their 
 clothes respectively wrong side and right side fore- 
 most, through a dispute as to Higgs' original method 
 of dressing, will be found delightful by all except the 
 parties ridiculed. 
 
 More than this, he has put his finger on the fatal 
 flaw in the whole mystical basis of religion in the con- 
 versations of Higgs with Mr. Balmy * in Chapter 
 xiv, the epitome of the matter being where Mr. 
 Balmy expresses his belief in the efficacy of spiritual 
 enlightenment when the latter is contradicted by facts 
 of actual experience : 
 
 "A spiritual enlightenment from within," re- 
 turned Mr. Balmy, "is more to be relied on than 
 any merely physical affluence from external ob- 
 jects. Now, when I shut my eyes, I see the bal- 
 loon ascend a little way, but almost immediately 
 the heavens open, the horses descend, the balloon 
 is transformed, and the glorious pageant careers 
 onward till it vanishes into the heaven of heavens. 
 Hundreds with whom I have conversed assure 
 me that their experience has been the same as 
 mine. . . ." (Chapter xiv.) 
 
 Butler seems somewhat more constructive in Ere- 
 whon Revisited than he is in Erewhon. In the lesson 
 
 ♦Another Victorian slang word signifying much the same 
 as our "dippy." 
 
Introduction xxi 
 
 read at the dedication of the temple to the Sunchild, 
 and in Dr. Gurgoyle's book, The Physics of Vicarious 
 Existence, we find outlined a definite theory of the na- 
 ture of God which corresponds closely to the theory 
 already given by Butler in a series of articles in The 
 Examiner, of London, and after his death pub- 
 lished in a small volume entitled God the Known 
 and God the Unknown. This latter is a peculiar 
 piece of work, and shows that Butler was very much 
 more alive to absurdities and inconsistencies in 
 other people's ideas than he was to those in his own; 
 but it is evidence that Butler is speaking largely in his 
 own person in this instance in Erewhon Revisited. 
 There is also (in Chapter xxiv) some sensible advice 
 given to the propagators of Sunchildism, which by his 
 own confession in the Preface (page vii) is intended 
 for the authorities of the Christian Church. 
 
 Apart from this we find a certain amount of worldly 
 wisdom which lifts the book to a higher philosophical 
 plane than its predecessor. For instance: 
 
 In our spiritual and intellectual world tjwo 
 parties more or less antagonistic are equally 
 necessary. Those who are at the head of science 
 provide us with the one party; those whom we 
 call our churchmen are the other. Both are cor- 
 rupt, but we can spare neither, for each checks as 
 far as it can the corruptions of the other. 
 (Chapter xxv.) 
 
 And is there not another place in which it is 
 said, 'The fear of the Lord is the beginning of 
 wisdom," as though it were not the last word 
 upon the subject? If a man should not do evil 
 
xxii Introduction 
 
 that good may come, so neither should he do good 
 that evil may come. (Chapter vii.) 
 
 Not the least important duty of posterity 
 towards itself lies in passing righteous judgment 
 on the forebears who stand up before it. They 
 should be allowed the benefit of a doubt, and pec- 
 cadilloes should be ignored; but when no doubt 
 exists that a man was ingrainedly mean and cow- 
 ardly, his reputation must remain in the Purga- 
 tory of Time for a term varying from, say, a 
 hundred to two thousand years. After a hundred 
 years it may generally come down, though it will 
 still be under a cloud. After two thousand years 
 it may be mentioned in any society without hold- 
 ing up hands in horror. Our sense of moral guilt 
 varies inversely as the squares of its distance in 
 time and space from ourselves. 
 
 Not so with heroism; this loses no lustre 
 through time and distance. Good is gold; it is 
 rare, but it will not tarnish. Evil is like dirty 
 water — plentiful and foul, but it will run itself 
 clear of taint. (Chapter xi.) 
 
 Passages such as these show that Butler had evolved 
 considerably since the writing of Erewhon, but there 
 is even more difference in the tone of the two books. 
 Erewhon Reznsited is less genial and less playful, the 
 satire is sharper, the parody more pointed than in the 
 earlier volume. He had felt that the literary, scientific, 
 and religious worlds had agreed to defeat him by a 
 conspiracy of silence, and unquestionably the belief 
 had embittered him. It will be noted that the impres- 
 sion he gives of Erewhon in the first book is that it is a 
 sort of Arcadia. He says of its people that they were : 
 
Introduction xxiii 
 
 of a physical beauty which was simply amazing, 
 the women were vigorous and had a most majes- 
 tic gait, their expression was divine. The men 
 were as handsome as the women beautiful. . . 
 
 agam : 
 
 they are the very best bred people that ever I fell 
 in with. . . 
 
 and again: 
 
 men and women who delight me entirely by their 
 simplicity, unconsciousness of self and kindly, 
 genial manners. 
 
 There is nothing of this in Erewhon Revisited. The 
 Erewhonians are here presented to us precisely as an 
 equivalent company of Europeans, and from the ad- 
 vertisements of the shops around the College of Spir- 
 itual Athletics, it is obvious that bad temper, suspicion, 
 and back-biting were no uncommon thing among them. 
 
 Apart from this difference in the general tone, it will 
 be obvious, I think, to any reader that Erewhon Revis- 
 ited is the more vigorous book of the two, and an 
 astonishingly young piece of work for a man of 65 to 
 write. 
 
 The history of the book is easy to discover. Al- 
 though the main idea around which it is built had been 
 in Butler's mind for many years, the first hint that he 
 intended to write a sequel to Erezvhon appears in a let- 
 ter from him to Miss Savage (the original of Althea 
 in The Way of All Flesh) in February, 1877. It was 
 not until October, 1896, that he definitely announced 
 in conversation to the publisher, Fisher Unwin, that 
 
xxiv Introduction 
 
 he was going to write the sequel. In 1900 he wrote to 
 Dean Pigou, of Bristol, that he intended to "make a 
 second journey to Erewhon in the person of my sup- 
 posed son, and to report sundry developments." Much 
 of the book was written by the beginning of February, 
 1 90 1, and in March of that year Longmans refused to 
 publish the book, even at Butler's own expense, for 
 fear of giving offense to their High Church Anglican 
 clientele. This was a blow to Butler, but Bernard 
 Shaw now appeared as his good angel. He read the 
 manuscript and reported to Butler that he found his 
 hero "as interesting as ever," and proceeded to arrange 
 a meeting between Butler and Grant Richards, the 
 London publisher, who was to be inveigled to lunch by 
 the announcement that Bernard Shaw was going to 
 have a celebrated author, name not given, to meet him. 
 The result was that Grant Richards agreed to publish 
 the book, and not only to publish it but to bear the 
 entire financial risk — the first time that such a proposi- 
 tion had ever been made to Butler ! The book was fin- 
 ished at Harwich, during a week-end at the beginning 
 of April, 1 901. The first copy reached Butler's hands 
 on the nth of October. It was favorably reviewed in 
 The Times and The Daily Chronicle, and especially 
 well by Edith Sichel in The Monthly Review. The 
 motto on the title page of the original edition, taken 
 from the Tenth Book of the Iliad — 
 
 Him do I hate even as I hate hell fire 
 
 Who says one thing and hides another in his heart 
 
 voices the life-long protest of Butler against the entire 
 machinery of shams and humbug with which the struc- 
 ture of civilization seems inextricably interwoven. 
 
Introduction xxv 
 
 Erewhon Revisited was written more easily and 
 with less revision than any other of his books. The 
 simple directness of its style is due not only to con- 
 tinual conscious effort on Butler's part, but to his use 
 in the story of genuine incidents which had happened 
 to himself or come within his cognizance. For in- 
 stance, Professor Hanky's sermon about the evidences 
 for Sunchildism, at the temple dedication ceremonies, 
 is taken almost word for word from an appeal in The 
 Times of December 8th, 1892, written by Sir G. G. 
 Stokes and Lord Halsbury, for the Christian Evidence 
 Society. Higgs' experiences as a pavement artist be- 
 long by rights to one of the tenants of the house that 
 Butler owned at Peckham; Higgs' second journey to 
 Erewhon is taken from Butler's own experience at 
 Canterbury, New Zealand ; and the honest lawyer, Mr. 
 Alfred E. Cathie, of 15 Clifford Inn, is, of course, 
 Alfred Emery Cathie, his confidential clerk and friend 
 — and so in many other instances. 
 
 Butler's own verdict on Erewhon Revisited con- 
 tained in a letter to Mr. O. T. J. Alpers of Christ- 
 church, New Zealand, is ''Erewhon Revisited I prefer 
 to Erewhon, I confess" ; and it seems not unlikely that 
 many readers will agree with him. It is a little diffi- 
 cult in this coimtry and at this time to realize the theo- 
 logical bitterness which obtained even a few years ago 
 in English literary circles, but even making allowance 
 for this and for the amount of energy which Butler 
 used in fighting it, Erewhon Revisited, I think it will 
 be admitted, is a stronger book than the original Ere- 
 whon; and, characteristically, perhaps the hardest 
 knock, in a book full of hard knocks, is contained in 
 the Preface (pages vi-vii) : 
 
xxvi Introduction 
 
 If I may be allowed for a moment to speak 
 about myself, I would say that I have never ceased 
 to profess myself a member of the more advanced 
 wing of the English Broad Church. What those 
 who belong to this wing believe, I believe. What 
 they reject, I reject. No two people think abso- 
 lutely alike on any subject, but when I converse 
 with advanced Broad Churchmen I find myself in 
 substantial harmony with them. 
 
 This, in the face of Butler's public and contemp- 
 tuous rejection for the previous 40 years of all that 
 the English Church held, taught, feared, believed or 
 hoped, is about as severe a criticism of the good faith 
 of the Anglican clergy as could well be made — for it is 
 hardly thinkable that he intended his claim of loyalty 
 to the Church to be taken seriously. 
 
 Butler died within six months of the publication of 
 this last work of his, and true to his own conception 
 of vicarious existence, he is really now beginning to 
 live. 
 
 We are not so much better or so much more sensible 
 or so much more honest than the Victorians, that we 
 can feel Butler is not needed today. Even here he 
 might conceivably find a target or two at which to aim 
 his barbed shafts — a large and opulent figure of 
 Liberty in our sea-gate, for instance, with the Eight- 
 eenth Amendment and the Volstead Act in force be- 
 hind it might strike him as humorous; or, perhaps, 
 the sight of the Mayor of the greatest city in the west- 
 ern hemisphere gravely awarding the "Freedom of the 
 City'* to an alien who adventures thither for the ac- 
 knowledged purpose of peddling the supposititious 
 bonds of an imaginary republic. 
 
Introduction xxvii 
 
 Yes, undoubtedly Samuel Butler died too soon; but 
 he left something of himself behind him that is in- 
 creasing in strength and influence day by day and year 
 by year. His works are a priceless mental tonic to 
 those who are inclined to believe that whatever is is 
 right, or to jog along comfortably in a mental rut. 
 It is hard often to read him without warm indignation 
 at the ingenious way in which he can always find some- 
 thing to laugh at in our most cherished beliefs and 
 institutions; but the idol-breaker has always been 
 necessary to the progress of mankind. 
 
 It is difficult, in view of Butler's personal, self-cen- 
 tered existence and his complacent admiration for 
 Samuel Butler, to call him a really great man; but 
 there is no doubt whatever, that if greatness be meas- 
 ured by service and usefulness in the kingdom of the 
 mind and morals, he does deserve that overworked 
 adjective "great." 
 
 He irritates, but he does make the reader think for 
 himself — provided, of course, that such a proceeding 
 is' possible for him. 
 
 He denies absolutely that there is any virtue in 
 moral cowardice, any sanctity in time-honored hum- 
 bug or any holiness in official assininity ; and for this 
 the men of a later day, who are perhaps a little better 
 prepared than his own generation to listen and learn 
 and laugh, owe him their gratitude. 
 
 MOREBY ACKLOM. 
 
 New York, 
 February, ip^o. 
 
EREWHON REVISITED 
 
EREWHON REVISITED 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 UPS AND DOWNS OF FORTUNE — MY FATHER STARTS 
 FOR EREWHON 
 
 Before telling the story of my father's second visit 
 to the remarkable country which he discovered now 
 some thirty years since, I should perhaps say a few 
 words about his career between the publication of his 
 book in 1872, and his death in the early summer of 
 1 89 1. I shall thus touch briefly on the causes that occa- 
 sioned his failure to maintain that hold on the public 
 which he had apparently secured at first. 
 
 His book, as the reader may perhaps know, was pub- 
 lished anonymously, and my poor father used to ascribe 
 the acclamation with which it was received, to the fact 
 that no one knew who it might not have been written 
 by. Omne ignotum pro magnifico, and during its 
 month of anonymity the book was a frequent topic of 
 appreciative comment in good literary circles. Almost 
 coincidently with the discovery that he was a mere no- 
 body, people began to feel that their admiration had 
 been too hastily bestowed, and before long opinion 
 turned all the more seriously against him for this very 
 reason. The subscription, to which the Lord Mayor 
 
2 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 had at first given his cordial support, was curtly an- 
 nounced as closed before it had been opened a week; 
 it had met with so little success that I will not specify 
 the amount eventually handed over, not without pro- 
 test, to my father ; small, however, at is was, he nar- 
 rowly escaped being prosecuted for trying to obtain 
 money under false pretences. 
 
 The Geographical Society, which had for a few days 
 received him with open arms, was among the first to 
 turn upon him — not, so far as I can ascertain, on 
 account of the mystery in which he had enshrouded the 
 exact whereabouts of Erewhon, nor yet by reason of its 
 being persistently alleged that he was subject to fre- 
 quent attacks of alcoholic poisoning — but through his 
 own want of tact, and a highly-strung nervous state, 
 which led him to attach too much importance to his 
 own discoveries, and not enough to those of other 
 people. This, at least, was my father's version of the 
 matter, as I heard it from his own lips in the later 
 years of his life. 
 
 "I was still very young,*' he said to me, "and my 
 mind was more or less unhinged by the strangeness and 
 peril of my adventures." Be this as it may I fear 
 there is no doubt that he was injudicious; and an 
 ounce of judgment is worth a pound of discovery. 
 
 Hence, in a surprisingly short time, he found him- 
 self dropped even by those who had taken him up most 
 warmly, and had done most to find him that employ- 
 ment as a writer of religious tracts on which his liveli- 
 hood was then dependent. The discredit, however, into 
 which my father fell, had the effect of deterring any 
 considerable number of people from trying to redis- 
 cover Erewhon, and thus caused it to remain as un- 
 
Ups and Downs 3 
 
 known to geographers in general as though it had 
 never been found. A few shepherds and cadets at up- 
 country stations had, indeed, tried to follow in my 
 father's footsteps, during the time when his book was 
 still being taken seriously ; but they had most of them 
 returned, unable to face the difficulties that had opposed 
 them. Some few, however, had not returned, and 
 though search was made for them, their bodies had not 
 been found. When he reached Erewhon on his second 
 visit, my father learned that others had attempted to 
 visit the country more recently — probably quite inde- 
 pendently of his own book ; and before he had himself 
 been in it many hours he gathered what the fate of 
 these poor fellows doubtless was. 
 
 Another reason that made it more easy for Erewhon 
 to remain unknown, was the fact that the more moun- 
 tainous districts, though repeatedly prospected for gold, 
 had been pronounced non-auriferous, and as there was 
 no sheep or cattle country, save a few river-bed flats 
 above the upper gorges of any of the rivers, and no 
 game to tempt the sportsman, there was nothing to 
 induce people to penetrate into the fastnesses of the 
 great snowy range. No more, therefore, being heard 
 of Erewhon, my father's book came to be regarded as 
 a mere work of fiction, and I have heard quite re- 
 cently of its having been seen on a second-hand book- 
 stall, marked ''6d., very readable." 
 
 Though there was no truth in the stories about my 
 father's being subject to attacks of alcoholic poisoning, 
 yet, during the first few years after his return to Eng- 
 land, his occasional fits of ungovernable excitement 
 gave some colour to the opinion that much of what he 
 said he had seen and done might be only subjectively 
 
4 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 true. I refer more particularly to his interview with 
 Chowbok in the wool-shed, and his highly coloured 
 description of the statues on the top of the pass leading 
 into Erewhon. These were soon set down as forgeries 
 of delirium, and it was maliciously urged, that though 
 in his book he had only admitted having taken "two 
 or three bottles of brandy" with him, he had probably 
 taken at least a dozen; and that if on the night before 
 he reached the statues he had "only four ounces of 
 brandy" left, he must have been drinking heavily for 
 the preceding fortnight or three weeks. Those who 
 read the following pages will, I think, reject all idea 
 that my father was in a state of delirium, not without 
 surprise that any one should have ever entertained it. 
 It was Chowbok who, if he did not originate these 
 calumnies, did much to disseminate and gain credence 
 for them. He remained in England for some years, 
 and never tired of doing what he could to disparage 
 my father. The cunning creature had ingratiated him- 
 self with our leading religious societies, especially with 
 the more evangelical among them. Whatever doubt 
 there might be about his sincerity, there was none about 
 his colour, and a coloured convert in those days was 
 more than Exeter Hall could resist. Chowbok saw 
 that there was no room for him and for my father, 
 and declared my poor father's story to be almost 
 wholly false. It was true, he said, that he and my 
 father had explored the head-waters of the river des- 
 cribed in his book, but he denied that my father had 
 gone on without him, and he named the river as one 
 distant by many thousands of miles from the one it 
 really was. He said that after about a fortnight he had 
 returned in company with my father, who by that time 
 
Ups and Downs 5 
 
 had become incapacitated for further travel. At this 
 point he would shrug his shoulders, look mysterious, 
 and thus say "alcoholic poisoning" even more effec- 
 tively than if he had uttered the words themselves. For 
 a man's tongue lies often in his shoulders. 
 
 Readers of my father's book will remember that 
 Chowbok had given a very different version when he 
 had returned to his employer's station; but Time 
 and Distance afford cover under which falsehood can 
 often do truth to death securely. 
 
 I never understood why 'my father did not bring 
 my mother forward to confirm his story. He may 
 have done so while I was too young to know anything 
 about it. But when people have made up their minds, 
 they are impatient of further evidence; my mother, 
 moreover, was of a very retiring disposition. The 
 Italians say: — 
 
 "Chi lontano va ammogliare 
 Sara ingannato, o vorra ingannare." 
 
 "If a man goes far afield for a wife, he will be de- 
 ceived — or means deceiving." The proverb is as true 
 for women as for men, and my mother was never quite 
 happy in her new surroundings. Wilfully deceived she 
 assuredly was not, but she could not accustom herself 
 to English modes of thought; indeed she never even 
 nearly mastered our language ; my father always talked 
 with her in Erewhonian, and so did I, for as a child 
 she had taught me to do so, and I was as fluent with 
 her language as with my father's. In this respect she 
 often told me I could pass myself off anywhere in 
 Erewhon as a native ; I shared also her personal appear- 
 ance, for though not wholly unlike my father, I had 
 
6 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 taken more closely after my mother. In mind, if I 
 may venture to say so, I believe I was more like my 
 father. 
 
 I may as well here inform the reader that I was 
 born at the end of September, 1871, and was christened 
 John, after my grandfather. From what I have said 
 above he will readily believe that my earliest experi- 
 ences were somewhat squalid. Memories of childhood 
 rush vividly upon me when I pass through a low 
 London alley and catch the faint sickly smell that 
 pervades it — half paraffin, half black-currants, but 
 wholly something very different. I have a fancy that 
 we lived in Blackmoor Street, off Drury Lane. My 
 father, when first I knew of his doing anything at all, 
 supported my mother and myself by drawing pictures 
 with coloured chalks upon the pavement ; I used some- 
 times to watch him, and marvel at the skill with which 
 he represented fogs, floods, and fires. These three 
 "f's," he would say, were his three best friends, for 
 they were easy to do and brought in halfpence freely. 
 The return of the dove to the ark was his favourite 
 subject. Such a little ark, on such a hazy morning, and 
 such a little pigeon — the rest of the picture being cheap 
 sky, and still cheaper sea; nothing, I have often heard 
 him say, was more popular than this with his clients. 
 He held it to be his masterpiece, but would add with 
 some naivete that he considered himself a public bene- 
 factor for carrying it out in such perishable fashion. 
 "At any rate,** he would say, "no one can bequeath one 
 of my many replicas to the nation." 
 
 I never learned how much my father earned by his 
 profession, but it must have been something consid- 
 erable, for we always had enough to eat and drink ; I 
 
Ups and Downs 7 
 
 imagine that he did better than many a struggling artist 
 with more ambitious aims. He was strictly temperate 
 during all the time that I knew anything about him, but 
 he was not a teetotaler ; I never saw any of the fits of 
 nervous excitement which in his earlier years had done 
 so much to wreck him. In the evenings, and on days 
 when the state of the pavement did not permit him 
 to work, he took great pains with my education, which 
 he could very well do, for as a boy he had been in the 
 sixth form of one of our foremost public schools. I 
 found him a patient, kindly instructor, while to my 
 mother he was a model husband. Whatever others 
 may have said about him, I can never think of him 
 without very affectionate respect. 
 
 Things went on quietly enough, as above indicated, 
 till I was about fourteen, when by a streak of fortune 
 my father became suddenly affluent. A brother of his 
 father's had emigrated to Australia in 1851, and had 
 amassed great wealth. We knew of his existence, but 
 there had been no intercourse between him and my 
 father, and we did not even know that he was rich and 
 unmarried. He died intestate towards the end of 1885, 
 and my father was the only relative he had, except, 
 of course, myself, for both my father's sisters had died 
 young, and without leaving children. 
 
 The solicitor through whom the news reached us 
 was, happily, a man of the highest integrity, and also 
 very sensible and kind. He was a Mr. Alfred Emery 
 Cathie, of 15 Clifford's Inn, E.C., and my father placed 
 himself unreservedly in his hands. I was at once sent 
 to a first-rate school, and such pains had my father 
 taken with me that I was placed in a higher form than 
 might have been expected considering my age. The 
 
8 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 way in which he had taught me had prevented my feel- 
 ing any dislike for study ; I therefore stuck fairly well 
 to my books, while not neglecting the games which are 
 so important a part of healthy education. Everything 
 went well with me, both as regards masters and school- 
 fellows ; nevertheless, I was declared to be of a highly 
 nervous and imaginative temperament, and the school 
 doctor more than once urged our headmaster not to 
 push me forward too rapidly — for which I have ever 
 since held myself his debtor. 
 
 Early in 1890, I being then home from Oxford 
 (where I had been entered in the preceding year), my 
 mother died ; not so much from active illness, as from 
 what was in reality a kind of maladie du pays. All 
 along she had felt herself an exile, and though she had 
 borne up wonderfully during my father's long struggle 
 with adversity, she began to break as soon as pros- 
 perity had removed the necessity for exertion on her 
 own part. 
 
 My father could never divest himself of the feeling 
 that he had wrecked her life by inducing her to share 
 her lot with his own ; to say that he was stricken with 
 remorse on losing her is not enough; he had been 
 so stricken almost from the first year of his marriage ; 
 on her death he was haunted by the wrong he accused 
 himself — as it seems to me very unjustly — of having 
 done her, for it was neither his fault nor hers — it was 
 Ate. 
 
 His unrest soon assumed the form of a burning 
 desire to revisit the country in which he and my mother 
 had been happier together than perhaps they ever 
 again were. I had often heard him betray a hankering 
 after a return to Erewhon, disguised so that no one 
 
Ups and Downs 9 
 
 should recognise him; but as long as my mother lived 
 he would not leave her. When death had taken her 
 from him, he so evidently stood in need of a complete 
 change of scene, that even those friends who had most 
 strongly dissuaded him from what they deemed a mad- 
 cap enterprise, thought it better to leave him to himself. 
 It would have mattered little how much they tried to 
 dissuade him, for before long his passionate longing 
 for the journey became so overmastering that nothing 
 short of restraint in prison or a madhouse could have 
 stayed his going ; but we were not easy about him. 
 
 "He had better go," said Mr. Cathie to me, when I 
 was at home for the Easter vacation, ''and get it over. 
 He is not well, but he is still in the prime of life ; doubt- 
 less he will come back with renewed health and will 
 settle down to a quiet home life again." 
 
 This, however, was not said till it had become plain 
 that in a few days my father would be on his way. 
 He had made a new will, and left an ample power of 
 attorney with Mr. Cathie — or, as we always called 
 him, Alfred — who was to supply me with whatever 
 money I wanted : he had put all other matters in order 
 in case anything should happen to prevent his ever re- 
 turning, and he set out on October i, 1890, more com- 
 posed and cheerful than I had seen him for some time 
 past. 
 
 I had not realised how serious the danger to my 
 father would be if he were recognised while he was 
 in Erewhon, for I am ashamed to say that I had not 
 yet read his book. I had heard over and over again of 
 his flight with my mother in the balloon, and had long 
 since read his few opening chapters, but I had found, 
 as a boy naturally would, that the succeeding pages 
 
10 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 were a little dull, and soon put the book aside. My 
 father, indeed, repeatedly urged me not to read it, for 
 he said there was much in it — more especially in the 
 earlier chapters, which I had alone found interesting — 
 that he would gladly cancel if he could. ''But there!" 
 he had said with a laugh, "what does it matter?" 
 
 He had hardly left, before I read his book from 
 end to end, and, on having done so, not only appreci- 
 ated the risks that he would have to run, but was struck 
 with the wide difference between his character as he had 
 himself portrayed it, and the estimate I had formed of 
 it from personal knowledge. When, on his return, he 
 detailed to me his adventures, the account he gave of 
 what he had said and done corresponded with my own 
 ideas concerning him; but I doubt not the reader will 
 see that the twenty years between his first and second 
 visit had modified him even more than so long an in- 
 terval might be expected to do. 
 
 I heard from him repeatedly during the first two 
 months of his absence, and was surprised to find that 
 he had stayed for a week or ten days at more than one 
 place of call on his outward journey. On November 26 
 he wrote from the port whence he was to start for Ere- 
 whon, seemingly in good health and spirits ; and on De- 
 cember 27, 1 89 1, he telegraphed for a hundred pounds 
 to be wired out to him at this same port. This puzzled 
 both Mr. Cathie and myself, for the interval between 
 November 26 and December 2^ seemed too short to 
 admit of his having paid his visit to Erewhon and 
 returned ; as, moreover, he had added the words, "Com- 
 ing home," we rather hoped that he had abandoned his 
 intention of going there. 
 
 We were also surprised at his wanting so much 
 
Ups and Downs ii 
 
 money, for he had taken a hundred pounds in gold, 
 which, from some fancy, he had stowed in a small 
 silver jewel-box that he had given my mother not long 
 before she died. He had also taken a hundred pounds' 
 worth of gold nuggets, which he had intended to sell in 
 Erewhon so as to provide himself with money when he 
 got there. 
 
 I should explain that these nuggets would be worth 
 in Erewhon fully ten times as much as they would in 
 Europe, owing to the great scarcity of gold in that 
 country. The Erewhonian coinage is entirely silver — 
 which is abundant, and worth much what it is in Eng- 
 land — or copper, v/hich is also plentiful; but what we 
 should call five pounds' worth of silver money would 
 not buy more than one of our half-sovereigns in gold. 
 
 He had put his nuggets into ten brown holland bags, 
 and he had had secret pockets made for the old Ere- 
 whonian dress which he had worn when he had es- 
 caped, so that he need never have more than one bag of 
 nuggets accessible at a time. He was not likely, there- 
 fore to have been robbed. His passage to the port 
 above referred to had been paid before he started, and 
 it seemed impossible that a man of his very inexpensive 
 habits should have spent two hundred pounds in a sin- 
 gle month — for the nuggets would be immediately con- 
 vertible in an English colony. There was nothing, 
 however, to be done but to cable out the money and 
 wait my father's arrival. 
 
 Returning for a moment to my father's old Ere- 
 whonian dress, I should say that he had preserved it 
 simply as a memento and without any idea that he 
 should again want it. It was not the court dress that 
 had been provided for him on the occasion of his visit 
 
12 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 to the king and queen, but the everyday clothing that 
 he had been ordered to wear when he was put in 
 prison, though his EngHsh coat, waistcoat, and trousers 
 had been allowed to remain in his own possession. 
 These, I had seen from his book, had been presented 
 by him to the queen (with the exception of two but- 
 tons, which he had given to Yram as a keepsake), and 
 had been preserved by her displayed upon a wooden 
 dummy. The dress in which he had escaped had been 
 soiled during the hours that he and my mother had 
 been in the sea, and had also suffered from neglect dur- 
 ing the years of his poverty; but he wished to pass 
 himself off as a common peasant or working-man, so 
 he preferred to have it set in order as might best be 
 done, rather than copied. 
 
 So cautious was he in the matter of dress that he 
 took with him the boots he had worn on leaving 
 Erewhon, lest the foreign make of his English boots 
 should arouse suspicion. They were nearly new, and 
 when he had had them softened and well greased, he 
 found he could still wear them quite comfortably. 
 
 But to return. He reached home late at night one 
 day at the beginning of February, and a glance was 
 enough to show that he was an altered man. 
 
 "What is the matter?" said I, shocked at his appear- 
 ance. "Did you go to Erewhon, and were you ill- 
 treated there ?" 
 
 "I went to Erewhon," he said, "and I was not ill- 
 treated there, but I have been so shaken that I fear 
 I shall quite lose my reason. Do not ask me more now. 
 I will tell you about it all to-morrow. Let me have 
 something to eat, and go to bed." 
 
 When we met at breakfast next morning, he greeted 
 
Ups and Downs 13 
 
 me with all his usual warmth of affection, but he was 
 still taciturn. *'l will begin to tell you about it," he 
 said, "after breakfast. Where is your dear mother? 
 How was it that I have ..." 
 
 Then of a sudden his memory returned, and he burst 
 into tears. 
 
 I now saw, to my horror, that his mind was gone. 
 When he recovered, he said: "It has all come back 
 again, but at times now I am a blank, and every week 
 am more and more so. I daresay I shall be sensible 
 now for several hours. We will go into the study after 
 breakfast, and I will talk to you as long as I can do so." 
 
 Let the reader spare me, and let me spare the reader 
 any description of what we both of us felt. 
 
 When we were in the study, my father said, "My 
 dearest boy, get pen and paper and take notes of what 
 I tell you. It will all be disjointed; one day I shall re- 
 member this, and another that, but there will not be 
 many more days on which I shall remember anything 
 at all. I cannot write a coherent page. You, when 
 I am gone, can piece what I tell you together, and tell 
 it as I should have told it if I had been still sound. 
 But do not publish it yet ; it might do harm to those 
 dear good people. Take the notes now, and arrange 
 them the sooner the better, for you may want to ask 
 me questions, and I shall not be here much longer. 
 Let publishing wait till you are confident that publica- 
 tion can do no harm ; and above all, say nothing to be- 
 tray the whereabouts of Erewhon, beyond admitting 
 (which I fear I have already done) that it is in the 
 Southern hemisphere." 
 
 These instructions I have religiously obeyed. For 
 the first days after his return, my father had few at- 
 
14 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 tacks of loss of memory, and I was in hopes that his 
 former health of mind would return when he found 
 himself in his old surroundings. During these days 
 he poured forth the story of his adventures so fast, 
 that if I had not had a fancy for acquiring shorthand, 
 I should not have been able to keep pace with him. I 
 repeatedly urged him not to overtax his strength, but 
 he was oppressed by the fear that if he did not speak 
 at once, he might never be able to tell me all he had 
 to say; I had, therefore, to submit, though seeing 
 plainly enough that he was only hastening the complete 
 paralysis which he so greatly feared. 
 
 Sometimes his narrative would be coherent for pages 
 together, and he could answer any questions without 
 hesitation ; at others, he was now here and now there, 
 and if I tried to keep him to the order of events he 
 would say that he had forgotten intermediate inci- 
 dents, but that they would probably come back to him, 
 and I should perhaps be able to put them in their 
 proper places. 
 
 After about ten days he seemed satisfied that I had 
 got all the facts, and that with the help of the pam- 
 phlets which he had brought with him I should be able 
 to make out a connected story. "Remember,*' he said, 
 "that I thought I was quite well so long as I was in 
 Erewhon, and do not let me appear as anything else." 
 
 When he had fully delivered himself, he seemed 
 easier in his mind, but before a month had passed he 
 became completely paralysed, and though he lingered 
 till the beginning of June, he was seldom more than 
 dimly conscious of what was going on around him. 
 
 His death robbed me of one who had been a very 
 kind and upright elder brother rather than a father; 
 
Ups and Downs 15 
 
 and so strongly have I felt his influence still present, 
 living and working, as I believe for better within me, 
 that I did not hesitate to copy the epitaph which he saw 
 in the Musical Bank at Fairmead,* and to have it in- 
 scribed on the very simple monument which he desired 
 should alone mark his grave. 
 
 The foregoing was written in the summer of 1891 ; 
 what I now add should be dated December 3, 1900. If, 
 in the course of my work, I have misrepresented my 
 father, as I fear I may have sometimes done, I would 
 ask my readers to remember that no man can tell 
 another's story without some involuntary misrepresen- 
 tation both of facts and characters. They will, of 
 course, see that *'Erewhon Revisited" is written by one 
 who has far less literary skill than the author of "Ere- 
 whon" ; but again I would ask indulgence on the score 
 of youth, and the fact that this is my first book. It 
 was written nearly ten years ago, i.e., in the months 
 from March to August, 1891, but for reasons already 
 given it could not then be made public. I have now 
 received permission, and therefore publish the follow- 
 ing chapters, exactly, or very nearly exactly, as they 
 were left when I had finished editing my father's dia- 
 ries, and the notes I took down from his own mouth — 
 with the exception, of course, of these last few lines, 
 hurriedly written as I am on the point of leaving Eng- 
 land, of the additions I made in 1892, on returning 
 from my own three hours' stay in Erewhon, and of the 
 Postscript. 
 
 * See Chapter X. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 TO THE FOOT OF THE PASS INTO EREWHON 
 
 When my father reached the colony for which he 
 had left England some twenty-tvv^o years previously, 
 he bought a horse, and started up country on the even- 
 ing of the day after his arrival, which was, as I have 
 said, on one of the last days of November, 1890. He 
 had taken an English saddle with him, and a couple 
 of roomy and strongly made saddle-bags. In these he 
 packed his money, his nuggets, some tea, sugar, to- 
 bacco, salt, a flask of brandy, matches, and as many 
 ship's biscuits as he thought he was likely to want ; he 
 took no meat, for he could supply himself from some 
 accommodation-house or sheep-station, when nearing 
 the point after which he would have to begin camping 
 out. He rolled his Erewhonian dress and small toilette 
 necessaries inside a warm red blanket, and strapped 
 the roll on to the front part of his saddle. On to other 
 D's, with which his saddle was amply provided, he 
 strapped his Erewhonian boots, a tin pannikin, and a 
 billy that would hold about a quart. I should, per- 
 haps, explain to English readers that a billy is a tin 
 can, the name for which (doubtless of French Cana- 
 dian origin) is derived from the words ''faire houillir." 
 He also took with him a pair of hobbles and a small 
 hatchet. 
 
 He spent three whole days in riding across the plains, 
 
 16 
 
To the Pass 17 
 
 and was struck with the very small signs of change that 
 he could detect, but the fall in wool, and the failure, 
 so far, to establish a frozen meat trade, had prevented 
 any material development of the resources of the coun- 
 try. When he had got to the front ranges, he followed 
 up the river next to the north of the one that he had 
 explored years ago, and from the head waters of which 
 he had been led to discover the only practicable pass 
 into Erewhon. He did this, partly to avoid the terribly 
 dangerous descent on to the bed of the more northern 
 river, and partly to escape being seen by shepherds or 
 bullock-drivers who might remember him. 
 
 If he had attempted to get through the gorge of this 
 river in 1870, he would have found it impassable; but 
 a few river-bed flats had been discovered above the 
 gorge, on which there was now a shepherd's hut, and 
 on the discovery of these flats a narrow horse track had 
 been made from one end of the gorge to the other. 
 
 He was hospitably entertained at the shepherd's 
 hut just mentioned, which he reached on Monday, De- 
 cember I. He told the shepherd in charge of it that 
 he had come to see if he could find traces of a large 
 wingless bird, whose existence had been reported as 
 having been discovered among the extreme head 
 waters of the river. 
 
 "Be careful, sir," said the shepherd; "the river is 
 very dangerous ; several people — one only about a year 
 ago — have left this hut, and though their horses and 
 their camps have been found, their bodies have not. 
 When a great fresh comes down, it would carry a body 
 out to sea in twenty-four hours." 
 
 He evidently had no idea that there was a pass 
 
l8 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 through the ranges up the river, which might explain 
 the disappearance of an explorer. 
 
 Next day my father began to ascend the river. There 
 v^^as so much tangled growth still unburnt wherever 
 there was room for it to grow, and so much swamp, 
 that my father had to keep almost entirely to the river- 
 bed — and here there was a good deal of quicksand. 
 The stones also were often large for some distance to- 
 gether, and he had to cross and recross streams of the 
 river more than once, so that though he travelled all 
 day with the exception of a couple of hours for dinner, 
 he had not made more than some five and twenty miles 
 when he reached a suitable camping ground, where he 
 unsaddled his horse, hobbled him, and turned him out 
 to feed. The grass was beginning to seed, so that 
 though it was none too plentiful, what there was of it 
 made excellent feed. 
 
 He lit his fire, made himself some tea, ate his cold 
 mutton and biscuits, and lit his pipe, exactly as he had 
 done twenty years before. There was the clear starlit 
 sky, the rushing river, and the stunted trees on the 
 mountain-side; the woodhens cried, and the "more- 
 pork'' hooted out her two monotonous notes exactly as 
 they had done years since ; one moment, and time had 
 so flown backwards that youth came bounding back 
 to him with the return of his youth's surroundings ; the 
 next, and the intervening twenty years — most of them 
 grim ones — rose up mockingly before him, and the 
 buoyancy of hope yielded to the despondency of ad- 
 mitted failure. By and by buoyancy reasserted itself, 
 and, soothed by the peace and beauty of the night, he 
 wrapped himself up in his blanket and dropped off into 
 a dreamless slumber. 
 
To the Pass 19 
 
 Next morning, i.e.j December 3, he rose soon after 
 dawn, bathed in a backwater of the river, got his break- 
 fast, found his horse on the river-bed, and started as 
 soon as he had duly packed and loaded. He had now 
 to cross streams of the river and recross them more 
 often than on the preceding day, and this, though his 
 horse took well to the water, required care ; for he was 
 anxious not to wet his saddle-bags, and it was only 
 by crossing at the wide, smooth, water above a rapid, 
 and by picking places where the river ran in two or 
 three streams, that he could find fords where his prac- 
 tised eye told him that the water would not be above 
 his horse's belly — for the river was of great volume. 
 Fortunately, there had been a late fall of snow on the 
 higher ranges, and the river was, for the summer sea- 
 son, low. 
 
 Towards evening, having travelled, so far as he 
 could guess, some twenty or five and twenty miles ( for 
 he had made another mid-day halt), he reached the 
 place, which he easily recognised, as that where he 
 had camped before crossing to the pass that led into 
 Erewhon. It was the last piece of ground that could 
 be called a flat (though it was in reality only the sloping 
 delta of a stream that descended from the pass) before 
 reaching a large glacier that had encroached on the 
 river-bed, which it traversed at right angles for a con- 
 siderable distance. 
 
 Here he again camped, hobbled his horse, and turned 
 him adrift, hoping that he might again find him some 
 two or three months hence, for there was a good deal 
 of sweet grass here and there, with sow-thistle and 
 anise ; and the coarse tussock grass would be in full seed 
 shortly, which alone would keep him going for as long 
 
20 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 a time as my father expected to be away. Little did 
 he think that he should want him again so shortly. 
 
 Having attended to his horse, he got his supper, and 
 while smoking his pipe congratulated himself on the 
 way in which something had smoothed away all the 
 obstacles that had so nearly baffled him on his earlier 
 journey. Was he being lured on to his destruction by 
 some malicious fiend, or befriended by one who had 
 compassion on him and wished him well? His natu- 
 rally sanguine temperament incHned him to adopt the 
 friendly spirit theory, in the peace of which he again 
 laid himself down to rest, and slept soundly from dark 
 till dawn. 
 
 In the morning, though the water was somewhat icy, 
 he again bathed, and then put on his Erewhonian boots 
 and dress. He stowed his European clothes, with some 
 difficulty, into his saddle-bags. Herein also he left his 
 case full of English sovereigns, his spare pipes, his 
 purse, which contained two pounds in gold and seven or 
 eight shillings, part of his stock of tobacco, and what- 
 ever provision was left him, except the meat — which 
 he left for sundry hawks and parrots that were eyeing 
 his proceedings apparently without fear of man. His 
 nuggets he concealed in the secret pockets of which I 
 have already spoken, keeping one bag alone acces- 
 sible. 
 
 He had had his hair and beard cut short on ship- 
 board the day before he landed. These he now dyed 
 with a dye that he had brought from England, and 
 which in a few minutes turned them very nearly black. 
 He also stained his face and hands deep brown. He 
 hung his saddle and bridle, his English boots, and his 
 saddle-bags on the highest bough that he could reach, 
 
To the Pass 21 
 
 and made them fairly fast with strips of flax leaf, for 
 thene was some stunted flax growing on the ground 
 where he had camped. He feared that, do what he 
 might, they would not escape the inquisitive thievish- 
 ness of the parrots, whose strong beaks could easily cut 
 leather ; but he could do nothing more. It occurs to me, 
 though my father never told me so, that it was perhaps 
 with a view to these birds that he had chosen to put his 
 English sovereigns into a metal box, with a clasp to 
 it which would defy them. , 
 
 He made a roll of his blanket, and slung it over his 
 shoulder; he also took his pipe, tobacco, a little tea, a 
 few ship's biscuits, and his billy and pannikin ; matches 
 and salt go without saying. When he had thus ordered 
 everything as nearly to his satisfaction as he could, he 
 looked at his watch for the last time, as he believed, 
 till many weeks should have gone by, and found it to 
 be about seven o'clock. Remembering what trouble it 
 had got him into years before, he took down his sad- 
 dle-bags, reopened them, and put the watch inside. He 
 then set himself to climb the mountain side, towards 
 the saddle on which he had seen the statues. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 MY FATHER WHILE CAMPING IS ACCOSTED BY 
 PROFESSORS HANKY AND PANKY 
 
 My father found the ascent more fatiguing than 
 he remembered it to have been. The climb, he said, 
 was steady, and took him between four and five hours, 
 as near as he could guess, now that he had no watch; 
 but it offered nothing that could be called a difficulty, 
 and the watercourse that came down from the saddle 
 was a sufficient guide ; once or twice there were water- 
 falls, but they did not seriously delay him. 
 
 After he had climbed some three thousand feet, he 
 began to be on the alert for some sound of ghostly 
 chanting from the statues ; but he heard nothing, and 
 toiled on till he came to a sprinkling of fresh snow- 
 part of the fall which he had observed on the preceding 
 day as having whitened the higher mountains ; he knew, 
 therefore, that he must now be nearing the saddle. The 
 snow grew rapidly deeper, and by the time he reached 
 the statues the ground was covered to a depth of two 
 or three inches. 
 
 He found the statues smaller than he had expected. 
 He had said in his book — written many months after 
 he had seen them — that they were about six times the 
 size of life, but he now thought that four or five times 
 would have been enough to say. Their mouths were 
 much clogged with snow, so that even though there had 
 
 22 
 
Hanky and Panky 23 
 
 been a strong wind (which there was not) they would 
 not have chanted. In other respects he found them not 
 less mysteriously impressive than at first. He walked 
 two or three times all round them, and then went on. 
 
 The snow did not continue far down, but before 
 long my father entered a thick bank of cloud, and had 
 to feel his way cautiously along the stream that de- 
 scended from the pass. It was some two hours before 
 he emerged into clear air, and found himself on the 
 level bed of an old lake now grassed over. He had 
 quite forgotten this feature of the descent — perhaps the 
 clouds had hung over it ; he was overjoyed, however, to 
 find that the flat ground abounded with a kind of quail, 
 larger than ours, and hardly, if at all, smaller than a 
 partridge. The abundance of these quails surprised 
 him, for he did not remember them as plentiful any- 
 where on the Erewhonian side of the mountains. 
 
 The Erewhonian quail, like its now nearly, if not 
 quite, extinct New Zealand congener, can take three 
 successive flights of a few yards each, but then be- 
 comes exhausted; hence quails are only found on 
 ground that is never burned, and where there are no 
 wild animals to molest them; the cats and dogs that 
 accompany European civilisation soon exterminate 
 them; my father, therefore, felt safe in concluding that 
 he was still far from any village. Moreover, he could 
 see no sheep or goat's dung ; and this surprised him, for 
 he thought he had found signs of pasturage much 
 higher than this. Doubtless, he said to himself, when 
 he wrote his book he had forgotten how long the de- 
 scent had been. But it was odd, for the grass was good 
 feed enough, and ought, he considered, to have been 
 well stocked. 
 
24 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 Tired with his climb, during which he had not 
 rested to take food, but had eaten biscuits, as he 
 walked, he gave himself a good long rest, and when 
 refreshed, he ran down a couple of dozen quails, some 
 of which he meant to eat when he camped for the night, 
 while the others would help him out of a difficulty 
 which had been troubling him for some time. 
 
 What was he to say when people asked him, as they 
 were sure to do, how he was living? And how was he 
 to get enough Erewhonian money to keep him going 
 till he could find some safe means of selling a few of 
 his nuggets? He had had a little Erewhonian money 
 when he went up in the balloon, but had thrown it over, 
 with everything else except the clothes he wore and his 
 MSS., when the balloon was nearing the water. He 
 had nothing with him that he dared offer for sale, and 
 though he had plenty of gold, was in reality penniless. 
 
 When, therefore, he saw the quails, he again felt as 
 though some friendly spirit was smoothing his way 
 before him. What more easy than to sell them at Cold- 
 harbour (for so the name of the town in which he had 
 been imprisoned should be translated), where he knew 
 they were a delicacy, and would fetch him the value 
 of an English shilling a piece? 
 
 It took him between two and three hours to catch 
 two dozen. When he had thus got what he considered 
 a sufficient stock, he tied their legs together with rushes, 
 and ran a stout stick through the whole lot. Soon 
 afterwards he came upon a wood of stunted pines, 
 which, though there was not much undergrowth, never- 
 theless afforded considerable shelter and enabled him to 
 gather wood enough to make himself a good fire. This 
 was acceptable, for though the days were long, it was 
 
Hanky and Panky 25 
 
 now evening, and as soon as the sun had gone the air 
 became crisp and frosty. 
 
 Here he resolved to pass the night. He chose a part 
 where the trees were thickest, Ht his fire, plucked and 
 cleaned four quails, filled his billy with water from the 
 stream hard by, made tea in his pannikin, grilled two 
 of his birds on the embers, ate them, and when he had 
 done all this, he lit his pipe and began to think things 
 over. 
 
 *'So far so good," said he to himself ; but hardly 
 had the words passed through his mind before he was 
 startled by the sound of voices, still at some distance, 
 but evidently drawing towards him. 
 
 He instantly gathered up his billy, pannikin, tea, 
 biscuits, and blanket, all of which he had determined 
 to discard and hide on the following morning ; every- 
 thing that could betray him he carried full haste into 
 the wood some few yards off, in the direction opposite 
 to that from which the voices were coming, but he let 
 his quails lie where they were, and put his pipe and 
 tobacco in his pocket. 
 
 The voices drew nearer and nearer, and it was all 
 my father could do to get back and sit down innocently 
 by his fire, before he could hear what was being said. 
 
 'Thank goodness," said one of the speakers (of 
 course in the Erewhonian language), "we seem to be 
 finding somebody at last. I hope it is not some 
 poacher; we had better be careful." 
 
 "Nonsense !" said the other. "It must be one of the 
 rangers. No one would dare to light a fire while poach- 
 ing on the King's preserves. What o'clock do you 
 make it?" 
 
 "Half after nine." And the watch was still in the 
 
26 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 speaker's hand as he emerged from darkness into the 
 glowing light of the fire. My father glanced at it, 
 and saw that it was exactly like the one he had worn on 
 entering Erewhon nearly twenty years previously. 
 
 The watch, however, was a very small matter; the 
 dress of these two men (for there were only two) was 
 far more disconcerting. They were not in the Ere- 
 whonian costume. The one was dressed like an Eng- 
 lishman or would-be Englishman, while the other was 
 wearing the same kind of clothes but turned the wrong 
 way round, so that when his face was towards my 
 father his body seemed to have its back towards him, 
 and znce versa. The man's head, in fact, appeared to 
 have been screwed right round; and yet it was plain 
 that if he were stripped he would be found built like 
 other people. 
 
 What could it all mean ? The men were about fifty 
 years old. They were well-to-do people, well clad, well 
 fed, and were felt instinctively by my father to belong 
 to the academic classes. That one of them should be 
 dressed like a sensible Englishman dismayed my father 
 as much as that the other should have a watch, and 
 look as if he had just broken out of Bedlam, or as King 
 Dagobert must have looked if he had worn all his 
 clothes as he is said to have worn his breeches. Both 
 wore their clothes so easily — for he who wore them 
 reversed had evidently been measured with a view to 
 this absurd fashion^ — that it was plain their dress was 
 habitual. 
 
 My father was alarmed as well as astounded, for he 
 saw that what little plan of a campaign he had formed 
 must be reconstructed, and he had no idea in what di- 
 rection his next move should be taken; but he was a 
 
Hanky and Panky 27 
 
 ready man, and knew that when people have taken any 
 idea into their heads, a little confirmation will fix it. 
 A first idea is like a strong^ seedling; it will grow if 
 it can. 
 
 In less time than it will have taken the reader to 
 get through the last foregoing paragraphs, my father 
 took up the cue furnished him by the second speaker. 
 
 **Yes," said he, going boldly up to this gentleman, 
 "I am one of the rangers, and it is my duty to ask you 
 what you are doing here upon the King^s preserves." 
 
 "Quite so, my man," was the rejoinder. "We have 
 been to see the statues at the head of the pass, and have 
 a permit from the Mayor of Sunch'ston to enter upon 
 the preserves. We lost ourselves in the thick fog, both 
 going and coming back." 
 
 My father inwardly blessed the fog. He did not 
 catch the name of the town, but presently found that 
 it was commonly pronounced as I have written it. 
 
 "Be pleased to show it me," said my father in his 
 politest manner. On this a document was handed to 
 him. 
 
 I will here explain that I shall translate the names of 
 men and places, as well as the substance of the docu- 
 ment; and I shall translate all names in future. In- 
 deed I have just done so in the case of Sunch'ston. As 
 an example, let me explain that the true Erewhonian 
 names for Hanky and Panky, to whom the reader will 
 be immediately introduced, are Sukoh and Sukop — 
 names too cacophonous to be read with pleasure by the 
 English public. I must ask the reader to believe' 
 that in all cases I am doing my best to give the spirit 
 of the original name. 
 
 I would also express my regret that my father did 
 
28 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 not either uniformly keep to the true Erewhonian 
 names, as in the cases of Senoj, Nosnibor, Ydgrun, 
 Thims, &c. — names which occur constantly in Ere- 
 whon — or else invariably invent a name, as he did 
 whenever he considered the true name impossible. My 
 poor mother's name, for example, was really Nna 
 Haras, and Mahaina's Enaj Ysteb, which he dared 
 not face. He, therefore, gave these characters the 
 first names that euphony suggested, without any at- 
 tempt at translation. Rightly or wrongly, I have de- 
 termined to keep consistently to translation for all 
 names not used in my father's book; and throughout, 
 whether as regards names or conversations, I shall 
 translate with the freedom without which no transla- 
 tion rises above construe level. 
 
 Let us now return to the permit. The earlier part 
 of the document was printed, and ran as follows : 
 
 "Extracts from the Act for the afforesting of cer- 
 tain lands lying between the town of Sunchildston, for- 
 merly called Coldharbour, and the mountains which 
 bound the kingdom of Erewhon, passed in the year 
 Three, being the eighth year of the reign of his Most 
 Gracious Majesty King Well-beloved the Twenty- 
 Second. 
 
 'Whereas it is expedient to prevent any of his 
 Majesty's subjects from trying to cross over into un- 
 known lands beyond the mountains, and in the manner 
 to protect his Majesty's kingdom from intrusion on the 
 part of foreign devils, it is hereby enacted that certain 
 lands, more particularly described hereafter, shall be 
 afforested and set apart as a hunting-ground for his 
 Majesty's private use. 
 
Hanky and Panky 29 
 
 *'It is also enacted that the Rangers and Under- 
 rangers shall be required to immediately kill without 
 parley any foreign devil whom they may encounter 
 coming from the other side of the mountains. They 
 are to weight the body, and throw it into the Blue Pool 
 under the waterfall shown on the plan hereto annexed ; 
 but on pain of imprisonment for life they shall not re- 
 serve to their own use any article belonging to the de- 
 ceased. Neither shall they divulge what they have done 
 to any one save the Head Ranger, who shall report the 
 circumstances of the case fully and minutely to his 
 Majesty. 
 
 ''As regards any of his Majesty's subjects who may 
 be taken while trespassing on his Majesty's preserves 
 without a special permit signed by the Mayor of Sun- 
 childston, or any who may be convicted of poaching 
 on the said preserves, the Rangers shall forthwith ar- 
 rest them and bring them before the Mayor of Sun- 
 childston, who shall enquire into their antecedents, and 
 punish them with such term of imprisonment, with 
 hard labour, as he may think fit, provided that no such 
 term be of less duration that twelve calendar months. 
 
 "For the further provisions of the said Act, those 
 whom it may concern are referred to the Act in full, 
 a copy of which may be seen at the official residence of 
 the Mayor of Sunchildston." 
 
 Then followed in MS. ''XIX. xii. 29. Permit Pro- 
 fessor Hanky, Royal Professor of Worldly Wisdom, at 
 Bridge ford, seat of learning, city of the people who 
 are above suspicion, and Professor Panky, Royal Pro- 
 fessor of Unworldly Wisdom in the said city, or either 
 of them" [here the MS. ended, the rest of the permit 
 being in print] *'to pass freely during the space of 
 
30 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 forty-eight hours from the date hereof, over the King's 
 preserves, provided, under pain of imprisonment with 
 hard labour for twelve months, that they do not kill, 
 nor cause to be killed, nor eat, if another have killed, 
 any one or more of his Majesty's quails." 
 
 The signature was such a scrawl that my father 
 could not read it, but underneath was printed, "Mayor 
 of Sunchildston, formerly called Coldharbour." 
 
 What a mass of information did not my father 
 gather as he read, but what a far greater mass did he 
 not see that he must get hold of ere he could recon- 
 struct his plans intelligently. 
 
 "The year three," indeed ; and XIX. xii. 20, in Ro- 
 man and Arabic characters ! There were no such char- 
 acters when he was in Erewhon before. It flashed 
 upon him that he had repeatedly shewn them to the 
 Nosnibors, and had once even written them down. It 
 could not be that . . . No, it was impossible ; and yet 
 there was the European dress, aimed at by the one Pro- 
 fessor, and attained by the other. Again "XIX." what 
 was that? "xii." might do for December, but it was 
 now the 4th of December not the 29th. "Afforested," 
 too ? Then that was why he had seen no sheep tracks. 
 And how about the quails he had so innocently killed ? 
 What would have happened if he had tried to sell them 
 in Coldharbour? What other like fatal error might he 
 not ignorantly commit? And why had Coldharbour 
 become Sunchildston? 
 
 These thoughts raced through my poor father's 
 brain as he slowly perused the paper handed to him 
 by the Professors. To give himself time he feigned to 
 be a poor scholar, but when he had delayed as long as 
 
Hanky and Panky 31 
 
 he dared, he returned it to the one who had given it 
 him. Without changing a muscle he said — 
 
 "Your permit, sir, is quite regular. You can either 
 stay here the night or go on to Sunchildston as you 
 think fit. May I ask which of you two gentlemen is 
 Professor Hanky, and which Professor Panky?" 
 
 "My name is Panky," said the one who had the 
 watch, who wore his clothes reversed, and who had 
 thought my father might be a poacher. 
 
 "And mine Hanky," said the other. 
 
 "What do you think, Panky," he added, turning to 
 his brother Professor, "had we not better stay here 
 till sunrise? We are both of us tired, and this fellow 
 can make us a good fire. It is very dark, and there will 
 be no moon this two hours. We are hungry, but we 
 can hold out till we get to Sunchildston; it cannot be 
 more than eight or nine miles further down." 
 
 Panky assented, but then, turning sharply to my 
 father, he said, "My man, what are you doing in the 
 forbidden dress? Why are you not in ranger's uni- 
 form, and what is the meaning of all those quails?" 
 For his seedling idea that my father was in reality a 
 poacher was doing its best to grow. 
 
 Quick as thought my father answered, "The Head 
 Ranger sent me a message this morning to deliver him 
 three dozen quails at Sunchildston by to-morrow after- 
 noon. As for the dress, we can run the quails down 
 quicker in it, and he says nothing to us so long as we 
 only wear out old clothes and put on our uniforms be- 
 fore we near the town. My uniform is in the ranger's 
 shelter an hour and a half higher up the valley." 
 
 "See what comes," said Panky, "of having a whip- 
 persnapper not yet twenty years old in the responsible 
 
32 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 post of Head Ranger. As for this fellow, he may be 
 speaking the truth, but I distrust him." 
 
 "The man is all right, Panky," said Hanky, "and 
 seems to be a decent fellow enough." Then to my 
 father, "How many brace have you got?" And he 
 looked at them a little wistfully. 
 
 "I have been at it all day, sir, and I have only 
 got eight brace. I must run down ten more brace to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "I see, I see.'* Then, turning to Panky he said, "Of 
 course, they are wanted for the Mayor's banquet on 
 Sunday. By the way, we have not yet received our in- 
 vitation; I suppose we shall find it when we get back 
 to Sunchildston." 
 
 "Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!" groaned my father in- 
 wardly; but he changed not a muscle of his face, and 
 said stolidly to Professor Hanky, "I think you must be 
 right, sir; but there was nothing said about it to me. 
 I was only told to bring the birds." 
 
 Thus tenderly did he water the Professor's second 
 seedling. But Panky had his seedling too, and Cain- 
 like, was jealous that Hanky's should flourish while his 
 own was withering. 
 
 "And what, pray, my man," he said somewhat per- 
 emptorily to my father, "are those two plucked quails 
 doing? Were you to deliver them plucked? And 
 what bird did those bones belong to which I see lying 
 by the fire with the flesh all eaten off them? Are the 
 under-rangers allowed not only to wear the forbidden 
 dress but to eat the King's quails as well ?" 
 
 The form in which the question was asked gave my 
 father his cue. He laughed heartily, and said, "Why, 
 sir, those plucked birds are landrails, not quails, and 
 
Hanky and Panky 33 
 
 those bones are landrail bones. Look at this thigh- 
 bone ; was there ever a quail with such a bone as that ?" 
 
 I cannot say whether or no Professor Panky was 
 really deceived by the sweet effrontery with which my 
 father proffered him the bone. If he was taken in, 
 his answer was) dictated simply by a donnish unwil- 
 lingness to allow any one to be better informed on any 
 subject than he was himself. 
 
 My father, when I suggested this to him, would not 
 hear of it. "Oh, no," he said; "the man knew well 
 enough that I was lying." However this may be, the 
 Professor's manner changed. 
 
 "You are right," he said, "I thought they were 
 landrail bones, but was not sure till I had one in my 
 hand. I see, too, that the plucked birds are landrails, 
 but there is little light, and I have not often seen them 
 without their feathers." 
 
 "I think," said my father to me, "that Hanky knew 
 what his friend meant, for he said, Tanky, I am very 
 hungry.' " 
 
 "Oh, Hanky, Hanky," said the other, modulating his 
 harsh voice till it was quite pleasant. "Don't corrupt 
 the poor man." 
 
 "Panky, drop that ; we are not at Bridgef ord now ; I 
 am very hungry, and I believe half those birds are not 
 quails but landrails." 
 
 My father saw he was safe. He said, "Perhaps 
 some of them might prove to be so, sir, under certain 
 circumstances. I am a poor man, sir." 
 
 "Come, come," said Hanky; and he slipped a sum 
 equal to about half-a-crown into my father's hand. 
 
 "I do not know what you mean, sir," said my father, 
 
34 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 "and if I did, half-a-crown would not be nearly 
 enough." 
 
 "Hanky/' said Panky, "you must get this fellow to 
 give you lessons." 
 
CHAPTER IVi 
 
 my father overhears more of hanky and 
 panky's conversation 
 
 My father, schooled under adversity, knew that it 
 was never well to press advantage too far. He took 
 the equivalent of five shillings for three brace, which 
 was somewhat less than the birds would have been 
 worth when things were as he had known them. More- 
 over, he consented to take a shilling's worth of Musical 
 Bank money, which (as he has explained in his book) 
 has no appreciable value outside these banks. He did 
 this because he knew that it would be respectable to 
 be seen carrying a little Musical Bank money, and also 
 because he wished to give some of it to the British 
 Museum, where he knew that this curious coinage was 
 unrepresented. But the coins struck him as being much 
 thinner and smaller than he had remembered them. 
 
 It was Panky, not Hanky, who had given him the 
 Musical Bank money. Panky was the greater humbug 
 of the two, for he would humbug even himself — a 
 thing, by the way, not very hard to do ; and yet he was 
 the less successful humbug, for he could humbug no 
 one who was worth humbugging — not for long. 
 Hanky's occasional frankness put people off their 
 guard. He was the mere common, superficial, perfunc- 
 tory Professor, who, being a Professor, would of 
 course profess, but would not lie more than was in the 
 
 35 
 
36 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 bond ; he was log-rolled and log-rolling, but still, in a 
 robust wolfish fashion, human. 
 
 Panky, on the other hand was hardly human ; he 
 had thrown himself so earnestly into his work, that 
 he had become a living lie. If he had had to play the 
 part of Othello he would have blacked himself all over 
 and very likely smothered his Desdemona in good 
 earnest. Hanky would hardly have blacked himself 
 behind the ears and his Desdemona would have been 
 quite safe. 
 
 Philosophers are like quails in the respect that they 
 can take two or three flights of imagination but rarely 
 more without an interval of repose. The Professors 
 had imagined my father to be a poacher and a ranger ; 
 they had imagined the quails to be wanted for Sun- 
 day's banquet; they had imagined that they imagined 
 (at least Panky had) that they were about to eat 
 landrails ; they were now exhausted and cowered down 
 into the grass of their ordinary conversation paying 
 no more attention to my father than if he had been a 
 dog. He, poor man, drank in every word they said, 
 while seemingly intent on nothing but his quails, each 
 one of which he cut up with a knife borrowed from 
 Hanky. Two had been plucked already, so he laid 
 these at once upon the clear embers. 
 
 "I do not know wha.' we are to do with ourselves," 
 said Hanky, "till Sunday. To-day is Thursday — it 
 is the twenty-ninth, is it not? Yes, of course it is — 
 Sunday is the first. Besides, it is on our permit. To- 
 morrow we can rest; what, I wonder, can we do on 
 Saturday? But the others will be here then, and we 
 can tell them about the statues." 
 
The Professors Converse 37 
 
 **Yes, but mind you do not blurt out anything about 
 the landrails." 
 
 ''I think we may tell Dr. Downie." 
 
 *Tell nobody," said Panky. 
 
 Then they talked about the statues, concerning which 
 it was plain that nothing was known. But my father 
 soon broke in upon their conversation with the first in- 
 stalment of quails, which a few minutes had sufficed 
 to cook. 
 
 *'What a delicious bird a quail is,*' said Hanky. 
 
 "Landrail, Hanky, landrail," said the other re- 
 proachfully. 
 
 Having finished the first birds in a very few minutes 
 they returned to the statues. 
 
 "Old Mrs. Nosnibor," said Panky, "says the Sun- 
 child told her they were symbolic of ten tribes who had 
 incurred the displeasure of the sun, his father." 
 
 I make no comment on my father's feelings. 
 
 "Of the sun! his fiddlesticks' ends," retorted Hanky. 
 "He never called the sun his father. Besides, from all 
 I have heard about him, I take it he was a precious 
 idiot." 
 
 "O Hanky, Hanky! you will wreck the whole thing 
 if you ever allow yourself to talk in that way." 
 
 "You are more likely to wreck it yourself, Panky, by 
 never doing so. People like being deceived, but they 
 like also to have an inkling of their own deception, and 
 you never inkle them." 
 
 "The Queen," said Panky, returning to the statues, 
 "sticks to it that . . ." 
 
 "Here comes another bird," interrupted Hanky; 
 "never mind about the Queen." 
 
38 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 The bird was soon eaten, whereon Panky again took 
 up his parable about the Queen. 
 
 "The Queen says they are connected with the cult 
 of the ancient Goddess Kiss-me-quick." 
 
 "What if they are? But the Queen sees Kiss-me- 
 quick in everything. Another quail, if you please, Mr. 
 Ranger." 
 
 My father brought up another bird almost directly. 
 Silence while it was being eaten. 
 
 "Talking of the Sunchild," said Panky; "did you 
 ever see him?" 
 
 "Never set eyes on him, and hope I never shall." 
 
 And so on till the last bird was eaten. 
 
 "Fellow," said Panky, "fetch some more wood; the 
 fire is nearly dead." 
 
 "I can find no more, sir," said my father, who was 
 afraid lest some genuine ranger might be attracted by 
 the light, and was determined to let it go out as soon 
 as he had done cooking. 
 
 "Never mind," said Hanky, "the moon will be up 
 soon." 
 
 "And now. Hanky," said Panky, "tell me what you 
 propose to say on Sunday. I suppose you have pretty 
 well made up your mind about it by this time." 
 
 "Pretty nearly. I shall keep it much on the usual 
 lines. I shall dwell upon the benighted state from 
 which the Sunchild rescued us, and shall show how the 
 Musical Banks, by at once taking up the movement, 
 have been the blessed means of its now almost uni- 
 versal success. I shall talk about the immortal glory 
 shed upon Sunch'ston by the Sunchild's residence in 
 the prison, and wind up with the Sunchild Evidence 
 Society, and an earnest appeal for funds to endow the 
 
The Professors Converse 39 
 
 canonries required for the due service of the temple. 
 
 "Temple! What temple?" groaned my father in- 
 wardly. 
 
 '*And what are you going to do about the four black 
 and white horses ?'' 
 
 "Stick to them, of course — unless I make them six." 
 
 "I really do not see why they might not have been 
 horses." 
 
 "I dare say you do not/' returned the other drily, 
 **but they were black and white storks, and you know 
 that as well as I do. Still, they have caught on, and 
 they are in the altar-piece, prancing and curvetting 
 magnificently, so I shall trot them out." 
 
 "Altar-piece ! Altar-piece !" again groaned my father 
 inwardly. 
 
 He need not have groaned, for when he came to see 
 the so-called altar-piece he found that the table above 
 which it was placed had nothing in common with 
 the altar in a Christian church. It was a mere table, 
 on which were placed two bowls full, of Musical Bank 
 coins; two cashiers, who sat on either side of it, dis- 
 pensed a few of these to all comers, while there was a 
 box in front of it wherein people deposited coin of the 
 realm according to their will or ability. The idea of 
 sacrifice was not contemplated, and the position of the 
 table, as well as the name given to it, was an instance of 
 the way in which the Erewhonians had caught names 
 and practices from my father, without understanding 
 what they either were or meant. So, again, when 
 Professor Hanky had spoken of canonries, he had 
 none but the vaguest idea of w^hat a canonry is. 
 
 I may add further that as a boy my father had had 
 his Bible well drilled into him, and never forgot it. 
 
40 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 Hence biblical passages and expressions had been often 
 in his mouth, as the effect of mere unconscious cere- 
 bration. The Erewhonians had caught many of these, 
 sometimes corrupting them so that they were hardly 
 recognizable. Things that he remembered having said 
 were continually meeting him during the few days of 
 his second visit, and it shocked him deeply to meet some 
 gross travesty of his own words, or of words more 
 sacred than his own, and yet to be unable to correct it. 
 *T wonder," he said to me, "that no one has ever hit 
 on this as a punishment for the damned in_ Hades." 
 
 Let me now return to Professor Hanky, whom I 
 fear that I have left too long. 
 
 "And of course," he continued, "I shall say all 
 sorts of pretty things about the Mayoress — for I sup- 
 pose we must not even think of her as Yram now." 
 
 "The Mayoress," replied Panky, "is a very danger- 
 ous woman; see how she stood out about the way in 
 which the Sunchild had worn his clothes before they 
 gave him the then Erewhonian dress. Besides, she is a 
 sceptic at heart, and so is that precious son of hers." 
 
 "She was quite right," said Hanky, with something 
 of a snort. "She brought him his dinner while he was 
 still wearing the clothes he came in, and if men do not 
 notice how a man wears his clothes, women do. Be- 
 sides, there are many living who saw him wear them." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Panky, "but we should never have 
 talked the King over if we had not humoured him on 
 this point. Yram nearly wrecked us by her obstinacy. 
 If we had not frightened her, and if your study, 
 Hanky, had not happened to have been burned . . ." 
 
 "Come, come, Panky, no more of that." 
 
 "Of course I do not doubt that it was an accident; 
 
The Professors Converse 41 
 
 nevertheless, if your study had not been accidentally 
 burned, on the very night the clothes were entrusted 
 to you for earnest, patient, careful, scientific investi- 
 gation — and Yram very nearly burned too — we should 
 never have carried it through. See what work we 
 had to get the King to allow the way in which the 
 clothes were worn to be a matter of opinion, not dogma. 
 What a pity is it that the clothes were not burned be- 
 fore the King's tailor had copied them." 
 
 Hanky laughed heartily enough. *'Yes," he said, 
 "it was touch and go. Why, I wonder, could not the 
 Queen have put the clothes on a dummy that would 
 show back from front ? As soon as it was brought into 
 the council chamber the King jumped to a conclusion, 
 and we had to bundle both dummy and Yram out of 
 the royal presence, for neither she nor the King would 
 budge an inch." 
 
 Even Panky smiled. "What could we do? The 
 common people almost worship Yram ; and so does her 
 husband, though her fair-haired eldest son was born 
 barely seven months after marriage. The people in 
 these parts like to think that the Sunchild's blood' is in 
 the country, and yet they swear through thick and 
 think that he is the Mayor's duly begotten offspring — 
 Faugh ! Do you think they would have stood his being 
 jobbed into the rangership by any one else but Yram?" 
 
 My father's feelings may be imagined, but I will not 
 here interrupt the Professors. 
 
 "Well, well," said Hanky ; "for men must rob and 
 women must job so long as the world goes on. I did 
 the best I could. The King would never have embraced 
 Sunchildism if I had not told him he was right; then, 
 when satisfied that we agreed with him, he yielded to 
 
42 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 popular prejudice and allowed the question to remain 
 open. One of his Royal Professors was to wear the 
 clothes one way, and the other the other/' 
 
 "My way of wearing them," said Panky, "is much 
 the most convenient." 
 
 "Not a bit of it," said Hanky warmly. On this the 
 two Professors fell out, and the discussion grew so hot 
 that my father interfered by advising them not to 
 talk so loud lest another ranger should hear them. "You 
 know,'' he said, "there are a good many landrail bones 
 lying about, and it might be awkward." 
 
 The Professors hushed at once. "By the way," said 
 Panky, after a pause, "it is very strange about those 
 footprints in the snow. The man had evidently walked 
 round the statues two or three times as though they 
 were strange to him, and he had certainly come from 
 the other side." 
 
 "It was one of the rangers," said Hanky impa- 
 tiently, "who had gone a little beyond the statues, and 
 come back again." 
 
 "Then we should have seen his footprints as he went. 
 I am glad I measured them." 
 
 "There is nothing in it ; but what were your meas- 
 urements?" 
 
 "Eleven inches by four and a half ; nails on the soles ; 
 one nail missing on the right foot and two on the left." 
 Then, turning to my father quickly, he said "My man, 
 allow me to have a look at your boots." 
 
 "Nonsense, Panky, nonsense!" 
 
 Now my father by this time was wondering whether 
 he should not set upon these two men, kill them if he 
 could, and make the best of his way back, but he had 
 still a card to play. 
 
The Professors Converse 43 
 
 "Certainly, sir/' said he, ''but I should tell you that 
 they are not my boots." 
 
 He took off his right boot and handed it to Panky. 
 
 "Exactly so! Eleven inches by four and a half and 
 one nail missing. And now, Mr. Ranger, will you 
 be good enough to explain how you became possessed 
 of that boot. You need not show me the other." And 
 he spoke like an examiner who was confident that he 
 could floor his examinee in znvd voce. 
 
 "You know our orders," answered my father, "you 
 have seen them on your permit. I met one of those 
 foreign devils from the other side, of whom we have 
 bad more than one lately; he came from out of the 
 clouds that hang higher up, and as he had no permit 
 and could not speak a word of our language, I gripped 
 him, flung him, and strangled him. Thus far I was 
 only obeying orders, but seeing how much better his 
 boots were than mine, and finding that they would fit 
 me, I resolved to keep them. You may be sure I should 
 not have done so if I had known there was snow on the 
 top of the pass." 
 ^ "He could not invent that," said Hanky; "it is plain 
 that he has not been up to the statues." 
 
 Panky was staggered. "And of course," said he 
 ironically, "you took nothing from this poor wretch 
 except his boots." 
 
 "Sir," said my father, "I will make a clean breast 
 of everything. I flung his body, his clothes, and my old 
 boots into the pool ; but I kept his blankets, some things 
 he used for cooking and some strange stuff that looks 
 like dried leaves, as well as a small bag of something 
 which I believe is gold. I thought I could sell the lot 
 
44 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 to some dealer in curiosities who would ask no ques- 
 tions." 
 
 *'And what, pray, have you done with all these 
 things?" 
 
 'They are here, sir.'* And as he spoke he dived 
 into the wood, returning with the blanket, billy, panni- 
 kin, tea and the little bag of nuggets which he had 
 kept accessible. 
 
 "This is very strange" said Hanky, who was begin- 
 ning to be afraid of my father when he learned that 
 he sometimes killed people. 
 
 Here the Professors talked hurriedly to one another 
 in a tongue which my father could not understand, but 
 which he felt sure was the hypothetical language of 
 which he has spoken in his book. 
 
 Presently Hanky said to my father quite civilly, 
 "And what, my good man, do you propose to do with 
 all these things? I should tell you at once that what 
 you take to be gold is nothing of the kind ; it is a base 
 metal, hardly, if at all, worth more than copper." 
 
 "I have had enough of them ; to-morrow morning I 
 shall take them with me to the Blue Pool, and drop 
 them into it." 
 
 "It is a pity you should do that," said Hanky mu- 
 singly : "the things are interesting as curiosities, and — 
 and — and — what will you take for them?" 
 
 "I could not do it, sir," answered my father. "I 
 
 would not do it, no, not for " and he named a sum 
 
 equivalent to about five pounds of our money. For he 
 wanted Erewhonian money, and thought it worth his 
 while to sacrifice his ten pounds' worth of nuggets in 
 order to get a supply of current coin. 
 
 Hanky tried to beat him down, assuring him that no 
 
The Professors Converse 45 
 
 curiosity dealer would give half as much, and my father 
 so far yielded as to take £4, los. in silver, which, as I 
 have already explained, would not be worth more than 
 half a sovereign in gold. At this figure a bargain was 
 struck, and the Professors paid up without offering him 
 a single Musical Bank coin. They wanted to include 
 the boots in the purchase, but here my father stood out. 
 
 But he could not stand out as regards another matter, 
 which caused him some anxiety. Panky insisted that 
 my father should give them a receipt for the money, 
 and there was an altercation between the Professors 
 on this point, much longer than I can here find space to 
 give. Hanky argued that a receipt was useless, inas- 
 much as it would be ruin to my father ever to refer 
 to the subject again. Panky, however, was anxious, 
 not lest my father should again claim the money, but 
 (though he did not say so outright) lest Hanky should 
 claim the whole purchase as his own. In the end 
 Panky, for a wonder, carried the day, and a receipt was 
 drawn up to the effect that the undersigned acknowl- 
 edged to have received from Professors Hanky and 
 Panky the sum of £4, los. (I translate the amount), as 
 joint purchasers of certain pieces of yellow ore, a blan- 
 ket, and sundry articles found without an owner in 
 the King's preserves. This paper was dated, as the 
 permit had been, XIX. xii. 29. 
 
 My father, generally so ready, was at his wits' end 
 for a name, and could think of none but Mr. Nosni- 
 bor's. Happily, remembering that this gentleman had 
 also been called Senoj — a name common enough in 
 Erewhon — he signed himself, ''Senoj, Under-ranger." 
 
 Panky was now satisfied. "We will put it in the 
 bag," he said, "with the pieces of yellow ore." 
 
46 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 "Put it where you like," said Hanky contemptu- 
 ously; and into the bag it was put. 
 
 When all was now concluded, my father laughingly 
 said, *'If you have dealt unfairly by me, I forgive you. 
 My motto is, Torgive us our trespasses, as we forgive 
 them that trespass against us.' " 
 
 ''Repeat those last words," said Panky eagerly. My 
 father was alarmed at his manner, but thought it safer 
 to repeat them. 
 
 ''You hear that, Hanky? I am convinced; I have 
 not another word to say. The man is a true Ere- 
 whonian; he has our corrupt reading of the Sunchild's 
 prayer." 
 
 * 'Please explain." 
 
 "Why, can you not see?" said Panky, who was by 
 way of being great at conjectural emendations. "Can 
 you not see how impossible it is that the Sunchild, or 
 any of the people to whom he declared (as we now 
 know provisionally) that he belonged, could have made 
 the forgiveness of his own sins depend on the readiness 
 with which he forgave other people? No man in his 
 senses would dream of such a thing. It would be 
 asking a supposed all-powerful being not to forgive his 
 sins at all, or at best to forgive them imperfectly. No ; 
 Yram got it wrong. She mistook 'but do not' for 'as 
 we.' The sound of the words is very much alike; the 
 correct reading should obviously be, 'Forgive us our 
 trespasses, but do not forgive them that trespass against 
 us.' This makes sense, and turns an impossible prayer 
 into one that goes straight to the heart of every one of 
 us." Then, turning to my father, he said, "You can 
 see this, my man, can you not, as soon as it is pointed 
 out to you ?" 
 
The Professors Converse 47 
 
 My father said that he saw it now, but had always 
 heard the words as he had himself spoken them. 
 
 *'0f course you have, my good fellow, and it is be- 
 cause of this that I know they never can have reached 
 you except from an Erewhonian source/' 
 
 Hanky smiled, snorted, and muttered in an under- 
 tone, "I shall begin to think that this fellow is a foreign 
 devil after all." 
 
 "And now, gentlemen," said my father, "the Won is 
 risen. I must be after the quails at daybreak; I will 
 therefore go to the rangers' shelter" (a shelter, by the 
 way, which existed only in my father's invention), 
 "and get a couple of hours' sleep so as to be both close 
 to the quail-ground and fresh for running. You are 
 so near the boundary of the preserves that you will not 
 want your permit further; no one will meet you and 
 should any one do so you need only give your names 
 and say that you have made a mistake. You will have 
 to give it up to-morrow at the Ranger's office; jt will 
 save you trouble if I collect it now and give it up when 
 I deliver my quails. 
 
 /'As regards the curiosities, hide them as you best can 
 outside the limits. I recommend you to carry them at 
 once out of the forest and rest beyond the limits rather 
 than here. You can then recover them whenever and 
 in whatever way you may find convenient. But I hope 
 you will say nothing about any foreign devil's having 
 come over on to this side. Any whisper to this effect 
 unsettles people's minds, and they are too much unset- 
 tled already; hence our orders to kill any one from 
 over there at once and to tell no one but the Head 
 Ranger. I was forced by you, gentlemen, to disobey 
 these orders in self-defence; I must trust your gener- 
 
48 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 osity to keep what I have told you secret. I shall of 
 course report it to the Head Ranger. And now if you 
 think proper you can give me up your permit/' 
 
 All this was so plausible that the Professors gave 
 up their permit without a word but thanks. They 
 bundled their curiosities hurriedly into "the poor 
 foreign devil's" blanket, reserving a more careful pack- 
 ing till they were out of the preserves. They wished 
 my father a very good night, and all success with his 
 quails in the morning ; they thanked him again for the 
 care he had taken of them in the matter of the land- 
 rails, and Panky even wxnt so far as to give him a few 
 Musical Bank coins, which he gratefully accepted. 
 They then started off in the direction of Sunch'ston. 
 
 My father gathered up the remaining quails, some 
 of which he meant to eat in the morning, while the 
 others he would throw away as soon as he could find a 
 safe place. He turned towards the mountains, but be- 
 fore he had gone a dozen yards he heard a voice, which 
 he recognized as Panky's, shouting after him, and say- 
 ing— 
 
 "Mind you do not forget the true reading of the 
 Sunchild's prayer." 
 
 "You are an old fool," shouted my father in English, 
 knowing that he could hardly be heard, still less under- 
 stood, and thankful to relieve his feelings. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 MY FATHER MEETS A SON^ OF WHOSE EXISTENCE HE 
 WAS IGNORANT, AND STRIKES A BARGAIN WITH 
 HIM. 
 
 The incidents recorded in the last two chapters had 
 occupied about two hours, so that it was nearly mid- 
 night before my father could begin to retrace his steps 
 and make towards the camp that he had left that morn- 
 ing. This was necessary, for he could not go any fur- 
 ther in a costume that he now knev/ to be forbidden. 
 At this hour no ranger was likely to meet him before 
 he reached the statues, and by making a push for it he 
 could return in time to cross the limits of the preserves 
 before the Professors' permit had expired. If chal- 
 lenged, he must brazen it out that he was one or other 
 of the persons therein named. 
 
 'Fatigued though he was, he reached the statues, as 
 near as he could guess, at about three in the morning. 
 What little wind there had been was warm, so that 
 the tracks, which the Professors must have seen shortly 
 after he had made them, had disappeared. The statues 
 looked very weird in the moonlight, but they were not 
 chanting. 
 
 While ascending he pieced together the information 
 he had picked up from the Professors. Plainly, the 
 Sunchild, or child of the sun, was none other than 
 himself, and the new name of Coldharbour was doubt- 
 
 49 
 
50 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 less intended to commemorate the fact that this was 
 the first town he had reached in Erewhon. Plainly, 
 also, he was supposed to be of superhuman origin — 
 his flight in the balloon having been not unnaturally be- 
 lieved to be miraculous. The Erewhonians had for 
 centuries been effacing all knowledge of their former 
 culture ; archaeologists, indeed, could still glean a little 
 from museums, and from volumes hard to come by, and 
 still harder to understand ; but archaeologists were few, 
 and even though they had made researches (which they 
 may or may not have done), their labours had never 
 reached the masses. What wonder, then, that the 
 mushroom spawn of myth, ever present in an atmos- 
 phere highly charged with ignorance, had germinated 
 in a soil so favourably prepared for its reception? 
 
 He saw it all now. It was twenty years next Sunday 
 since he and my mother had eloped. That was the 
 meaning of XIX. xii. 29. They had made a new era, 
 dating from the day of his return to the palace of the 
 sun with a bride who was doubtless to unite the Ere- 
 whonian nature with that of the sun. The New Year, 
 then, would date from Sunday, December 7 which 
 would therefore become XX. i. i. The Thursday, now 
 nearly if not quite over, being only two days distant 
 from the end of a month of thirty-one days, which 
 was also the last of the year, would be XIX. xii. 29, as 
 on the Professors' permit. 
 
 I should like to explain here what will appear more 
 clearly on a later page^ — I mean, that the Erewhonians, 
 according to their new system, do not believe the sun to 
 be a god except as regards this world and his other 
 planets. My father had told them a little about astron- 
 omy, and had assured them that all the fixed stars were 
 
Father and Son 51 
 
 suns like our own, with planets revolving round them, 
 which were probably tenanted by intelligent living be- 
 ings, however unlike they might be to ourselves. From 
 this they evolved the theory that the sun was the ruler 
 of this platentary system, and that he must be personi- 
 fied, as they personified the air-god, the gods of time 
 and space, hope, justice, and the other deities mentioned 
 in my father's book. They retain their old belief in the 
 actual existence of these gods but they now make them 
 all subordinate to the sun. The nearest approach they 
 make to our own conception of God is to say that He 
 is the ruler over all the suns throughout the universe — 
 tlie suns being to Him much as our planets and their 
 denizens are to our own sun. They deny that He takes 
 more interest in one sun and its system than in another. 
 All the suns with their attendant planets are supposed 
 to be equally His children, and He deputes to each sun 
 the supervision and protection of its own system. 
 Hence they say that though we may pray to the air- 
 god, &c., and even to the sun, we must not pray to God. 
 We may be thankful to Him for watching over the 
 suns, but we must not go further. 
 
 Going back to my father's reflections, he perceived 
 that the Erewhonians had not only adopted our calen- 
 dar, as he had repeatedly explained it to the Nosnibors, 
 but had taken our week as well, and were making Sun- 
 day a high day, just as we do. Next Sunday, in com- 
 memoration of the twentieth year after his ascent, they 
 were about to dedicate a temple to him ; in this there 
 was to be a picture showing himself and his earthly 
 bride on their heavenward journey, in a chariot drawn 
 by four black and white horses — which, however, Pro- 
 
52 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 fessor Hanky had positively affirmed to have been only 
 storks. 
 
 Here I interrupted my father . **But were there," I 
 said, "any storks ?" 
 
 **Yes," he answered. "As soon as I heard Hanky's 
 words I remembered that a flight of some four or five 
 of the large storks so common in Erewhon during the 
 summer months had been wheeling high aloft in one of 
 those aerial dances that so much delight them. I had 
 quite forgotten it, but it came back to me at once that 
 these creatures, attracted doubtless by what they took to 
 be an unknown kind of bird, swooped down towards 
 the balloon and circled round it like so many satellites 
 to a heavenly body. I was fearful lest they should 
 strike at it with their long and formidable beaks, in 
 which case all would have been soon over ; either they 
 were afraid, or they had satisfied their curiosity — at 
 any rate, they let us alone ; but they kept with us till we 
 were well away from the capital. Strange, how com- 
 pletely this incident had escaped me." 
 
 I return to my father's thoughts as he made his way 
 back to his old camp. 
 
 As for the reversed position of Professor Panky's 
 clothes, he remembered having given his own old ones 
 to the Queen, and having thought that she might have 
 got a better dummy on which to display them than the 
 headless scarecrow, which, however, he supposed was 
 all her ladies-in-waiting could lay their hands on at the 
 moment. If that dummy had never been replaced, it 
 was perhaps not very strange that the King could not 
 at the first glance tell back from front, and if he did 
 not guess right at first, there was little chance of his 
 
Father and Son 53 
 
 changing, for his first ideas were apt to be his last. But 
 he must find out more about this. 
 
 Then how about the watch? Had their views about 
 machinery also changed? Or was there an exception 
 made about any machine that he had himself carried? 
 
 Yram too. She must have been married not long 
 after she and he had parted. So she was now wife to 
 the Mayor, and was evidently able to have things pretty 
 much her own way in Sunch'ston, as he supposed he 
 must now call it. Thank heaven she was prosperous ! 
 It was interesting to know that she was at heart a 
 sceptic, as was also her light-haired son, now Head 
 Ranger. And that son? Just twenty years of age! 
 Born seven months after marriage ! Then the Mayor 
 doubtless had light hair too; but why did not those 
 wretches say in which month Yram was married? If 
 she had married soon after he had left, this was why 
 he had not been sent for or written to. Pray heaven it 
 was so. As for current gossip, people would talk, and 
 if the lad was well begotten, what could it matter to 
 them whose son he was ? *'But," thought my father, "I 
 am glad I did not meet him on my way down. I had 
 rather have been killed by some one else." 
 
 Hanky and Panky again. He remembered Bridge- 
 ford as the town where the Colleges of Unreason had 
 been most rife; he had visited it, but he had forgotten 
 that it was called "The city of the people who are above 
 suspicion." Its Professors were evidently going to 
 muster in great force on Sunday; if two of them had 
 robbed him, he could forgive them, for the information 
 he had gleaned from them had furnished him with a 
 pied a terre. Moreover, he had got as much Erewhon- 
 ian money as he should want, for he had resolved to re- 
 
54 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 trace his steps immediately after seeing the temple dedi- 
 cated to himself. He knew the danger he should run 
 in returning over the preserves v^ithout a permit, but 
 his curiosity was so great that he resolved to risk it. 
 
 Soon after he had passed the statues he began to 
 descend, and it being now broad day, he did so by 
 leaps and bounds, for the ground was not precipitous. 
 He reached his old camp soon after five — this, at any 
 rate, was the hour at which he set his watch on finding 
 that it had run down during his absence. There was 
 now no reason why he should not take it with him, so 
 he put it in his pocket. The parrots had attacked his 
 saddle-bags, saddle, and bridle, as they were sure to do, 
 but they had not got inside the bags. He took out his 
 English clothes and put them on — stowing his bags of 
 gold in various pockets, but keeping his Erewhonian 
 money in the one that was most accessible. He put his 
 Erewhonian dress back into the saddle-bags, intending 
 to keep it as a curiosity; he also refreshed the dye upon 
 his hands, face, and hair; he lit himself a fire, made 
 tea, cooked and ate two brace of quails, which he had 
 plucked while walking so as to save time, and then flung 
 himself on to the ground to snatch an hour's very neces- 
 sary rest. When he awoke he found he had slept two 
 hours, not one, which was perhaps as well, and by eight 
 he began to reascend the pass. 
 
 He reached the statues about noon, for he allowed 
 himself not a moment's rest. This time there was a 
 stifiish wind, and they were chanting lustily. He 
 passed them with all speed, and had nearly reached the 
 place where he had caught the quails, when he saw a 
 man in a dress which he guessed at once to be a ran- 
 ger's, but which, strangely enough, seeing that he was 
 
Father and Son 55 
 
 in the Kng's employ, was not reversed. My father's 
 heart beat fast ; he got out his permit and held it open 
 in his hand, then with a smiling face he went towards 
 the Ranger, who was standing his ground. 
 
 "I believe you are the Head Ranger," said my father, 
 who saw that he was still smooth-faced and had light 
 hair. "I am Professor Panky, and here is my permit. 
 My brother Professor has been prevented from com- 
 ing with me, and, as you see, I am alone." 
 
 My father had professed to pass himself off as 
 Panky, for he had rather gathered that Hanky was the 
 better known man of the two. 
 
 While the youth was scrutinising the permit, evi- 
 dently with suspicion, my father took stock of him, and 
 saw his own past self in him too plainly — knowing all 
 he knew — to doubt whose son he was. He had the 
 greatest difficulty in hiding his emotion, for the lad was 
 indeed one of whom any father might be proud. He 
 longed to be able to embrace him and claim him for 
 what he was, but this, as he well knew, might not be. 
 The tears again welled into his eyes when he told me 
 of the struggle with himself that he had then had. 
 
 "Don't be jealous, my dearest boy," he said to me. 
 "I love you quite as dearly as I love him, or better, but 
 he was sprung upon me so suddenly, and dazzled me 
 with his comely debonair face, so full of youth, and 
 health, and frankness. Did you see him, he would go 
 straight to your heart, for he is wonderfully like you in 
 spite of your taking so much after your poor mother." 
 
 I was not jealous ; on the contrary, I longed to see 
 this youth, and find in him such a brother as I had often 
 wished to have. But let me return to my father's story. 
 
 The young man, after examining the permit, de- 
 
56 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 clared it to be in form, and returned it to my father, but 
 he eyed him with poHte disfavour. 
 
 "I suppose," he said, ''you have come up, as so many 
 are doing, from Bridgeford and all over the country, to 
 the dedication on Sunday." 
 
 ''Yes," said my father. "Bless me!" he added, 
 "what a wind you have up here ! How it makes one's 
 eyes water, to be sure" ; But he spoke with a cluck in 
 his throat which no wind that blows can cause. 
 
 "Have you met any suspicious characters between 
 here and the statues ?" asked the youth. "I came across 
 the ashes of a fire lower down; there had been three 
 men sitting for some time round it, and they had all 
 been eating quails. Here are some of the bones and 
 feathers, which I shall keep. They had not been gone 
 more than a couple of hours, for the ashes were still 
 warm ; they are getting bolder and bolder — who would 
 have thought they would dare to light a fire? I sup- 
 pose you have not met any one; but if you have seen a 
 single person, let me know." 
 
 My father said quite truly that he had met no one. 
 He then laughingly asked how the youth had been able 
 to discover as much as he had. 
 
 "There were three well-marked forms, and three 
 separate lots of quail bones hidden in the ashes. One 
 man had done all the plucking. This is strange, but I 
 dare say I shall get at it later." 
 
 After a little further conversation the Ranger said 
 he was now going down to Sunch'ston, and, though 
 somewhat curtly, proposed that he and my father 
 should walk together. 
 
 "By all means," answered my father. 
 
 Before they had gone more than a few hundred yards 
 
Father and Son 57 
 
 his companion said, "If you will come with me a little 
 to the left, I can show you the Blue Pool." 
 
 To avoid the precipitous ground over which the 
 stream here fell, they had diverged to the right, where 
 they had found a smoother descentj returning now to 
 the stream, which was about to enter on a level stretch 
 for some distance, they found themselves on the brink 
 of a rocky basin, of no great size, but very blue, and 
 evidently deep. 
 
 'This," said the Ranger, "is where our orders tell us 
 to fling any foreign devil who comes over from the 
 other side. I have only been Head Ranger about nine 
 months, and have not yet had to face this horrid duty ; 
 but," and here he smiled, "when I first caught sight 
 of you I thought I should have to make a beginning. I 
 was very glad when I saw you had a permit." 
 
 "And how many skeletons do you suppose are lying 
 at the bottom of this pool?" 
 
 "I believe not more than seven or eight in all. There 
 were three or four about eighteen years ago, and about 
 the same number of late years ; one man was flung here 
 only about three months before I was appointed. I 
 have the full list, with dates, down in my oflice, but 
 the rangers never let people in Sunch'ston know when 
 they have Blue-Pooled any one; it would unsettle 
 men's minds, and some of them would be coming up 
 here in the dark to drag the pool, and see whether they 
 could find anything on the body." 
 
 My father was glad to turn away from this most re- 
 pulsive place. After a time he said, "And what do you 
 good people hereabouts think of next Sunday's grand 
 doings?" 
 
 Bearing in mind what he had gleaned from the Pro- 
 
58 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 fessors about the Ranger's opinions, my father gave a 
 sHghtly ironical turn to his pronunciation of the words 
 "grand doings." The youth glanced at him with a 
 quick penetrative look, and laughed as he said, "The 
 doings will be grand enough." 
 
 "What a fine temple they have built," said my father. 
 "I have not yet seen the picture, but they say the four 
 black and white horses are magnificently painted. I 
 saw the Sunchild ascend, but I saw no horses in the sky, 
 nor anything like horses." 
 
 The youth was much interested. "Did you really see 
 him ascend ?" he asked ; "and what, pray, do you think 
 it all was?" 
 
 "Whatever it was, there were no horses." 
 
 "But there must have been, for, as you of course 
 know, they have lately found some droppings from one 
 of them, which have been miraculously preserved, and 
 they are going to show them next Sunday in a gold 
 reliquary." 
 
 *T know," said my father, who, however, was learn- 
 ing the fact for the first time. "I have not yet seen this 
 precious relic, but I think they might have found some- 
 thing less unpleasant." 
 
 "Perhaps they would if they could," replied the 
 youth, laughing, "but there was nothing else that the 
 horses could leave. It is only a number of curiously 
 rounded stones, and not at all like what they say it is.*' 
 
 "Well, well," continued my father, "but relic or no 
 relic, there are many who, while they fully recognise 
 the value of the Sunchild's teaching, dislike these cock 
 and bull stories as blasphemy against God's most 
 blessed gift of reason. There are many in Bridgeford 
 who hate this story of the horses." 
 
Father and Son 59 
 
 The youth was now quite reassured. '*So there are 
 here, sir," he said warmly, ''and who hate the Sunchild 
 too. If there is such a hell as he used to talk about to 
 my mother, we doubt not but that he will be cast into 
 its deepest fires. See how he has turned us all upside 
 down. But we dare not say what we think. There is 
 no courage left in Erewhon." 
 
 Then waxing calmer he said, "It is you Bridgeford 
 people and your Musical Banks that have done it all. 
 The Musical Bank Managers saw that the people were 
 falling away from them. Finding that the vulgar be- 
 lieved this foreign devil Higgs — for he gave this name 
 
 to my mother when he was in prison — finding that 
 
 But you know all this as well as I do. How can you 
 Bridgeford Professors pretend to believe about these 
 horses, and about the Sunchild's being son to the sun, 
 when all the time you know tliere is no truth in it?" 
 
 *'My son — for considering the difference in our ages 
 I may be allowed to call you so — we at Bridgeford are 
 much like you at Sunch'ston ; we dare not always say 
 what we think. Nor would it be wise to do so, when we 
 should not be listened to. This fire must burn itself 
 out, for it has got such hold that nothing can either stay 
 or turn it. Even though Higgs himself were to return 
 and tell it from the house-tops that he was a mortal — 
 ay, and a very common one — he would be killed, but 
 not believed." 
 
 "Let him come; let him show himself, speak out and 
 die, if the people choose to kill him. In that case I 
 would forgive him, accept him for my father, as silly 
 people sometimes say he is, and honour him to my 
 dying day." 
 
 "Would that be a bargain?" said my father, smiling 
 
6o Erewhon Revisited 
 
 in spite of emotion so strong that he could hardly bring 
 the words out of his mouth. 
 
 "Yes, it would," said the youth doggedly. 
 
 'Then let me shake hands with you on his behalf, 
 and let us change the conversation." 
 
 He took my father's hand, doubtfully and somewhat 
 disdainfully, but he did not refuse it. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 FURTHER CONVERSATION BETWEEN FATHER AND 
 
 It is one thing to desire a conversation to be changed, 
 and another to change it. After some Httle silence my 
 father said, ''And may I ask what name your mother 
 gave you?'^ 
 
 "My name," he answered, laughing, "is George and 
 I wish it were some other, for it is the first name of 
 that arch-impostor Higgs. I hate it as I hate the man 
 who owned it." 
 
 My father said nothing but he hid his face in his 
 hands. 
 
 "Sir," said the other, "I fear you are in some dis- 
 tress." 
 
 ^ "You remind me," replied my father, "of a son who 
 was stolen from me when he was a child. I searched 
 for him during many years, and at last fell in with him 
 by accident, to find him all the heart of father could 
 wish. But alas ! he did not take kindly to me as I to 
 him, and after two days he left me; nor shall I ever 
 again see him." 
 
 "Then, sir, had I not better leave you?" 
 
 "No, stay with me till your road takes you else- 
 where ; for though I cannot see my son, you are so like 
 him that I could almost fancy he is with me. And 
 now — for I shall show no more weakness — you say 
 
 6i 
 
62 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 your mother knew the Sunchild, as I am used to call 
 him. Tell me what kind of a man she found him." 
 
 *'She liked him well enough in spite of his being a 
 little silly. She does not believe he ever called himself 
 child of the sun. He used to say he had a father in 
 heaven to whom he prayed, and who could hear him ; 
 but he said that all of us, my mother as much as he, 
 have this unseen father. My mother does not believe 
 he meant doing us any harm, but only that he wanted 
 to get himself and Mrs. Nosnibor's younger daughter 
 out of the country. As for there having been anything 
 supernatural about the balloon, she will have none of 
 it; she says that it was some machine which he knew 
 how to make, but which we have lost the art of making, 
 as we have of many another. 
 
 'This is what she says amongst ourselves, but in 
 public she confirms all that the Musical Bank Managers 
 say about him. She is afraid of them. You know, per- 
 haps, that Professor Hanky, whose name I see on your 
 permit, tried to burn her alive?" 
 
 *'Thank heaven!" thought my father, "that I am 
 Panky;" but aloud he said, "Oh, horrible! horrible! I 
 cannot believe this even of Hanky." 
 
 "He denies it, and we say we believe him; he was 
 most kind and attentive to my mother during all the 
 rest of her stay in Bridgeford. He and she parted ex- 
 cellent friends, but I know what she thinks. I shall be 
 sure to see him while he is in Sunch'ston, I shall have 
 to be civil to him but it makes me sick to think of it." 
 
 "When shall you see him?" said my father, who was 
 alarmed at learning that Hanky and the Ranger were 
 likely to meet. Who could tell but that he might see 
 Panky too ? 
 
Father and Son Part 63 
 
 "I have been away from home a fortnight, and shall 
 shall not be back till late on Saturday night. I do not 
 suppose I shall see him before Sunday." 
 
 *That will do," thought my father, who at that mo- 
 ment deemed that nothing would matter to him much 
 when Sunday was over. Then, turning to the Ranger, 
 he said, "I gather, then, that your mother does not think 
 so badly of the Sunchild after all?" 
 
 '^She laughs at him sometimes, but if any of us boys 
 and girls say a word against him we get snapped up 
 directly. My mother turns every one round her fin- 
 ger. Her word is law in Sunch'ston ; every one obeys 
 her; she has faced more than one mob, and quelled 
 them when my father could not do so." 
 
 *'I can believe all you say of her. What other chil- 
 dren has she besides yourself?" 
 
 "We are four sons, of whom the youngest is now 
 fourteen, and three daughters." 
 
 "May all health and happiness attend her and you, 
 and all of you, henceforth and forever," and my father 
 involuntarily bared his head as he spoke. 
 
 "Sir," said the youth, impressed by the fervency of 
 my father's manner, "I thank you, but you do not talk 
 as Bridgeford Professors generally do, so far as I have 
 seen or heard them. Why do you wish us all well so 
 very heartily ? Is it because you think I am like your 
 son, or is there some other reason?" 
 
 "It is not my son alone that you resemble," said my 
 father tremulously, for he knew he was going too far. 
 He carried it by adding, "You resemble all who love 
 truth and hate lies, as I do." 
 
 "Then, sir," said the youth gravely, "you much belie 
 your reputation. And now I must leave you for an- 
 
64 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 other part of the preserves, where I think it Hkely that 
 last night's poachers may now be, and where I shall 
 pass the night in watching for them. You may want 
 your permit for a few miles further, so I will not take 
 it. Neither need you give it up at Sunch'ston. It is 
 dated, and will be useless after this evening." 
 
 With this he strode off into the forest, bowing po- 
 litely but somewhat coldly, and without encouraging 
 my father's half proffered hand. 
 
 My father turned sad and unsatisfied away. 
 
 "It serves me right," he said to himself ; ''he ought 
 never to have been my son ; and yet, if such men can 
 be brought by hook or by crook into the world, surely 
 the world should not ask questions about the bringing. 
 How cheerless everything looks now that he has left 
 
 By this time it was three o'clock, and in another few 
 minutes my father came upon the ashes of the fire be- 
 side which he and the Professors had supped on the 
 preceding evening. It was only some eighteen hours 
 since they had come upon him, and yet what an age it 
 seemed! It was well the Ranger had left him, for 
 though my father, of course, would have known noth- 
 ing about either fire or poachers, it might have led to 
 further falsehood, and by this time he had become ex- 
 hausted — not to say, for the time being, sick of lies 
 altogether. 
 
 He trudged slowly on, without meeting a soul, until 
 he came upon some stones that evidently marked the 
 limits of the preserves. When he had got a mile or so 
 beyond these, he struck a narrow and not much fre- 
 quented path, which he was sure would lead him 
 
The Professors' Hoard 65 
 
 towards Sunch'ston, and soon afterwards, seeing a 
 huge old chestnut tree some thirty or forty yards from 
 the path itself, he made towards it and flung himself on 
 the ground beneath its branches. There were abundant 
 signs that he was nearing farm lands and homesteads, 
 but there was no one about, and if any one saw him 
 there was nothing in his appearance to arouse suspicion. 
 
 He determined, therefore, to rest here till hunger 
 should wake him, and drive him into Sunch'ston, 
 which, however, he did not wish to reach till dusk if he 
 could help it. He meant to buy a valise and a few 
 toilette necessaries before the shops should close, and 
 then engage a bedroom at the least frequented inn he 
 could find that looked fairly clean and comfortable. 
 
 He slept till nearly six, and on waking gathered his 
 thoughts together. He could not shake his newly 
 found son from out of them, but there was no good in 
 dwelling upon him now, and he turned his thoughts to 
 the Professors. How, he wondered, were they getting 
 on, and what had they done with the things they had 
 bought from him ? 
 
 ''How delightful it would be,'* he said to himself, "if 
 I ^ could find where they have hidden their hoard, and 
 hide it somewhere else.*' 
 
 He tried to project his mind into those of the Pro- 
 fessors, as though they were a team of straying bullocks 
 whose probable action he must determine before he set 
 out to look for them. 
 
 On reflection, he concluded that the hidden property 
 was not likely to be far from the spot on which he now 
 was. The Professors would wait till they had got 
 some way down towards Sunch'ston, so as to have 
 readier access to their property when they wanted to 
 
66 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 remove it ; but when they came upon a path and other 
 signs that' inhabited dwelHngs could not be far distant, 
 they would begin to look out for a hiding-place. And 
 they would take pretty well the first that came. "Why, 
 bless my heart," he exclaimed, ''this tree is hollow; I 
 
 wonder whether " and on looking up he saw an 
 
 innocent little strip of the very tough fibrous leaf com- 
 monly used while green as string, or even rope, by the 
 Erewhonians. The plant that makes this leaf is so like 
 the ubiquitous New Zealand Phorniium tena^, or flax, 
 as it is there called, that I shall speak of it as flax in 
 future, as indeed I have already done without explana- 
 tion on an earlier page; for this plant grows on both 
 sides of the great range. The piece of flax, then, which 
 my father caught sight of was fastened, at no great 
 height from the ground, round the branch of a strong 
 sucker that had grown from the roots of the chestnut 
 tree, and going thence for a couple of feet or so towards 
 the place where the parent tree became hollow, it dis- 
 appeared into the cavity below. My father had little 
 difficulty in swarming the sucker till he reached the 
 bough on to which the flax was tied, and soon found 
 himself hauling up something from the bottom of the 
 tree. In less time than it takes to tell the tale he saw 
 his own familiar red blanket begin to show above the 
 broken edge of the hollow, and in another second there 
 was a clinkum-clankum as the bundle fell upon the 
 ground. This was caused by the billy and the pannikin, 
 which were wrapped inside the blanket. As for the 
 blanket, it had been tied tightly at both ends, as well as 
 at several points between, and my father inwardly com- 
 plimented the Professors on the neatness with which 
 they had packed and hidden their purchase. "But," he 
 
The Professors' Hoard 67 
 
 said to himself with a laugh, "I think one of them must 
 have got on the other's back to reach that bough." 
 
 '*0f course," thought he, "they will have taken the 
 nuggets with them." And yet he had seemed to hear 
 a dumping as well as a clinkum-clankum. He undid 
 the blanket, carefully untying every knot and keeping 
 the flax. When he had unrolled it, he found to his very 
 pleasurable surprise that the pannikin was inside the 
 billy, and the nuggets with the receipt inside the panni- 
 kin. The paper containing the tea having been torn, 
 was wrapped up in a handkerchief marked with 
 Hanky's name. 
 
 ''Down, conscience, down!" he exclaimed as he 
 transferred the nuggets, receipt, and handkerchief to 
 his own pocket. *'Eye of my soul that you are! if you 
 offend me I must pluck you out." His conscience 
 feared him and said nothing. As for the tea he left it 
 in its torn paper. 
 
 He then put the billy, pannikin, and tea back again 
 inside the blanket, which he tied neatly up, tie for tie 
 with the Professor's own flax, leaving no sign of any 
 disturbance. He again swarmed the sucker, till he 
 reached the bough to which the blanket and its contents 
 had been made fast, and having attached the bundle, he 
 dropped it back into the hollow of the tree. He did 
 everything quite leisurely, for the Professors would be 
 sure to wait till nightfall before coming to fetch their 
 property away. 
 
 "li I take nothing but the nuggets," he argued, "each 
 of the Professors will suspect the other of having con- 
 jured them into his own pocket while the bundle was 
 being made up. As for the handkerchief, they must 
 think what they like ; but it will puzzle Hanky to know 
 
68 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 why Panky should have been so anxious for a receipt, 
 if he meant stealing the nuggets. Let them muddle it 
 out their own way." 
 
 Reflecting further, he concluded, perhaps rightly, 
 that they had left the nuggets where he had found 
 them, because neither could trust the other not to filch 
 a few, if he had them in his own possession, and they 
 could not make a nice division without a pair of scales. 
 *'At any rate," he said to himself, ''there will be a pretty 
 quarrel when they find them gone." 
 
 Thus charitably did he brood over things that were 
 not to happen. The discovery of the Professors' hoard 
 had refreshed him almost as much as his sleep had 
 done, and it being now past seven, he lit his pipe — 
 which, however, he smoked as furtively as he had done 
 when he was a boy at school, for he knew not whether 
 smoking had yet become an Erewhonian virtue or no 
 — and walked briskly on towards Sunch'ston. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 SIGNS OF THE NEW ORDER OF THINGS CATCH MY 
 father's eye on EVERY SIDE 
 
 He had not gone far before a turn in the path — now 
 rapidly widening — showed him two high towers, 
 seemingly some two miles off; these he felt sure must 
 be at Sunch'ston, he therefore stepped out, lest he 
 should find the shops shut before he got there. 
 
 On his former visit he had seen little of the town, 
 for he was in prison during his whole stay. He had 
 had a glimpse of it on being brought there by the peo- 
 ple of the village where he had spent his first night in 
 Erewhon — a village which he had seen at some little 
 distance on his right hand, but which it would have 
 been out of his way to visit, even if he had wished to 
 dp so ; and he had seen the Museum of old machines, 
 but on leaving the prison he had been blindfolded. 
 Nevertheless he felt sure that if the towers had been 
 there he should have seen them, and rightly guessed 
 that they must belong to the temple which was to be 
 dedicated to himself on Sunday. 
 
 When he had passed through the suburbs he found 
 himself in the main street. Space will not allow me to 
 dwell on more than a few of the things which caught 
 his eye, and assured him that the change in Erewhon- 
 ian habits and opinions had been even more cataclys- 
 mic than he had already divined. The first important 
 
 69 
 
70 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 building that he came to proclaimed itself as the Col- 
 lege of Spiritual Athletics, and in the window of a 
 shop that was evidently affiliated to the college he saw 
 an announcement that moral try-your-strengths, suit- 
 able for every kind of ordinary temptation, would be 
 provided on the shortest notice. Some of those that 
 aimed at the more common kinds of temptation were 
 kept in stock, but these consisted chiefly of trials to the 
 temper. On dropping, for example, a penny into a 
 slot, you could have a jet of fine pepper, flour, or brick- 
 dust, whichever you might prefer, thrown on to your 
 face, and thus discover whether your composure stood 
 in need of further development or no. My father 
 gathered this from the writing that was pasted on to 
 the try-your-strength, but he had no time to go inside 
 the shop and test either the machine or his own tem- 
 per. Other temptations to irritability required the 
 agency of living people, or at any rate living beings. 
 Crying children, screaming parrots, a spiteful monkey, 
 might be hired on ridiculously easy terms. He saw 
 one advertisement, nicely framed, which ran as fol- 
 lows: 
 
 ''Mrs. Tantrums, Nagger, certificated by the College of 
 Spiritual Athletics. Terms for ordinary nagging, two 
 shillings and sixpence per hour. Hysterics extra." 
 
 Then followed a series of testimonials — for ex- 
 ample : — 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Tantrums, — I have for years been tortured 
 with a husband of unusually peevish, irritable temper, who 
 made my life so intolerable that I sometimes answered 
 him in a way that led to his using personal violence 
 towards me. After taking a course of twelve sittings from 
 you, I found my husband's temper comparatively angelic, 
 
The New Order 71 
 
 and we have ever since lived together in complete har- 
 mony." 
 
 Another was from a husband: — 
 
 "Mr. presents his compliments to Mrs. Tantrums, 
 
 and begs to assure her that her extra special hysterics 
 have so far surpassed anything his wife can do, as to 
 render him callous to those attacks which he had formerly 
 found so distressing." 
 
 There were many others of a like purport, but time 
 did not permit my father to do more than glance at 
 them. He contented himself with the two following, 
 of which the first ran : — 
 
 "He did try it at last. A little correction of the right 
 kind taken at the right moment is invaluable. No more 
 swearing. No more bad language of any kind. A lamb- 
 like temper ensured in about twenty minutes, by a single 
 dose of one of our spiritual indigestion tabloids. In cases 
 of all the more ordinary moral ailments, from simple lying, 
 to homicidal mania, in cases again of tendency to hatred, 
 malice, and uncharitableness ; of atrophy or hypertrophy 
 of the conscience, of costiveness or diarrhoea of the sym- 
 pathetic instincts, &c., &c., our spiritual indigestion tabloids 
 tvill afford unfailing and immediate relief. 
 
 "N. B. — A bottle or two of our Sunchild Cordial will 
 assist the operation of the tabloids." 
 
 The second and last that I can give was as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 "All else is useless. If you wish to be a social success, 
 make yourself a good listener. There is no short cut to 
 this. A would-be listener must learn the rudiments of his 
 art and go through the mill like other people. If he would 
 develop a power of suffering fools gladly, he must begin by 
 suffering them without the gladness. Professor Proser, 
 ex-straightener, certificated bore, pragmatic or coruscating. 
 
72 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 ■with or without anecdotes, attends pupils at their own 
 houses. Terms moderate. 
 
 "Mrs. Proser, whose success as a professional mind- 
 dresser is so well known that lengthened advertisement is 
 unnecessary, prepares ladies or gentlemen with appropriate 
 remarks to be made at dinner-parties or at-homes. Mrs. P. 
 keeps herself well up to date with all the latest scandals." 
 
 "Poor, poor, straighteners !'' said my father to him- 
 self. "Alas ! that it should have been my fate to ruin 
 you — for I suppose your occupation is gone." 
 
 Tearing himself away from the College of Spiritual 
 Athletics and its affiliated shop, he passed on a few- 
 doors, only to find himself looking in at what was 
 neither more nor less than a chemist's shop. In the 
 window there were advertisements which showed that 
 the practice of medicine was now legal, but my father 
 could not stay to copy a single one of the fantastic an- 
 nouncements that a hurried glance revealed to him. 
 
 It was also plain here, as from the shop already 
 more fully described, that the edicts against machines 
 had been repealed, for there were physical try-your- 
 strengths, as in the other shop there had been moral 
 ones, and such machines under the old law would not 
 have been tolerated for a moment. 
 
 My father made his purchases just as the last shops 
 were closing. He noticed that almost all of them were 
 full of articles labelled "Dedication." There was 
 Dedication gingerbread, stamped with a moulder rep- 
 resentation of the new temple; there were Dedication 
 syrups, Dedication pocket-handkerchiefs, also shew- 
 ing the temple, and in one corner giving a highly ideal- 
 ised portrait of my father himself. The chariot and 
 the horses figured largely, and in the confectioners* 
 
The New Order 73 
 
 shops there were models of the newly discovered relic 
 — made, so my father thought, with a little heap of 
 cherries or strawberries, smothered in chocolate. Out- 
 side one tailor's shop he saw a flaring advertisement 
 which can only be translated, "Try our Dedication 
 trousers, price ten shillings and sixpence." 
 
 Presently he passed the new temple, but it was too 
 dark for him to do more than see that it was a vast 
 fane, and must have cost an untold amount of money. 
 At every turn he found himself more and more 
 shocked, as he realised more and more fully the mis- 
 chief he had already occasioned, and the certainty that 
 this was small as compared with that which would 
 grow up hereafter. 
 
 ''What," he said to me, very coherently and quietly, 
 ''was I to do? I had struck a bargain with that dear 
 fellow, though he knew not what I meant, to the effect 
 that I should try to undo the harm I had done, by 
 standing up before the people on Sunday and saying 
 who I was. True, they would not believe me. They 
 would look at my hair and see it black, whereas it 
 should be very light. On this they would look no fur- 
 ther, but very likely tear me to pieces then and there. 
 Suppose that the authorities held a post-mortem ex- 
 amination, and that many who knew me (let alone that 
 all my measurements and marks were recorded twenty 
 years ago) identified the body as mine: would those in 
 power admit that I was the Sunchild ? Not they. The 
 interests vested in my being now in the palace of the 
 sun are too great to allow of my having been torn to 
 pieces in Sunch'ston, no matter how truly I had been 
 torn; the whole thing would be hushed up, and the 
 
74 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 utmost that could come of it would be a heresy which 
 would in time be crushed. 
 
 ''On the other hand, what business have I with 
 Vould be' or 'would not be ?' Should I not speak out, 
 come what may, when I see a whole people being led 
 astray by those who are merely exploiting them for 
 their own ends? Though I could do but little, ought 
 I not to do that little? What did that good fellow's 
 instinct — so straight from heaven, so true, so healthy 
 — tell him? What did my own instinct answer? 
 What would the conscience of any honourable man 
 answer ? Who can doubt ? 
 
 "And yet, is there not reason? and is it not God- 
 given as much as instinct? I remember having heard 
 an anthem in my young days, 'O where shall wisdom 
 be found? the deep saith it is not in me.' As the sing- 
 ers kept on repeating the question, I kept on saying 
 sorrowfully to myself — *Ah, where, where, where?' 
 and when the triumphant answer came. The fear of 
 the Lord, that is wisdom, and to depart from evil is 
 understanding,' I shrunk ashamed into myself for not 
 having foreseen it. In later life, when I have tried to 
 use this answer as a light by which I could walk, I 
 found it served but to the raising of another question, 
 'What is the fear of the Lord, and what is evil in this 
 particular case?' And my easy method with spiritual 
 dilemmas proved to be but a case of ignotum per 
 ignotius. 
 
 "If Satan himself is at times transformed into an 
 angel of light, are not angels of light sometimes trans- 
 formed into the likeness of Satan? If the devil is not 
 so black as he is painted, is God always so white ? And 
 is there not another place in which it is said, 'The fear 
 
The New Order 75 
 
 of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom/ as though it 
 were not the last word upon tlie subject? If a man 
 should not do evil that good may come, so neither 
 should he do good that evil may come ; and though it 
 were good for me to speak out, should I not do better 
 by refraining? 
 
 "Such were the lawless and uncertain thoughts that 
 tortured me very cruelly, so that I did what I had not 
 done for many a long year — I prayed for guidance. 
 'Shew me Thy will, O Lord,' I cried in great distress, 
 'and strengthen me to do it when Thou hast shewn it 
 me.' But there was no answer. Instinct tore me one 
 way and reason another. Whereon I settled that I 
 would obey the reason with which God had endowed 
 me, unless the instinct He had also given me should 
 thrash it out of me. I could get no further than this, 
 that the Lord hath mercy on whom He will have 
 mercy, and whom He willeth He hardeneth ; and again 
 I prayed that I might be among those on whom He 
 would shew His mercy. 
 
 "This was the strongest internal conflict that I ever 
 remember to have felt, and it was at the end of it that 
 I perceived the first, but as yet very faint, symptoms of 
 that sickness from which I shall not recover. Whether 
 this be a token of mercy or no, my Father which is in 
 heaven knows, but I know not." 
 
 From what my father afterwards told me, I do not 
 think the above reflections had engrossed him for 
 more than three or four minutes ; the giddiness which 
 had for some seconds compelled him to lay hold of the 
 first thing he could catch at in order to avoid falling, 
 passed away without leaving a trace behind it, and his 
 path seemed to become comfortably clear before him. 
 
76 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 He settled it that the proper thing to do would be to 
 buy some food, start back at once while his permit was 
 still valid, help himself to the property which he had 
 sold to the Professors, leaving the Erewhonians to 
 wrestle as they best might with the lot that it had 
 pleased Heaven to send them. 
 
 This, however, was too heroic a course. He was 
 tired, and wanted a night's rest in a bed; he was 
 hungry, and wanted a substantial meal; he was curi- 
 ous, moreover, to see the temple dedicated to himself, 
 and hear Hanky's sermon; there was also his further 
 difficulty, he would have to take what he had sold the 
 Professors without returning them their £4, los., for 
 he could not do without his blanket, &c. ; and even 
 if he left a bag of nuggets made fast to the sucker, he 
 must either place it where it could be seen so easily that 
 it would very likely get stolen, or hide it so cleverly 
 that the Professors would never find it. He there- 
 fore compromised by concluding that he would sup 
 and sleep in Sunch'ston, get through the morrow as he 
 best could without attracting attention, deepen the 
 stain on his face and hair, and rely on the change so 
 made in his appearance to prevent his being recognised 
 at the dedication of the temple. He would do nothing 
 to disillusion the people — to do this would only be 
 making bad worse. As soon as the service was over, 
 he would set out towards the preserves, and, when it 
 was well dark, make for the statues. He hoped that 
 on such a great day the rangers might be many of 
 them in Sunch'ston; if there were any about, he must 
 trust to the moonless night and his own quick eyes and 
 ears to get him through the preserves safely. 
 
 The shops were by this time closed, but the keepers 
 
The New Order 77 
 
 of a few stalls were trying by lamplight to sell the 
 wares they had not yet got rid of. One of these was 
 a bookstall, and, running his eye over some of the 
 volumes, my father saw one entitled — 
 
 "The Sayings of the Sunchild during his stay in 
 Erewhon, to which is added a true account of 
 his return to the palace of the sun with his 
 Erewhonian bride. This is the only version autho- 
 rised by the Presidents and Vice-Presidents of the 
 Musical Banks; all other versions being imperfect 
 and inaccurate. — Bridgeford, XVIII, 150 pp. 8vo, 
 Price 3s. 
 
 The reader will understand that I am giving the 
 prices as nearly as I can in their English equivalents. 
 Another title was — 
 
 "The Sacrament of Divorce: an Occasional Sermon 
 preached by Dr. Gurgoyle, President of the Musical 
 Banks for the Province of Sunch'ston. 8vo, 16 pp. 
 6d. 
 
 Other titles ran — 
 
 "Counsels of Imperfection." 8vo, 20 pp. 6d. 
 "Hygiene; or, How to Diagnose your Doctor. 8vo, 
 10 pp. 3d. 
 
 "The Physics of Vicarious Existence," by Dr._ Gur- 
 goyle, President of the Musical Banks for the Pro- 
 vince of Sunch'ston. Svo, 20 pp. 6d. 
 
 There were many other books whose titles would 
 probably have attracted my father as much as those 
 that I have given, but he was too tired and hungry to 
 look at more. Finding that he could buy all the fore- 
 going for 4s 9d., he bought them and stuffed them into 
 the valise that he had just bought. His purchases in 
 all had now amounted to a little over £1, los. (silver), 
 
78 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 leaving him about £3 (silver), including the money 
 for which he had sold the quails, to carry him on till 
 Sunday afternoon. He intended to spend say £2 
 (silver), and keep the rest of the money in order to 
 give it to the British Museum. 
 
 He now began to search for an inn, and walked 
 about the less fashionable parts of the town till he 
 found an unpretending tavern, which he thought would 
 suit him. Here, on importunity, he was given a ser- 
 vant's room at the top of the house, all others being 
 engaged by visitors who had come for the dedication. 
 He ordered a meal, of which he stood in great need, 
 and having eaten it, he retired early for the night. But 
 he smoked a pipe surreptitiously up the chimney before 
 he got into bed. 
 
 Meanwhile other things were happening, of which, 
 happily for his repose, he was still ignorant, and which 
 he did not learn till a few days later. Not to depart 
 from chronological order I will deal with them in my 
 next chapter. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 VRAM, NOW MAYORESS, GIVES A DINNER-PARTY, IN THE 
 COURSE OF WHICH SHE IS DISQUIETED BY WHAT 
 SHE LEARNS FROM PROFESSOR HANKY : SHE SENDS 
 FOR HER SON GEORGE AND QUESTIONS HIM 
 
 The Professors, returning to their hotel early on 
 the Friday morning, found a note from the Mayoress 
 urging them to be her guests during the remainder of 
 their visit, and to meet other friends at dinner on the 
 same evening. They accepted, and then went to bed ; 
 for they had passed the night under the tree in which 
 they had hidden their purchase, and, as may be imag- 
 ined, had slept but little. They rested all day, and 
 transferred themselves and their belongings to the 
 Mayor's house in time to dress for dinner. 
 
 When they came down into the drawing-room they 
 found a brilliant company assembled, chiefly Musical- 
 Bankical like themselves. There was Dr. Downie, 
 Professor of Logomachy, and perhaps the most subtle 
 dialectician in Erewhon. He could say nothing in 
 more words than any man of his generation. His 
 text-book on the "Art of Obscuring Issues" had 
 passed through ten or twelve editions, and was in the 
 hands of all aspirants for academic distinction. He 
 had earned a high reputation for sobriety of judgment 
 by resolutely refusing to have definite views on any 
 subject; so safe a man was he considered, that while 
 
 79 
 
8o Erewhon Revisited 
 
 still quite young he had been appointed to the lucrative 
 post of Thinker in Ordinary to the Royal Family. 
 There was Mr. Principal Crank, with his sister Mrs. 
 Quack; Professors Gabb and Bawl, with their wives 
 and two qt three erudite daughters. 
 
 Old Mrs. Humdrum (of which more anon) was 
 there of course, with her venerable white hair and rich 
 black satin dress, looking the very ideal of all that a 
 stately old dowager ought to be. In society she was 
 commonly known as Ydgrun, so perfectly did she cor- 
 respond with the conception of this strange goddess 
 formed by the Erewhonians. She w^as one of those 
 who had visited my father when he was in prison 
 twenty years earlier. When he told me that she was 
 now called Ydgrun, he said, 'T am sure that the 
 Erinyes were only Mrs. Humdrums, and that they 
 were delightful people when you came to know them. 
 I do not believe they did the awful things we say they 
 did. I think, but am not quite sure, that they let 
 Orestes off; but even though they had not pardoned 
 him, I doubt whether they would have done anything 
 more dreadful to him than issue a 7not d'ordre that 
 he was not to be asked to any more afternoon teas. 
 This, however, would be down-right torture to some 
 people. At any rate," he continued, ''be it the Erinyes, 
 or Mrs. Grundy, or Ydgrun, in all times and places it 
 is woman who decides whether society is to condone 
 an offence or no." 
 
 Among the most attractive ladies present was one 
 for whose Erewhonian name I can find no English 
 equivalent, and whom I must therefore call Miss La 
 Frime. She was Lady President of the principal 
 establishment for the higher education of young ladies, 
 
Yram Guesses the Truth 8i 
 
 and so celebrated was she, that pupils flocked to her 
 from all parts of the surrounding country. Her 
 primer (written for the Erewhonian Arts and Science 
 Series) on the Art of Man-killing, was the most com- 
 plete thing of the kind that had yet been done; but 
 ill-natured people had been heard to say that she had 
 killed all her own admirers so effectually that not one 
 of them had ever lived to marry her. According to 
 Erewhonian custom the successful marriages of the 
 pupils are inscribed yearly on the oak panelling of the 
 college refectory, and a reprint from these in pamphlet 
 form accompanies all the prospectuses that are sent 
 out to parents. It was alleged that no other ladies' 
 seminary in Erewhon could show such a brilliant 
 record during all the years of Miss La Frime's presi- 
 dency. Many other guests of less note were there, but 
 the lions of the evening were the two Professors whom 
 we have already met with, and more particularly 
 Hanky, who took the Mayoress in to dinner. Panky, 
 of course, Avore his clothes reversed, as did Principal 
 Crank and Professor Gabb; the others were dressed 
 English fashion. 
 
 Everything hung upon the hostess, for the host was 
 little more than a still handsome figure-head. He had 
 been remarkable for his good looks as a young man, 
 and Strong is the nearest approach I can get to a 
 translation of his Erewhonian name. His face in- 
 spired confidence at once, but he was a man of few 
 words, and had little of that grace which in his wife 
 set every one instantly at his or her ease. He knew 
 that all would go well so long as he left everything to 
 her, and kept himself as far as might be in the back- 
 ground. 
 
 \ 
 \ 
 
82 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 Before dinner was announced there was the usual 
 buzz of conversation, chiefly occupied with saluta- 
 tions, good wishes for Sunday's weather, and admira- 
 tion for the extreme beauty of the Mayoress's three 
 daughters, the two elder of whom were already out; 
 while the third, though only thirteen, might have 
 passed for a year or two older. Their mother was so 
 much engrossed with receiving her guests that it was 
 not till they were all at table that she was able to ask 
 Hanky what he thought of the statues, which she had 
 heard that he and Professor Panky had been to see. 
 She was told how much interested he had been with 
 them, and how unable he had been to form any theory 
 as to their date or object. He then added, appealingly 
 to Panky, who was on the Mayoress's left hand, "but 
 we had rather a strange adventure on our way down, 
 had we not, Panky ? We got lost, and were benighted 
 in the forest. Happily we fell in with one of the 
 rangers who had lit a fire." 
 
 *'Do I understand, then," said Yram, as I suppose 
 we may as well call her, "that you were out all last 
 night ? How tired you must be ! But I hope you had 
 enough provisions with you?" 
 
 "Indeed we were out all night. We staid by the 
 ranger's fire till midnight, and then tried to find our 
 way down, but we gave it up soon after we had got 
 out of the forest, and then waited under a large chest- 
 nut tree till four or five this morning. As for food, 
 we had not so much as a mouthful from about three 
 in the afternoon till we got to our inn early this mom- 
 ing." 
 
 "Oh, you poor, poor people! how tired you must 
 be." 
 
Yram Guesses the Truth 83 
 
 "No; we made a good breakfast as soon as we got 
 in, and then went to bed, where we staid till it was 
 time for us to come to your house." 
 
 Here Panky gave his friend a significant look, as 
 much as to say that he had said enough. 
 
 This set Hanky on at once. '* Strange to say, the 
 ranger was wearing the old Erewhonian dress. It 
 did me good to see it again after all these years. It 
 seems your son lets his men wear what few of the old 
 clothes they may still have, so long as they keep well 
 away from the town. But fancy how carefully these 
 poor fellows husband them; why, it must be seven- 
 teen years since the dress was forbidden!" 
 
 We all of us have skeletons, large or small, in some 
 cupboard of our lives, but a well regulated skeleton 
 that will stay in its cupboard quietly does not much 
 matter. There are skeletons, however, which can 
 never be quite trusted not to open the cupboard door at 
 some awkward moment, go down stairs, ring the hall- 
 door bell, with grinning face announce themselves as 
 the skeleton, and ask whether the master or mistress is 
 at home. This kind of skeleton, though no bigger than 
 2l rabbit, will sometimes loom large as that of a dino- 
 therium. My father was Yram's skeleton. True, he 
 was a mere skeleton of a skeleton, for the chances were 
 thousands to one that he and my mother had perished 
 long years ago; and even though he rang at the bell, 
 there was no harm that he either could or would now 
 do to her or hers ; still, so long as she did not certainly 
 know that he v/as dead, or otherwise precluded from 
 returning, she could not be sure that he would not one 
 day come back by the way that he would alone know, 
 and she had rather he should not do so. 
 
84 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 Hence, on hearing from Professor Hanky that a 
 man had been seen between the statues and Sunch'ston 
 wearing the old Erewhonian dress, she was disquieted 
 and perplexed. The excuse he had evidently made to 
 the Professors aggravated her uneasiness, for it was 
 an obvious attempt to escape from an unexpected dif- 
 ficulty. There could be no truth in it. Her son would 
 as soon think of wearing the old dress himself as of 
 letting his men do so; and as for having old clothes 
 still to wear out after seventeen years, no one but a 
 Bridge ford Professor would accept this. She saw, 
 therefore, that she must keep her wits about her, and 
 lead her guests on to tell her as much as they could be 
 induced to do. 
 
 "My son," she said innocently, *'is always consider- 
 ate to his men, and that is why they are so devoted to 
 him. I wonder which of them it was? In what part 
 of the preserves did you fall in with him?" 
 
 Hanky described the place, and gave the best idea 
 he could of my father's appearance. 
 
 "Of course he was swarthy like the rest of us?" 
 
 'T saw nothing remarkable about him, except that 
 his eyes were blue and his eyelashes nearly white, 
 which, as you know, is rare in Erewhon. Indeed, I 
 do not remember ever before to have seen a man with 
 dark hair and complexion but light eyelashes. Nature 
 is always doing something unusual." 
 
 "I have no doubt,'' said Yram, "that he was the man 
 they call Blacksheep, but I never noticed this pecu- 
 liarity in him. If he was Blacksheep, I am afraid you 
 must have found him none too civil ; he is a rough dia- 
 mond, and you would hardly be able to understand his 
 uncouth Sunch'ston dialect." 
 
Yram Guesses the Truth 85 
 
 "On the contrary, he was most kind and thoughtful 
 — even so far as to take our permit from us, and thus 
 save us the trouble of giving it up at your son's office. 
 As for his dialect, his grammar was often at fault, but 
 we could quite understand him." 
 
 "I am glad to hear he behaved better than I could 
 have expected. Did he say in what part of the pre- 
 serves he had been?" 
 
 "He had been catching quails between the place 
 where we saw him and the statutes ; he was to deliver 
 three dozen to your son this afternoon for the Mayor's 
 banquet on Sunday." 
 
 This was worse and worse. She had urged her son 
 to provide her with a supply of quails for Sunday's 
 banquet, but he had begged her not to insist on having 
 them. There was no close time for them in Erewhon, 
 but he set his face against their being seen at table in 
 spring and summer. During the winter, when any 
 great occasion arose, he had allowed a few brace to be 
 provided. 
 
 'T asked my son to let me have some," said Yram, 
 who was now on full scent. She laughed genially as 
 she added, "Can you throw any light upon the ques- 
 tion whether I am likely to get my three dozen? I 
 have had no news as yet." 
 
 "The man had taken a good many; we saw them 
 but did not count them. He started about midnight 
 for the ranger's shelter, where he said he should sleep 
 till daybreak, so as to make up his full tale betimes." 
 
 Yram had heard her son complain that there were 
 no shelters on the preserves, and state his intention of 
 having some built before the winter. Here too, then, 
 the man's story must be false. She changed the con- 
 
86 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 versation for the moment, but quietly told a servant to 
 send high and low in search of her son, and if he could 
 be found, to bid him come to her at once. She then 
 returned to her previous subject. 
 
 ''And did not this heartless wretch, knowing how 
 hungry you must both be, let you have a quail or two 
 as an act of pardonable charity?" 
 
 **My dear Mayoress, how can you ask such a ques- 
 tion? We knew you would want all you could get; 
 moreover, our permit threatened us with all sorts of 
 horrors if we so much as ate a single quail. I assure 
 you we never even allowed a thought of eating one of 
 them to cross our minds.'* 
 
 "Then," said Yram to herself, *'they gorged upon 
 them." What could she think? A man who wore 
 the old dress, and therefore who had almost certainly 
 been in Erewhon, but had been many years away from 
 it; who spoke the language well, but whose grammar 
 was defective — hence, again, one who had spent some 
 time in Erewhon ; who knew nothing of the afforesting 
 law now long since enacted, for how else would he 
 have dared to light a fire and be seen with quails in 
 his possession; an adroit liar, who on gleaning infor- 
 mation from the Professors had hazarded an excuse 
 for immediately retracing his steps; a man, too, with 
 blue eyes and light eyelashes. What did it matter 
 about his hair being dark and his complexion swarthy 
 — Higgs was far too clever to attempt a second visit 
 to Erewhon without dyeing his hair and staining his 
 face and hands. And he had got their permit out of 
 the Professors before he left them; clearly, then, he 
 meant coming back, and coming back at once before 
 the permit had expired. How could she doubt? My 
 
Yram Guesses the Truth 87 
 
 father, she felt sure, must by this time be in Sunch'- 
 ston. He would go back to change his clothes, which 
 would not be very far down on the other side the pass, 
 for he would not put on his old Erewhonian dress till 
 he w^as on the point of entering Erewhon; and he 
 would hide his English dress rather than throw it 
 away, for he would want it when he went back again. 
 It would be quite possible, then, for him to get through 
 the forest before the permit was void, and he would 
 be sure to go on to Sunch'ston for the night. 
 
 She chatted unconcernedly, now with one guest now 
 with another, while they in their turn chatted uncon- 
 cernedly with one another. 
 
 Miss La Frime to Mrs. Humdrum : ''You know how 
 he got his professorship? No? I thought every one 
 knew that. The question the candidates had to an- 
 swer was, whether it was wiser during a long stay at 
 a hotel to tip the servants pretty early, or to wait till 
 the stay was ended. All the other candidates took one 
 side or the other, and argued their case in full. Hanky 
 sent in three lines to the effect that the proper thing 
 j:o do would be to promise at the beginning, and go 
 away without giving. The King, with whom the ap- 
 pointment rested, was so much pleased with this an- 
 swer that he gave Hanky the professorship without so 
 much as looking . , y 
 
 Professor Gabb to Mrs. Humdrum : "Oh, no, I can 
 assure you there is no truth in it. What happened 
 was this. There was the usual crowd, and the people 
 cheered Professor after Professor, as he stood before 
 them in the great Bridge ford theatre and satisfied them 
 that a lump of butter which had been put into his 
 mouth would not melt in it. When Hanky's turn came 
 
88 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 he was taken suddenly unwell, and had to leave the 
 theatre, on which there was a report in the house that 
 the butter had melted ; this was at once stopped by the 
 return of the Professor. Another piece of butter was 
 put into his mouth, and on being taken out after the 
 usual time, was found to show no signs of having . . /' 
 
 Miss Bawl to Mr. Principal Crank: . . . "The 
 Manager was so tall, you know, and then there was 
 that little mite of an assistant manager — it was so 
 funny. For the assistant manager's voice was ever so 
 much louder than the ..." 
 
 Mrs. Bawl to Professor Gabb: . . . "Live for art! 
 If I had to choose whether I would lose either art or 
 science, I have not the smallest hesitation in saying 
 that I would lose . . ." 
 
 The Mayor and Dr. Downie: . . . "That you are 
 to be canonised at the close of the year along with 
 Professors Hanky and Panky?'* 
 
 "I believe it is his Majesty's intention that the Pro- 
 fessors and myself are to head the list of the Sun- 
 child's Saints, but we have all of us got to ... " 
 
 And so on, and so on, buzz, buzz, buzz, over the 
 whole table. Presently Yram turned to Hanky and 
 said — 
 
 "By the way. Professor, you must have found it 
 very cold up at the statues, did you not? But I sup- 
 pose the snow is all gone by this time?" 
 
 "Yes, it was cold, and though the winter's snow is 
 melted, there had been a recent fall. Strange to say, 
 we saw fresh footprints in it, as of some one who had 
 come up from the other side. But thereon hangs a 
 tale, about which I believe I should say nothing." 
 
 "Then say nothing, my dear Professor," said Yram 
 
Yram Guesses the Truth 89 
 
 with a frank smile. ''Above all," she added quietly and 
 gravely, ''say nothing to the Mayor, nor to my son, 
 till after Sunday. Even a whisper of some one com- 
 ing over from the other side disquiets them, and they 
 have enough on hand for the moment." 
 
 Panky, who had been growing more and more res- 
 tive at his friend's outspokenness, but who had en- 
 couraged it more than once by vainly trying to check 
 it, was relieved at hearing his hostess do for him what 
 he could not do for himself. As for Yram, she had got 
 enough out of the Professor to be now fully dissatis- 
 fied, and mentally informed them that they might 
 leave the witness-box. During the rest of dinner she 
 let the subject of their adventure severely alone. 
 
 It seemed to her as though dinner was never going 
 to end; but in the course of time it did so, and pres- 
 ently the ladies withdrew. As they were entering the 
 drawing-room a servant told her that her son had been 
 found more easily than was expected, and wa3» now 
 in his own room dressing. 
 
 "Tell him," she said, '*to stay there till I come, 
 which I will do directly." 
 
 She remained for a few minutes with her guests, 
 and then, excusing herself quietly to Mrs. Humdrum, 
 she stepped out and hastened to her son's room. She 
 told him that Professors Hanky and Panky were stay- 
 ing in the house, and that during dinner they had told 
 her something he ought to know, but which there was 
 no time to tell him until her guests were gone. "I had 
 rather," she said, *'tell you about it before you see the 
 Professors, for if you see them the whole thing will 
 be reopened, and you are sure to let them see how 
 much more there is in it than they suspect. I want 
 
90 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 everything hushed up for the moment; do not, there- 
 fore, join us. Have dinner sent to you in your 
 father's study. I will come to you about midnight.^' 
 
 "But, my dear mother," said George, '1 have seen 
 Panky already. I walked down with him a good long 
 way this afternoon." 
 
 Yram had not expected this, but she kept her coun- 
 tenance. "How did you know," said she, "that he 
 was Professor Panky? Did he tell you so?" 
 
 "Certainly he did. He showed me his permit, which 
 was made out in favour of Professors Hanky and 
 Panky, or either of them. He said Hanky had been 
 unable to come with him, and that he was himself 
 Professor Panky." 
 
 Yram again smiled very sweetly. "Then, my dear 
 boy," she said, "I am all the more anxious that you 
 should not see him now. See nobody but the ser- 
 vants and your brothers, and wait till I can enlighten 
 you. I must not stay another moment; but tell me 
 this much, have you seen any signs of poachers 
 lately?" 
 
 "Yes ; there were three last night." 
 
 "In what part of the preserves?" 
 
 Her son described the place. 
 
 "You are sure they had been killing quails?" 
 
 "Yes, and eating them — two on one side of a fire 
 they had lit, and one on the other; this last man had 
 done all the plucking.*' 
 
 "Good!" 
 
 She kissed him with more than even her usual ten- 
 derness, and returned to the drawing-room. 
 
 During the rest of the evening she was engaged in 
 earnest conversation with Mrs. Humdrum, leaving her 
 
Yram Guesses the Truth 91 
 
 other guests to her daughters and to themselves. Mrs. 
 Humdrum had been her closest friend for many years, 
 and carried more weight than any one else in Sunch'- 
 ston, except, perhaps, Yram herself. "Tell him every- 
 thing," she said to Yram at the close of their conversa- 
 tion; "we all dote upon him; trust him frankly, as you 
 trusted your husband before you let him marry you. 
 No lies, no reserves, no tears, and all will come right. 
 As for me, command me," and the good old lady rose 
 to take her leave with as kind a look on her face as 
 ever irradiated saint or angel. "I go early," she 
 added, *'for the others will go when they see me do 
 so, and the sooner you are alone the better." 
 
 By half an hour before midnight her guests had 
 gone. Hanky and Panky were given to understand 
 that they must still be tired, and had better go to bed. 
 So was the Mayor; so were her sons and daughters, 
 except of course George, who was waiting for her 
 with some anxiety, for he had seen that she had some- 
 thing serious to tell him. Then she went down into 
 the study. Her son embraced her as she entered, and 
 moved an easy chair for her, but she would not 
 ^have it. 
 
 ''No; I will have an upright one." Then, sitting 
 composedly down on the one her son placed for her, 
 she said — 
 
 "And now to business. But let me first tell you that 
 the Mayor was told, twenty years ago, all the more 
 important part of what you will now hear. He does 
 not yet know what has happened within the last few 
 hours, but either you or I will tell him to-morrow." 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 INTERVIEW BETWEEN YRAM AND HER SON 
 
 "What did you think of Panky?" 
 
 "I could not make him out. If he had not been a 
 Bridgeford Professor I might have hked him; but 
 you know how we all of us distrust those people/' 
 
 "Where did you meet him?" 
 
 "About two hours lower down than the statues." 
 
 "At what o'clock?" 
 
 "It might be between two and half-past.'* 
 
 "I suppose he did not say that at that hour he was 
 in bed at his hotel in Sunch'ston. Hardly! Tell me 
 what passed between you." 
 
 "He had his permit open before we were within 
 speaking distance. I think he feared I should attack 
 him without making sure whether he was a foreign 
 devil or no. I have told you he said he was Professor 
 Panky." 
 
 "I suppose he had a dark complexion and black hair 
 like the rest of us?" 
 
 "Dark complexion and hair purplish rather than 
 black. I was surprised to see that his eyelashes were 
 as light as my own, and his eyes were blue like mine — 
 but you will have noticed this at dinner." 
 
 "No, my dear, I did not, and I think I should have 
 done so if it had been there to notice." 
 
 "Oh, but it was so indeed." 
 
 92 
 
Yram and Her Son 93 
 
 'Terhaps. Was there anything strange about his 
 way of talking?" 
 
 ''A little about his grammar, but these Bridgeford 
 Professors have often risen from the ranks. His 
 pronunciation was nearly like yours and mine.** 
 
 "Was his manner friendly?" 
 
 "Very; more so than I could understand at first. 
 I had not, however, been with him long before I saw 
 tears in his eyes, and when I asked him whether he 
 was in distress, he said I reminded him of a son whom 
 he had lost and had found after many years, only to 
 lose him almost immediately for ever. Hence his cor- 
 diality towards me." 
 
 "Then," said Yram half hysterically to herself, "he 
 knew who you were. Now, how, I wonder, did he 
 find that out?" All vestige of doubt as to who the 
 man might be had now left her. 
 
 "Certainly he knew who I was. He spoke about 
 you more than once, and wished us every kind of pros- 
 perity, baring his head reverently as he spoke." 
 
 "Poor fellow! Did he say anything about Higgs?" 
 
 "A good deal, and I was surprised to find he thought 
 about it all much as we do. But when I said that if 
 I could go down into the hell of which Higgs used 
 to talk to you while he was in prison, I should expect 
 to find him in its hottest fires, he did not like it." 
 
 "Possibly not, my dear. Did you tell him how the 
 other boys, when you were at school, used sometimes 
 to say you were son to this man Higgs, and that the 
 people of Sunch'ston used to say so also, till the 
 Mayor trounced two or three people so roundly that 
 they held their tongues for the future?" 
 
 "Not all that, but I said that silly people had be- 
 
94 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 lieved me to be the Sunchild's son, and what a disgrace 
 I should hold it to be son to such an impostor.'* 
 
 *'What did he say to this?" 
 
 "He asked whether I should feel the disgrace less if 
 Higgs were to undo the mischief he had caused by 
 coming back and shewing himself to the people for 
 what he was. But he said it would be no use for him 
 to do so, inasmuch as people would kill him but would 
 not believe him.'* 
 
 "And you said?" 
 
 "Let him come back, speak out, and chance what 
 might befall him. In that case, I should honour him, 
 father or no father." 
 
 "And he?" 
 
 "He asked if that would be a bargain; and when I 
 said it would, he grasped me warmly by the hand on 
 Higgs's behalf — though what it could matter to him 
 passes my comprehension." 
 
 "But he saw that even though Higgs were to shew 
 himself and say who he was, it would mean death to 
 himself and no good to any one else?" 
 
 "Perfectly." 
 
 "Then he can have meant nothing by shaking hands 
 with you. It was an idle jest. And now for your 
 poachers. You do not know who they were? I will 
 tell you. The two who sat on the one side the fire 
 were Professors Hanky and Panky from the City of 
 the People who are above Suspicion." 
 
 "No," said George vehemently. "Impossible." 
 
 "Yes, my dear boy, quite possible, and whether 
 possibly or impossibly, assuredly true." 
 
 "And the third man?" 
 
 "The third man was dressed in the old costume. He 
 
Yram and Her Son 95 
 
 was in possession of several brace of birds. The 
 Professors vowed they had not eaten any '* 
 
 "Oh yes, but they had," blurted out George. 
 
 "Of course they had, my dear; and a good thing 
 too. Let us return to the man in the old costume." 
 
 "That is puzzling. Who did he say he was ?" 
 
 "He said he was one of your men; that you had 
 instructed him to provide you with three dozen quails 
 for Sunday; and that you let your men wear the 
 old costume if they had any of it left, provided " 
 
 This was too much for George; he started to his 
 feet. "What, my dearest mother, does all this mean? 
 You have been playing with me all through. What 
 is coming?" 
 
 "A very little more, and you shall hear. This 
 man staid with the Professors till nearly midnight, 
 and then left them on the plea that he would finish 
 the night in the Ranger's shelter " 
 
 "Ranger's shelter, indeed! Why '* 
 
 "Hush, my darling boy, be patient with me. He 
 said he must be up betimes, to run down the rest of 
 the quails you had ordered him to bring you. But 
 before leaving the Professors he beguiled them into 
 giving him up their permit." 
 
 "Then," said George, striding about the room with 
 his face flushed and his eyes flashing, "he was the 
 man with whom I walked down this afternoon." 
 
 "Exactly so." 
 
 "And he must have changed his dress?" 
 
 "Exactly so." 
 
 "But where and how ?" 
 
 "At some place not very far down on the other side 
 the range, where he had hidden his old clothes." 
 
96 
 
 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 "And who, in the name of all that we hold most 
 sacred, do you take him to have been — for I see you 
 know more than you have yet told me?" 
 
 *'My son, he was Higgs the Sunchild, father to 
 that boy whom I love next to my husband more dearly 
 than any one in the whole world." 
 
 She folded her arms about him for a second, with- 
 out kissing him, and left him. ''And now," she said, 
 the moment she had closed the door — "and now I 
 may cry." 
 
 She did not cry for long, and having removed all 
 trace of tears as far as might be, she returned to her 
 son outwardly composed and cheerful. "Shall I say 
 more now," she said, seeing how grave he looked, 
 "or shall I leave you, and talk further with you to- 
 morrow?" 
 
 "Now — now — now !" 
 
 "Good! A little before Higgs came here, the 
 Mayor, as he now is, poor, handsome, generous to a 
 fault so far as he had the wherewithal, was adored 
 by all the women of his own rank in Sunch'ston. Re- 
 port said that he had adored many of them in return, 
 but after having known me for a very few days, he 
 asked me to marry him, protesting that he was a 
 changed man. I liked him, as every one else did, but I 
 was not in love with him, and said so; he said he 
 would give me as much time as I chose, if I would 
 not point-blank refuse him; and so the matter was 
 left. 
 
 "Within a week or so Higgs was brought to the 
 prison, and he had not been there long before I found 
 or thought I found, that I liked him better than I 
 
Yram and Her Son 97 
 
 liked Strong. I was a fool — but there ! As for Higgs, 
 he hked, but did not love me. If I had let him alone 
 he would have done the like by me; and let each 
 other alone we did, till the day before he was taken 
 down to the capital. On that day, whether through 
 his fault or mine I know not — we neither of us meant 
 it — it was as though Nature, my dear, was deter- 
 mined that you should not slip through her fingers — 
 well, on that day we took it into our heads that we 
 were broken-hearted lovers — the rest followed. And 
 how, my dearest boy, as I look upon you, can I feign 
 repentance ? 
 
 ''My husband, who never saw Higgs, and knew 
 nothing about him except the too little that I told 
 him, pressed his suit, and about a month after Higgs 
 had gone, having recovered my passing infatuation 
 for him, I took kindly to the Ma3^or and accepted him, 
 without telling him what I ought to have told him 
 • — but the words stuck in my throat. I had not been 
 engaged to him many days before I found that there 
 was something which I should not be able to hide 
 much longer. 
 
 ''You know, my dear, that my mother had been 
 long dead, and I never had a sister or any near kins- 
 woman. At my wits' end who I should consult, in- 
 stinct drew me to Mrs. Humdrum, then a woman of 
 about five-and- forty. She was a grand lady, while I 
 was about the rank of one of my own housemaids. I 
 had no claim on her ; I went to her as a lost dog looks 
 into the faces of people on a road, and singles out the 
 one who will most surely help him. I had had a good 
 look at her once as she was putting on her gloves, and 
 I liked the way she did it. I marvel at my own bold- 
 
98 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 ness. At any rate, I asked to see her, and told her 
 my story exactly as I have now told it to you. 
 
 *"You have no mother?' she said, when she had 
 heard all. 
 
 '' 'No/ 
 
 " Then, my dear, I will mother you myself. Higgs 
 is out of the question, so Strong must marry you at 
 once. We will tell him everything, and I, on your 
 behalf, will insist upon it that the engagement is at an 
 end. I hear good reports of him, and if we are fair 
 towards him he will be generous towards us. Besides, 
 I believe he is so much in love with you that he would 
 sell his soul to get you. Send him to me. I can deal 
 with him better than you can.' " 
 
 "And what," said George, "did my father, as I shall 
 always call him, say to all this?" 
 
 "Truth bred chivalry in him at once. 'I will marry 
 her,' he said, with hardly a moment's hesitation, 'but 
 it will be better that I should not be put on any lower 
 footing than Higgs was. I ought not to be denied 
 anything that has been allowed to him. If I am 
 trusted, I can trust myself to trust and think no evil 
 either of Higgs or her. They were pestered beyond 
 endurance, as I have been ere now. If I am held at 
 arm's length till I am fast bound, I shall marry Yram 
 just the same, but I doubt whether she and I shall 
 ever be quite happy.' 
 
 I " 'Come to my house this evening,' said Mrs. Hum- 
 drum, 'and you will find Yram there.' He came, he 
 found me, and within a fortnight we were man and 
 wife." 
 
 I "How much does not all this explain," said George, 
 ^,smiling but very gravely. "And you are going to ask 
 
Yram and Her Son 99 
 
 me to forgive you for robbing me of such a father." 
 "He has forgiven me, my dear, for robbing him 
 of such a son. He never reproached me. From that 
 day to this he has never given me a harsh word or 
 even syllable. When you were born he took to you 
 at once, as, indeed, who could help doing? for you 
 were the sweetest child both in looks and temper that 
 it is possible to conceive. Your having light hair and 
 eyes made things more difficult; for this, and your 
 being born, almost to the day, nine months after Higgs 
 had left us, made people talk — but your father kept 
 their tongues within bounds. They talk still, but they 
 liked what little they saw of Higgs, they like the 
 Mayor and me, and they like you the best of all; so 
 they please themselves by having the thing both ways. 
 Though, therefore, you are son to the Mayor, Higgs 
 cast some miraculous spell upon me before he left, 
 whereby my son should be in some measure his as 
 well as the Mayor's. It was this miraculous spell that 
 caused you to be born two months too soon, and we 
 called you by Higgs's first name as though to show 
 that we took that view of the matter ourselves. 
 ^ "Mrs. Humdrum, however, was very positive that 
 there was no spell at all. She had repeatedly heard 
 her father say that the Mayor's grandfather was light- 
 haired and blue-eyed, and that every third generation 
 in that family a light-haired son was born. The peo- 
 ple believe this too. Nobody disbelieves Mrs. Hum- 
 drum, but they like the miracle best, so that is how 
 it has been settled. 
 
 *T never knew whether Mrs. Humdrum told her 
 husband, but I think she must ; for a place was found 
 almost immediately for my husband in Mr. Hum- 
 
100 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 drum's business. He made himself useful; after a 
 few years he was taken into partnership, and on Mr. 
 Humdrum's death became head of the firm. Between 
 ourselves, he says laughingly that all his success in 
 life was due to Higgs and me." 
 
 , "I shall give Mrs. Humdrum a double dose of kiss- 
 ing," said George thoughtfully, **next time I see her." 
 
 "Oh, do, do; she will so like it. And now, my 
 darling boy, tell your poor mother whether or no you 
 can forgive her." 
 
 He clasped her in his arms and kissed her again 
 and again, but for a time he could find no utterance. 
 Presently he smiled, and said, "Of course I do, but 
 it is you who should forgive me, for was it not all 
 my fault?" 
 
 When Yram, too, had become more calm, she said, 
 "It is late, and we have no time to lose. Higgs' s 
 coming at this time is mere accident; if he had had 
 news from Erewhon he would have known much that 
 he did not know. I cannot guess why he has come — 
 probably through mere curiosity, but he will hear or 
 have heard — yes, you and he talked about it — of the 
 temple ; being here, he will want to see the dedication. 
 From what you have told me I feel sure that he will 
 not make a fool of himself by saying who he is, but in 
 spite of his disguise he may be recognised. I do not 
 doubt that he is now in Sunch'ston; therefore, to-mor- 
 row morning scour the town to find him. Tell him he 
 is discovered, tell him you know from me that he is 
 your father, and that I wish to see him with all good- 
 will towards him. He will come. We will then talk 
 to him, and show him that he must go back at once. 
 You can escort him to the statues ; after passing them 
 
Yram and Her Son loi 
 
 he will be safe. He will give you no trouble, but if 
 he does, arrest him on a charge of poaching, and 
 take him to the gaol, where we must do the best we 
 can with him — but he will give you none. We need 
 say nothing to the Professors. No one but ourselves 
 will know of his having been here." 
 
 On this she again embraced her son and left him. 
 If two photographs could have been taken of her, 
 one as she opened the door and looked fondly back 
 on George, and the other as she closed it behind her, 
 the second portrait would have seemed taken ten 
 years later than the first. 
 
 As for George, he went gravely but not unhappily 
 to his own room. *'So that ready, plausible fellow," 
 he muttered to himself, "was my own father. At any 
 rate, I am not son to a fool — and he liked me." 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 MY FATHER, FEARING RECOGNITION AT SUNCH'STON, 
 BETAKES HIMSELF TO THE NEIGHBOURING TOWN 
 OF FAIRMEAD. 
 
 I WILL now return to my father. Whether from 
 fatigue or over-excitement, he slept only by fits and 
 starts, and when awake he could not rid himself of 
 the idea that, in spite of his disguise, he might be 
 recognised, either at his inn or in the town, by some 
 one of the many who had seen him when he was in 
 prison. In this case there was no knowing what 
 might happen, but at best discovery would probably 
 prevent his seeing the temple dedicated to himself, 
 and hearing Professor Hanky's sermon, which he was 
 particularly anxious to do. 
 
 So strongly did he feel the real or fancied danger 
 he should incur by spending Saturday in Sunch'ston, 
 that he rose as soon as he heard any one stirring, and 
 having paid his bill, walked quietly out of the house, 
 without saying where he was going. 
 
 There was a town about ten miles off, not so im- 
 portant as Sunch'ston, but having some 10,000 in- 
 habitants ; he ' resolved to find accommodation there 
 for the day and night, and to walk over to Sunch'ston 
 in time for the dedication ceremony, which he had 
 found, on inquiry, v/ould begin at eleven o'clock. 
 
 The country between Sunch'ston and Fairmead, as 
 
 102 
 
Flight to Fairmead 103 
 
 the town just referred to was named, was still moun- 
 tainous, and being well wooded as well as well watered, 
 abounded in views of singular beauty; but I have no 
 time to dwell on the enthusiasm with which my father 
 described them to me. The road took him at right 
 angles to the main road down the valley from Sunch'- 
 ston to the capital, and this was one reason why he 
 had chosen Fairmead rather than Clearwater, which 
 was the next town lower down on the main road. He 
 did not, indeed, anticipate that any one would want 
 to find him, but whoever might so want would be 
 more likety to go straight down the valley than to 
 turn aside towards Fairmead. 
 
 On reaching this place, he found it pretty full of 
 people, for Saturday was market-day. There was 
 a considerable open space in the middle of the town, 
 with an arcade running round three sides of it, while 
 the fourth was completely taken up by the venerable 
 Musical Bank of the city, a building which had 
 weathered the storms of more than five centuries. On 
 the outside of the wall, abutting on the market-place, 
 were three wooden sedilia, in which the Mayor and 
 two coadjutors sate weekly on market-days to give 
 advice, redress grievances, and, if necessary (which 
 it very seldom was) to administer correction. 
 
 My father was much interested in watching the 
 proceedings in a case which he found on inquiry to 
 be not infrequent. A man was complaining to the 
 Mayor that his daughter, a lovely child of eight years 
 old, had none of the faults common to children of her 
 age, and, in fact, seemed absolutely deficient in im- 
 moral sense. She never told lies, had never stolen 
 so much as a lollipop, never showed any recalcitrancy 
 
104 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 about saying her prayers, and by her incessant obedi- 
 ence had filled her poor father and mother with the 
 gravest anxiety as regards her future well-being. He 
 feared it would be necessary to send her to a de- 
 formatory. 
 
 "I have generally found/' said the Mayor, gravely 
 but kindly, ''that the fault in these distressing cases 
 lies rather with the parent than the children. Does 
 the child never break anything by accident?*' 
 
 *'Yes," said the father. 
 
 "And you have duly punished her for it ?" 
 
 "Alas ! sir, I fear I only told her she was a naughty 
 girl, and must not do it again." 
 
 "Then how can you expect your child to learn those 
 petty arts of deception without which she must fall 
 an easy prey to any one who wishes to deceive her? 
 How can she detect lying in other people unless she 
 has had some experience of it in her own practice? 
 How, again, can she learn when it will be well for her 
 to lie, and when to refrain from doing so, unless she 
 has made many a mistake on a small scale while at an 
 age when mistakes do not greatly matter? The Sun- 
 child (and here he reverently raised his hat), as you 
 may read in chapter thirty-one of his Sayings, has 
 left us a touching tale of a little boy, who, having 
 cut down an apple tree in his father's garden, lamented 
 his inability to tell a lie. Some commentators, in- 
 deed, have held that the evidence w^as so strongly 
 against the boy that no lie would have been of any 
 use to him, and that his perception of this fact was 
 all that he intended to convey ; but the best authorities 
 take his simple words, T cannot tell a lie,' in their 
 most natural sense, as being his expression of regret 
 
Flight to Fairmead 105 
 
 at the way in which his education had been neglected. 
 If that case had come before me, I should have pun- 
 ished the boy's father, unless he could show that the 
 best authorities are mistaken (as indeed they too 
 generally are), and tliat under more favourable cir- 
 cumstances the boy would have been able to lie, and 
 would have lied accordingly. 
 
 'There is no occasion for you to send your child 
 to a deformatory. I am always averse to extreme 
 measures when I can avoid them. Moreover, in a 
 deformatory she would be almost certain to fall in 
 with characters as intractable as her own. Take her 
 home and whip her next time she so much as pulls 
 about the salt. If you will do this whenever you get 
 a chance, I have every hope that you will have no 
 occasion to come to me again." 
 
 "Very well, sir," said the father, *1 will do my 
 best, but the child is so instinctively truthful that I 
 am afraid whipping will be of little use." 
 
 There were dther cases, none of them serious, 
 which in the old days would have been treated by a 
 straightener. My father had already surmised that 
 the straightener had become extinct as a class, having 
 been superseded by the Managers and Cashiers of the 
 Musical Banks, but this became more apparent as he 
 listened to the cases that next came on. These were 
 dealt with quite reasonably, except that the magistrate 
 always ordered an emetic and a strong purge in ad- 
 dition to the rest of his sentence, as holding that all 
 diseases of the moral sense spring from impurities 
 within the body, which must be cleansed before there 
 could be any hope of spiritual improvement. If any 
 devils were found in what passed from the prisoner's 
 
io6 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 body, he was to be brought up again ; for in this case 
 the rest of the sentence might very possibly be re- 
 mitted. 
 
 When the Mayor and his coadjutors had done 
 sitting, my father strolled round the Musical Bank 
 and entered it by the main entrance, which was on 
 the top of a flight of steps that went down on to the 
 principal street of the town. How strange it is that, 
 no matter how gross a superstition may have polluted 
 it, a holy place, if hallowed by long veneration, re- 
 mains always holy. Look at Delphi. What a fraud 
 it was, and yet how hallowed it must ever remain. 
 But letting this pass. Musical Banks, especially when 
 of great age, always fascinated my father, and being 
 now tired with his walk, he sat down on one of the 
 many rush-bottomed seats, and (for there was no 
 service at this hour) gave free rein to meditation. 
 
 How peaceful it all was with its droning old-world 
 smell of ancestor, dry rot, and stale incense. As the 
 clouds came and went, the grey-green, cobweb-chas- 
 tened, light ebbed and flowed over the walls and ceiling ; 
 to watch the fit fulness of its streams was a sufficient 
 occupation. A hen laid an egg outside and began 
 to cackle — it was an event of magnitude; a peas- 
 ant sharpening his scythe, a blacksmith hammering 
 at his anvil, the clack of a wooden shoe upon the 
 pavement, the boom of a bumble-bee, the dripping of 
 the fountain, all these things, with such concert as 
 they kept, invited the dewy- feathered sleep that visited 
 him, and held him for the best part of an hour. 
 
 My father has said that the Erewhonians never 
 put up monuments or write epitaphs for their dead, 
 and this he believed to be still true; but it was not 
 
Flight to Fairmead 107 
 
 so always, and on waking his eye was caught by a 
 monument of great beauty, which bore a date of about 
 1550 of our era. It was to an old lady, who must 
 have been very loveable if the sweet smiling face of 
 her recumbent figure was as faithful to the original 
 as its strongly marked individuality suggested. I need 
 not give the earlier part of her epitaph, which was 
 conventional enough, but my father was so struck with 
 the concluding lines, that he copied them into the note- 
 book which he always carried in his pocket. They 
 ran: — 
 
 I fall asleep in the full and certain hope 
 That my slumber shall not be broken; 
 And that though I be all-forgetting, 
 Yet shall I not be all-forgotten, 
 But continue that life in the thoughts and deeds 
 Of those I loved. 
 Into which, while the power to strive was yet vouchsafed me, 
 I fondly strove to enter. 
 
 My father deplored his inability to do justice to 
 the subtle tenderness of the original, but the above 
 was the nearest he could get to it. 
 
 How different this from the opinions concerning 
 a future state which he had tried to set before the 
 Erewhonians some twenty years earlier. It all came 
 back to him, as the storks had done, now that he was 
 again in an Erewhonian environment, and he par- 
 ticularly remembered how one youth had inveighed 
 against our European notions of heaven and hell with 
 a contemptuous flippancy that nothing but youth and 
 ignorance could even palliate. 
 
 ''Sir," he had said to my father, "your heaven will 
 not attract me unless I can take my clothes and my 
 
io8 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 luggage. Yes; and I must lose my luggage and find 
 it again. On arriving^ I must be told that it has un- 
 fortunately been taken to a wrong circle, and that 
 there may be some difficulty in recovering it — or it 
 shall have been sent up to a mansion number five hun- 
 dred thousand millions nine hundred thousand forty 
 six thousand eight hundred and eleven, whereas it 
 should have gone to four hundred thousand millions, 
 &c., &c. ; and am I sure that I addressed it rightly? 
 Then, when I am just getting cross enough to run 
 some risk of being turned out, the luggage shall make 
 its appearance, hat-box, umbrella, rug, golf -sticks, 
 bicycle and everything else all quite correct and in 
 my delight I shall tip the angel double and realise that 
 I am enjoying myself. 
 
 ''Or I must have asked what I could have for break- 
 fast, and be told I could have boiled eggs, or eggs 
 and bacon, or filleted plaice. 'Filleted plaice,' I shall 
 exclaim, 'no! not that. Have you any red mullets?' 
 And the angel will say, 'Why no, sir, the gulf has 
 been so rough that there has hardly any fish come in 
 this three days, and there has been such a run on it 
 that we have nothing left but plaice.' 
 
 " 'Well, well,' I shall say, 'have you any kidneys ?' 
 
 " 'You can have one kidney, sir,' will be the an- 
 swer. 
 
 " 'One kidney, indeed, and you call this heaven ! At 
 any rate you will have sausages?' 
 
 "Then the angel will say, 'We shall have some after 
 Sunday, sir, but we are quite out of them at pres- 
 ent.' 
 
 "And I shall say, somewhat sulkily, 'Then I sup- 
 pose I must have eggs and bacon.' 
 
Flight to Fairmead 109 
 
 ''But in the morning there will come up a red 
 mullet, beautifully cooked, a couple of kidneys and 
 three sausages browned to a turn, and seasoned with 
 just so much sage and thyme as will savour without 
 overwhelming them; and I shall eat everything. It 
 shall then transpire that the angel knew about the 
 luggage, and what I was to have for breakfast, all the 
 time, but wanted to give me the pleasure of finding 
 things turn out better than I had expected. Heaven 
 would be a dull place without such occasional petty 
 false alarms as these." 
 
 I have no business to leave my father's story, but 
 the mouth of the ox that treadeth out tlie corn should 
 not be so closely muzzled that he cannot sometimes 
 filch a mouthful for himself; and when I had copied 
 out the foregoing somewhat irreverent paragraphs, 
 which I took down (with no important addition or 
 alteration) from my father's lips, I could not refrain 
 from making a few reflections of my own, which I 
 will ask the reader's forbearance if I lay before him. 
 
 Let heaven and hell alone, but think of Hades, 
 with Tantalus, Sisyphus, Tityus, and all the rest of 
 them. How futile were the attempts of the old Greeks 
 and Romans to lay before us any plausible concep- 
 tion of eternal torture. What were the Danaids do- 
 ing but that which each one of us has to do during 
 his or her whole life? What are our bodies if not 
 sieves that we are for ever trying to fill, but which 
 we must refill continually without hope of being able 
 to keep them full for long together? Do we mind 
 this? Not so long as we can get the wherewithal 
 to fill them; and the Danaids never seem to have run 
 short of water. They would probably ere long take 
 
no Erewhon Revisited 
 
 to clearing out any obstruction in their sieves if they 
 found them getting choked. What could it matter 
 to them whether the sieves got full or no ? They were 
 not paid for filling them. 
 
 Sisyphus, again ! Can any one believe that he would 
 go on rolling that stone year after year and seeing 
 it roll down again unless he liked seeing it? We are 
 not told that there was a dragon which attacked him 
 whenever he tried to shirk. If he had greatly cared 
 about getting his load over the last pinch, experi- 
 ence would have shown him some way of doing so. 
 The probability is that he got to enjoy the downward 
 rush of his stone, and very likely amused himself by 
 so timing it as to cause the greatest scare to the great- 
 est number of the shades that were below. 
 
 What though Tantalus found the water shun him 
 and the fruits fly from him when he tried to seize 
 them? The writer of the *'Odyssey" gives us no hint 
 that he was dying of thirst or hunger. The pores 
 of his skin would absorb enough water to prevent the 
 first, and we may be sure that he got fruit enough, 
 one way or another, to keep him going. 
 
 Tityus, as an effort after the conception of an 
 eternity of torture, is not successful. What could an 
 eagle matter on the liver of a man whose body covered 
 nine acres? Before long he would find it an agree- 
 able stimulant. If, then, the greatest minds of 
 antiquity could invent nothing that should carry bet- 
 ter conviction of eternal torture, is it likely that the 
 conviction can be carried at all? 
 
 Methought I saw Jove sitting on the topmost ridges 
 of Olympus and confessing failure to Minerva. "I 
 see, my dear," he said, "that there is no use in trying 
 
Flight to Fairmead iii 
 
 to make people very happy or very miserable for long 
 together. Pain, if it does not soon kill, consists not 
 so much in present suffering as in the still recent mem- 
 ory of a time when there was less, and in the fear 
 that there will soon be more; and so happiness lies 
 less in immediate pleasure than in lively recollection 
 of a worse time and lively hope of better." 
 
 As for the young gentleman above referred to, my 
 father met him with the assurance that there had 
 been several cases in which living people had been 
 caught up into heaven or carried down into hell, and 
 been allowed to return to earth and report what they 
 had seen ; while to others visions had been vouchsafed 
 so clearly that thousands of authentic pictures had 
 been painted of both states. All incentive to good 
 conduct, he had then alleged, was found to be at once 
 removed from those who doubted the fidelity of these 
 pictures. 
 
 This at least was what he had then said, but I 
 hardly think he would have said it at the time of 
 which I am now writing. As he continued to sit in 
 the Musical Bank, he took from his valise the pamphlet 
 vOn 'The Physics of Vicarious Existence," by Dr. 
 Gurgoyle, which he had bought on the preceding eve- 
 ning, doubtless being led to choose this particular 
 work by the tenor of the old lady's epitaph. 
 
 The second title he found to run, *'Being Strictures 
 on Certain Heresies concerning a Future State that 
 have been Engrafted on the Sunchild's Teaching." 
 
 My father shuddered as he read this title. "How 
 long," he said to himself, "will it be before they are 
 at one another's throats?" 
 
 On reading the pamphlet, he found it added little 
 
112 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 to what the epitaph had already conveyed; but it in- 
 terested him, as vshowing that, however cataclysmic a 
 change of national opinions may appear to be, people 
 will find means of bringing the new into more or less 
 conformity with the old. 
 
 Here it is a mere truism to say that many continue 
 to live a vicarious life long after they have ceased to 
 be aware of living. This view is as old as the non 
 omnis moriar of Horace, and we may be sure some 
 thousands of years older. It is only, therefore, with 
 much diffidence that I have decided to give a resume 
 of opinions many of which those whom I alone wish 
 to please will have laid to heart from their youth up- 
 wards. In brief. Dr. Gurgoyle's contention comes 
 to little more than saying that the quick are more 
 dead, and the dead more quick, than we commonly 
 think. To be alive, according to him, is only to be 
 unable to understand how dead one is, and to be 
 dead is only to be invincibly ignorant concerning our 
 own livingness — for the dead would be as living as 
 the living if we could only get them to believe it. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 PRESIDENT GURGOYLE S PAMPHLET ON THE PHYSICS 
 OF VICARIOUS existence" 
 
 Belief, like any other moving body, follows the 
 path of least resistance, and this path had led Dr. 
 Gurgoyle to the conviction, real or feigned, that my 
 father was son to the sun, probably by the moon, 
 and that his ascent into the sky with an earthly bride 
 was due to the sun's interference with the laws of 
 nature. Nevertheless he was looked upon as more 
 or less of a survival, and was deemed lukewarm, if 
 not heretical, by those who seemed to be the pillars of 
 the new system. 
 
 My father soon found that not even Panky could 
 manipulate his teaching more freely than the Doctor 
 had done. My father had taught tliat when a man 
 ^was dead there was an end of him, until he should 
 rise again in the flesh at the last day, to enter into 
 eternity either of happiness or misery. He had, in- 
 deed, often talked of the immortality which some 
 achieve even in this world ; but he had cheapened this, 
 declaring it to be an unsubstantial mockery, that could 
 give no such comfort in the hour of death as was 
 unquestionably given by belief in heaven and hell. 
 
 Dr. Gurgoyle, however, had an equal horror, on 
 the one hand, of anything involving resumption of 
 life by the body when it was once dead and on the 
 
 "3 
 
114 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 other of the view that Hfe ended with the change 
 which we call death. He did not, indeed, pretend 
 that he could do much to take away the sting from 
 death, nor would he do this if he could, for if men 
 did not fear death unduly, they would often court it 
 unduly. Death can only be belauded at the cost of be- 
 littling life; but he held that a reasonable assurance 
 of fair fame after death is a truer consolation to the 
 dying, a truer comfort to surviving friends, and a 
 more real incentive to good conduct in this life, than 
 any of the consolations or incentives falsely fathered 
 upon the Sunchild. 
 
 He began by setting aside every saying ascribed, 
 however truly, to my father, if it made against his 
 views, and by putting his own glosses on all that he 
 could gloze into an appearance of being in his favour. 
 I will pass over his attempt to combat the rapidly 
 spreading belief in a heaven and hell such as we accept 
 and will only summarise his contention that, of our 
 two lives — namely, the one we live in our own persons, 
 and that other life which we live in other people both 
 before our reputed death and after it — the second is 
 as essential a factor of our complete life as the first is, 
 and sometimes more so. 
 
 Life, he urged, lies not in bodily organs, but in 
 the power to use them, and in the use that is made 
 of them — that is to say, in the work they do. As 
 the essence of a factory is not in the building wherein 
 the work is done nor yet in the implements used in 
 turning it out, but in the will-power of the master and 
 in the goods he makes ; so the true life of a man is in 
 his will and work, not in his body. 'Those,*' he 
 argued, ''who make the life of a man reside within his 
 
Vicarious Existence 115 
 
 body, are like one who should mistake the carpenter's 
 tool-box for the carpenter." 
 
 He maintained that this had been my father's teach- 
 ing, for which my father heartily trusts that he may 
 be forgiven. 
 
 He went on to say that our will-power is not wholly 
 limited to the working of its own special system of 
 organs, but under certain conditions can work and 
 be worked upon by other will-powers like itself: so 
 that if, for example, A's will-power has got such hold 
 on B's as to be able, through B, to work B's mechan- 
 ism, what seems to have been B's action will in reality 
 have been more A's than B's and this in the same real 
 sense as though the physical action had been effected 
 through A's own mechanical system — A, in fact, will 
 have been living in B. The universally admitted 
 maxim that he who does this or that by the hand of 
 an agent does it himself, shews that the foregoing 
 view is only a roundabout way of stating what com- 
 mon sense treats as a matter of course. 
 
 Hence, though A's individual will-power must be 
 held to cease when the tools it works with are des- 
 troyed or out of gear, yet, so long as any survivors 
 were so possessed by it while it was still efficient, or, 
 again, become so impressed by its operation on them 
 through work that he has left as to act in obedience to 
 his will-power rather than their own, A has a certain 
 amount of bon-d fide life still remaining. His vicarious 
 life is not affected by the dissolution of his body; and 
 in many cases the sum total of a man's vicarious ac- 
 tion and of its outcome exceeds to an almost infinite 
 extent the sum total of those actions and works that 
 were effected through the mechanism of his own 
 
Ii6 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 physical organs. In these cases his vicarious life is 
 more truly his life than any that he lived in his own 
 person. 
 
 "True," continued the Doctor, "while living in his 
 own person, a man knows, or thinks he knows, what 
 he is doing, whereas we have no reason to suppose 
 such knowledge on the part of one whose body is al- 
 ready dust ; but the consciousness of the doer has less 
 to do with the livingness of the deed than people gen- 
 erally admit. We know nothing of the power that 
 sets our heart beating, nor yet of the beating itself 
 so long as it is normal. We know nothing of our 
 breathing or of our digestion, of the all-important 
 work we achieved as embryos, nor of our growth from 
 infancy to manhood. No one will say that these were 
 not actions of a living agent, but the more normal, 
 the healthier, and thus the more truly living, the agent 
 is, the less he will know or have known of his own ac- 
 tion. The part of our bodily life that enters into our 
 consciousness is very small as compared with that of 
 which we have no consciousness. What completer 
 proof can we have that livingness consists in deed 
 rather than in consciousness of deed? 
 
 "The foregoing remarks are not intended to ap- 
 ply so much to vicarious action in virtue, we will say, 
 of a settlement, or testamentary disposition that can- 
 not be set aside. Such action is apt to be too unin- 
 telligent, too far from variation and quick change to 
 rank as true vicarious action; indeed it is not rarely 
 found to effect the very opposite of what the person 
 who made the settlement or will desired. They are 
 meant to apply to that more intelligent and versatile 
 action engendered by affectionate remembrance. 
 
Vicarious Existence 117 
 
 Nevertheless, even the compulsory vicarious action 
 taken in consequence of a will, and indeed the very 
 name ''will" itself, shews that though we cannot take 
 either flesh or money with us, we can leave our will- 
 power behind us in very efficient operation. 
 
 'This vicarious life (on which I have insisted, I 
 fear at unnecessary length, for it is so obvious that 
 none can have failed to realise it) is lived by every 
 one of us before death as well as after it, and is little 
 less important to us than that of which we are to 
 some extent conscious in our own persons. A man, 
 we will say, has written a book which delights or dis- 
 pleases thousands of whom he knows nothing, and 
 who know nothing of him. The book, we will sup- 
 pose, has considerable, or at any rate some influence 
 on the action of these people. Let us suppose the 
 writer fast asleep while others are enjoying his work, 
 and acting in consequence of it, perhaps at long dis- 
 tances from him. Which is his truest life — the one 
 he is leading in them, or that equally unconscious 
 Hfe residing in his own sleeping body? Can there 
 be a doubt that the vicarious life is the more efficient? 
 
 *'0r when we are waking, how powerfully does not 
 the life we are living in others pain or delight us, ac- 
 cording as others think ill or well of us? How truly 
 do we not recognise it as part of our own existence, 
 and how great an influence does not the fear of a 
 present hell in men's bad thoughts, and the hope of a 
 present heaven in their good ones, influence our own 
 conduct? Have we not here a true heaven and a true 
 hell, as compared with the efficiency of which these 
 gross material ones so falsely engrafted on to the 
 ,Sunchild's teaching are but as the flint implements of 
 
Ii8 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 a prehistoric race? *If a man/ said the Sunchild, *fear 
 not man, whom he hath seen, neither will he fear God, 
 whom he hath not seen/ " 
 
 My father again assures me that he never said this. 
 Returning to Dr. Gurgoyle, he continued : — 
 
 "It may be urged that on a man's death one of the 
 great factors of his life is so annihilated that no kind 
 of true life can be any further conceded to him. For 
 to live is to be influenced, as well as to influence; and 
 when a man is dead how can he be influenced? He 
 can haunt, but he cannot any more be haunted. He 
 can come to us, but we cannot go to him. On ceasing, 
 therefore, to be impressionable, so great a part of that 
 wherein his life consisted is removed, that no true life 
 can be conceded to him. 
 
 "I do not pretend that a man is as fully alive after 
 his so-called death as before it. He is not. All I con- 
 tend for is that a considerable amount of efficient life 
 still remains to some of us, and that a little life re- 
 mains to all of us, after what we commonly regard 
 as the complete cessation of life. In answer, then, to 
 those who have just urged that the destruction of one 
 of the two great factors of life destroys life altogether, 
 I reply that the same must hold good as regards death. 
 
 *'If to live is to be influenced and to influence, and 
 if a man cannot be held as living when he can no 
 longer be influenced, surely to die is to be no longer 
 able either to influence or be influenced, and a man 
 cannot be held dead until both these two factors of 
 death are present. If failure of the power to be in- 
 fluenced vitiates life, presence of the power to in- 
 fluence vitiates death. And no one will deny that a man 
 
Vicarious Existence 119 
 
 can influence for many a long year after he is vulgarly 
 reputed as dead. 
 
 '*It seems, then, that there is no such thing as either 
 absolute life without any alloy of death, nor absolute 
 death without any alloy of life, until, that is to say, 
 all posthumous power to influence has faded away, 
 and this, perhaps, is what the Sunchild meant by say- 
 ing that in the midst of life we are in death, and so 
 also that in the midst of death we are in life. 
 
 ''And there is this, too. No man can influence fully 
 until he can no more be influenced — that is to say, till 
 after his so-called death. Till then, his *he' is still 
 unsettled. We know not what other influences may 
 not be brought to bear upon him that may change the 
 character of the influence he will exert on ourselves. 
 Therefore, he is not fully living till he is no longer 
 living. He is an incomplete work, which cannot have 
 full effect till finished. And as for his vicarious life — 
 which we have seen to be very real — this can be, and 
 is, influenced by just appreciation, undue praise or 
 calumny, and is subject, it may be, to secular vicissi- 
 tudes of good and evil fortune. 
 
 "If this is not true, let us have no more talk about 
 the immortalty of great men and women. The Sun- 
 child was never weary of talking to us (as we then 
 sometimes thought, a little tediously) about a great 
 poet of that nation to which it pleased him to feign 
 that he belonged. How plainly can we not now see 
 that his words were spoken for our learning — for 
 the enforcement of that true view of heaven and hell 
 on which I am feebly trying to insist? The poet's 
 name, he said, was Shakespeare. Whilst he was alive, 
 very few people understood his greatness; whereas 
 
120 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 now, after some three hundred years, he is deemed 
 the greatest poet that the world has ever known. 'Can 
 this man,' he asked, 'be said to have been truly born 
 till many a long year after he had been reputed as 
 truly dead? While he was in the flesh, was he more 
 than a mere embryo growing towards birth into that 
 life of the world to come in which he now shines so 
 gloriously? What a small thing was that flesh and 
 blood life, of which he was alone conscious, as com- 
 pared with that fleshless life which he lives but knows 
 not in the lives of millions, and which, had it ever 
 been fully revealed even to his imagination, we may 
 be sure that he could not have reached?' 
 
 "These were the Sunchild's words, as repeated to 
 me by one of his chosen friends while he was yet 
 amongst us. Which, then, of this man's two lives 
 should we deem best worth having, if we could choose 
 one or the other, but not both? The felt or the un- 
 felt? Who would not go cheerfully to block or stake 
 if he knew that by doing so he could win such life 
 as this poet lives, though he also knew that on having 
 won it he could know no more about it? Does not 
 this prove that in our heart of hearts we deem an 
 unfelt life, in the heaven of men's loving thoughts, 
 to be better worth having than any we can reasonably 
 hope for and still feel ? 
 
 "And the converse of this is true; many a man 
 has unhesitatingly laid down his felt life to escape 
 unfelt infamy in the hell of men's hatred and con- 
 tempt. As body is the sacrament, or outward and 
 visible sign, of mind, so is posterity the sacrament of 
 those who live after death. Each is the mechanism 
 througrh which the other becomes effective. 
 
Vicarious Existence 121 
 
 *'I grant that many live but a short time when the 
 breath is out of them. Few seeds germinate as com- 
 pared with those that rot or are eaten, and most of 
 this world's denizens are little more than still-born 
 as regards the larger life, while none are immortal to 
 the end of time. But the end of time is not worth con- 
 sidering; not a few live as many centuries as either 
 they or we need think about, and surely the world, so 
 far as we can guess its object, was made rather to be 
 enjoyed than to last. *Come and go' pervades all 
 things of which we have knowledge, and if there was 
 any provision made, it seems to have been for a short 
 life and a merry one, with enough chance of exten- 
 sion beyond the grave to be worth trying for, rather 
 than for the perpetuity even of the best and noblest. 
 
 "Granted, again, that few live after death as long 
 or as fully as they had hoped to do, while many, when 
 quick, can have had none but the faintest idea of the 
 immortality that awaited them; it is nevertheless true 
 that none are so still-born on -death as not to -enter 
 into a life of some sort, however short and humble. 
 A short life or a long one can no more be bargained 
 for in the unseen world than in the 3een; as, how- 
 ever, care on the part of parents can do much for the 
 longer life and greater well-being of their offspring in 
 this world, so the conduct of that offspring in this 
 world does much both to secure for itself longer tenure 
 of life in the next, and to determine whether that life 
 shall be one of reward or punishment. 
 
 " 'Reward or punishment,' some reader will perhaps 
 exclaim; 'what mockery, when the essence of reward 
 and punishment lies in their being felt by those who 
 have earned them.' I can do nothing with those who 
 
122 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 either cry for the moon, or deny that it has two sides, 
 on the ground that we can see but one. Here comes 
 in faith, of which the Sunchild said, that though we< 
 can do Httle with it we can do nothing without it. 
 Faith does not consist, as some have falsely urged, 
 in believing things on insufficient evidence ; this is not 
 faith, but faithlessness to all that we should hold most 
 faithfully. Faith consists in holding that the instincts 
 of the best men and women are in themselves an evi- 
 dence which may not be set aside lightly ; and the best 
 men and women have ever held that death is better 
 than dishonour, and desirable if honour is to be won 
 thereby. 
 
 ''It follows, then, that though our conscious flesh 
 and blood life is the only one that we can fully ap- 
 prehend, yet we do also indeed move, even here, in 
 an unseen world, wherein, when our palpable life is 
 ended, we shall continue to live for a shorter or longer 
 time — reaping roughly though not infallibly, much as 
 we have sown. Of this unseen world the best men 
 and women will be almost as heedless while in the 
 flesh as they will be when their life in flesh is over; 
 for, as the Sunchild often said, 'The Kingdom of 
 Heaven cometh not by observation.' It will be all in 
 all to them, and at the same time nothing, for the 
 better people they are, the less they will think of any- 
 thing but this present life. 
 
 "What an ineffable contradiction in terms have we 
 not here. What a reversal, is it not, of all this world's 
 canons, that we should hold even the best of all that 
 we can know or feel in this life to be a poor thing as 
 compared with hopes the fulfilment of which we can 
 never either feel or know. Yet we all hold this, how- 
 
Vicarious Existence 123 
 
 ever little we may admit it to ourselves. For the 
 world at heart despises its own canons." 
 
 I cannot quote further from Dr. Gurgoyle's pam- 
 phlet; suffice it that he presently dealt with those who 
 say that it is not right of any man to aim at thrusting 
 himself in among the living when he has had his 
 day. "Let him die," say they, "and let die as his 
 fathers before him." He argued that as we had a 
 right to pester people till we got ourselves born, so 
 also we have a right to pester them for extension of 
 life beyond the grave. Life, whether before the grave 
 or afterwards, is like love — all reason is against it, 
 and all healthy instinct for it. Instinct on such mat- 
 ters is the older and safer guide; no one, therefore, 
 should seek to efface himself as regards the next world 
 more than as regards this. If he is to be effaced, let 
 others efface him; do not let him commit suicide. 
 Freely we have received ; freely, therefore, let us take 
 as much more as we can get, and let it be a stand-up 
 fight between ourselves and posterity to see whether 
 it can get rid of us or no. If it can, let it; if it can- 
 not, it must put up with us. It can better care for 
 itself than we can for ourselves when the breath is 
 out of us. 
 
 Not the least important duty, he continued, of pos- 
 terity towards itself lies in passing righteous judge- 
 ment on the forbears who stand up before it. They 
 should be allowed the benefit of a doubt, and pec- 
 cadilloes should be ignored ; but when no doubt exists 
 that a man was engrainedly mean and cowardly, his 
 reputation must remain in the Purgatory of Time for 
 a term varying from, say, a hundred to two thou- 
 sand years. After a hundred years it may generally 
 
124 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 come down, though it will still be under a cloud. After 
 two thousand years it may be mentioned in any so- 
 ciety without holding up of hands in horror. Our 
 sense of moral guilt varies inversely as the square of 
 its distance in time and space from ourselves. 
 
 Not so with heroism; this loses no lustre through 
 time and distance. Good is gold ; it is rare, but it will 
 not tarnish. Evil is like dirty water — plentiful and 
 foul, but it will run itself clear of taint. 
 
 The Doctor having thus expatiated on his own opin- 
 ions concerning heaven and hell, concluded by tilting 
 at those which all right-minded people hold among 
 ourselves. I shall adhere to my determination not to 
 reproduce his arguments; suffice it that though less 
 flippant than those of the young student whom I have 
 already referred to, they were more plausible; and 
 though I could easily demolish them, the reader will 
 probably prefer that I should not set them up for the 
 mere pleasure of knocking them down. Here, then, I 
 take my leave of good Dr. Gurgoyle and his pamphlet; 
 neither can I interrupt my story further by saying 
 anything about the other two pamphlets purchased by 
 my father. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 GEORGE FAILS TO FIND MY FATHER, WHEREON VRAM 
 CAUTIONS THE PROFESSORS 
 
 On the morning after the interview with her son 
 described in a foregoing chapter, Yram told her hus- 
 band what she had gathered from the Professors, and 
 said that she was expecting Higgs every moment, in- 
 asmuch as she was confident that George -would soon 
 find him. 
 
 *'Do you what you like, my dear," said the Mayor. 
 "I shall keep out of the way, for you will manage him 
 better without me. You know what I think of you." 
 
 He then went unconcernedly to his breakfast at 
 which the Professors found him somewhat tactitum. 
 Indeed they set him down as one of the dullest and 
 most uninteresting people they had ever met. 
 ^ When George returned and told his mother that 
 though he had at last found the inn at which my father 
 had slept, my father had left and could not be traced, 
 she was disconcerted, but after a few minutes she 
 said — 
 
 "He will come back here for the dedication, but 
 there will be such crowds that we may not see him till 
 he is inside the temple, and it will save trouble if we 
 can lay hold on him sooner. Therefore, ride either 
 to Clearwater or Fairmead, and see if you can find 
 him. Try Fairmead first; it is more out of the way. 
 
 125 
 
126 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 If you cannot hear of him there, come back, get an- 
 other horse, and try Clearwater. If you fail here to, 
 we must give him up, and look out for him in the 
 temple to-morrow morning." 
 
 "Are you going to say anything to the Professors?" 
 
 "Not if you bring Higgs here before nightfall. If 
 you cannot do this I must talk it over with my hus- 
 band; I shall have some hours in which to make up 
 my mind. Now go — the sooner the better." 
 
 It was nearly eleven, and in a few minutes George 
 was on his way. By noon he was at Fairmead, where 
 he tried all the inns in vain for news of a person 
 answering the description of my father — for, not 
 knowing what name my father might choose to give, 
 he could trust only to description. He concluded that 
 since my father could not be heard of in Fairmead 
 by one o'clock (as it nearly was by the time he had 
 been round all the inns) he must have gone some- 
 where else ; he therefore rode back to Sunch'ston, made 
 a hasty lunch, got a fresh horse, and rode to Clear- 
 water, where he met with no better success. At all 
 the inns both at Fairmead and Clearwater he left word 
 that if the person he had described came later in the 
 day, he was to be told that the Mayoress particularly 
 begged him to return at once to Sunch'ston, and come 
 to the Mayor's house. 
 
 Now all the time that George was at Fairmead my 
 father was inside the Musical Bank, which he had en- 
 tered before going to any inn. Here he had been sit- 
 ting for nearly a couple of hours, resting, dreaming, 
 and reading Bishop Gurgoyle's pamphlet. If he had 
 left the Bank five minutes earlier, he would probably 
 have been seen by George in the main street of Fair- 
 
A Vain Search 127 
 
 mead — as he found out on reaching the inn which he 
 selected and ordering dinner. 
 
 He had hardly got inside the house before the waiter 
 told him that young Mr. Strong, the Ranger from 
 Sunch'ston, had been enquiring for him and had left 
 a message for him, which was duly delivered. 
 
 My father, though in reality somewhat disquieted, 
 showed no uneasiness, and said how sorry he was to 
 have missed seeing Mr. Strong. *'But," he added, 
 *'it does not much matter ; I need not go back this af- 
 ternoon, for I shall be at Sunch'ston to-morrow morn- 
 ing and will go straight to the Mayor's." 
 
 He had no suspicion that he was discovered, but he 
 was a good deal puzzled. Presently he inclined to the 
 opinion that George, still believing him to be Pro- 
 fessor Panky, had wanted to invite him to the ban- 
 quet on the following day — for he had no idea that 
 Hanky and Panky were staying with the Mayor and 
 Mayoress. Or perhaps the Mayor and his wife did 
 not like so distinguished a man's having been unable 
 to find a lodging in Sunch'ston, and wanted him to 
 stay with them. Ill satisfied as he was with any theory 
 he could form, he nevertheless reflected that he could 
 not do better than stay where he was for the night, 
 inasmuch as no one would be likely to look for him a 
 second time at Fairmead. He therefore ordered his 
 room at once. 
 
 It was nearly seven before George got back to 
 Sunch'ston. In the meantime Yram and the Mayor 
 had considered the question whether anything was to 
 be said to the Professors or no. They were confident 
 that my father would not commit himself — why, in- 
 deed, should he have dyed his hair and otherwise dis- 
 
128 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 guised himself, if he had not intended to remain un- 
 discovered? Oh no; the probabiHty was that if noth- 
 ing was said to the Professors now, nothing need ever 
 be said, for my father might be escorted back to the 
 statues by George on the Sunday evening and be told 
 that he was not to return. Moreover, even though 
 something untoward were to happen after all, the 
 Professors would have no reason for thinking that 
 their hostess had known of the Sunchild's being in 
 Sunch'ston. 
 
 On the other hand, they were her guests, and it 
 would not be handsome to keep Hanky, at any rate, 
 in the dark, when the knowledge that the Sunchild 
 was listening to every word he said might make him 
 modify his sermon not a little. It might or it might 
 not, but that was a matter for him, not her. The only 
 question for her was whether or no it would be sharp 
 practice to know what she knew and say nothing 
 about it. Her husband hated finesse as much as she 
 did, and they settled it that though the question was a 
 nice one, the more proper thing to do would be to 
 tell the Professors what it might so possibly concern 
 one or both of them to know. 
 
 On George's return without news of my father, they 
 found he thought just as they did ; so it was arranged 
 that they should let the Professors dine in peace, but 
 tell them about the Sunchild's being again in Erewhon 
 as soon as dinner was over. 
 
 "Happily," said George, "they will do no harm. 
 They will wish Higgs's presence to remain unknown 
 as much as we do, and they will be glad that he should 
 be got out of the country immediately." 
 
 "Not so, my dear," said Yram. " *Out of the coun- 
 
A Vain Search 129 
 
 try' will not do for those people. Nothing short of 
 'out of the world' will satisfy them." 
 
 'That," said George promptly, "must not be." 
 
 "Certainly not, my dear, but that is what they will 
 want. I do not like having to tell them, but I am 
 afraid we must." 
 
 "Never mind," said the Mayor, laughing. "Tell 
 them, and let us see what happens." 
 
 They then dressed for dinner, where Hanky and 
 Panky were the only guests. When dinner was over 
 Yram sent away her other children, George alone re- 
 maining. He sat opposite the Professors, while the 
 Mayor and Yram were at the two ends of the table. 
 
 "I am afraid, dear Professor Hanky," said Yram, 
 "that I was not quite open with you last night, but 
 I wanted time to think things over, and I know you 
 will forgive me when you remember what a number 
 of guests I had to attend to." She then referred to 
 what Hanky had told her about the supposed ranger, 
 and shewed him how obvious it was that this man was 
 a foreigner, who had been for some time in Erewhon 
 more than seventeen years ago, but had had no com- 
 munication with it since then. Having pointed suffi- 
 ciently, as she thought, to the Sunchild, she said, "You 
 see who I believe this man to have been. Have I said 
 enough, or shall I say more?" 
 
 "I understand you," said Hanky, "and I agree with 
 you that the Sunchild will be in the temple to-mor- 
 row. It is a serious business, but I shall not alter my 
 sermon. He must listen to what I may choose to 
 say, and I wish I could tell him what a fool he was for 
 coming here. If he behaves himself, well and good: 
 your son will arrest him quietly after service, and 
 
130 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 by night he will be in the Blue Pool. Your son is 
 bound to throw him there as a foreign devil, with- 
 out the formality of a trial. It would be a most 
 painful duty to me, but unless I am satisfied that that 
 man has been thrown into the Blue Pool, I shall have 
 no option but to report the matter at headquarters. 
 If, on the other hand, the poor wretch makes a dis- 
 turbance, I can set the crowd on to tear him to 
 pieces." 
 
 George was furious, but he remained quite calm, 
 and left everything to his mother. 
 
 "I have nothing to do with the Blue Pool," said 
 Yram drily. ''My son, I doubt not, will know how 
 to do his duty; but if you let the people kill this man, 
 his body will remain, and an inquest must be held, 
 for the matter will have been too notorious to be 
 hushed up. All Higgs's measurements and all marks 
 on his body were recorded, and these alone would 
 identify him. My father, too, who is still master of 
 the gaol, and many another, could swear to him. 
 Should the body prove, as no doubt it would, to be that 
 of the Sunchild, what is to become of Sunchildism ?" 
 
 Hanky smiled. ''It would not be proved. The 
 measurements of a man of twenty or thereabouts 
 would not correspond with this man's. All we Pro- 
 fessors should attend the inquest, and half Bridgeford 
 is now in Sunch'ston. No matter though nine-tenths 
 of the marks and measurements corresponded, so long 
 as there is a tenth that does not do so, we should not 
 be flesh and blood if we did not ignore the nine points 
 and insist only on the tenth. After twenty years we 
 shall find enough to serve our turn. Think of what 
 all the learning of the country is committed to; think 
 
Yram Warns Hanky 131 
 
 of the change in all our ideas and institutions; think 
 of the King and of Court influence. I need not en- 
 large. We shall not permit the body to be the Sun- 
 child's. No matter what evidence you may produce, 
 we shall sneer it down, and say we must have more 
 before you can expect us to take you seriously; if you 
 bring more, we shall pay no attention; and the more 
 you bring the more we shall laugh at you. No doubt 
 those among us who are by way of being candid will 
 admit that your arguments ought to be considered, but 
 you must not expect that it will be any part of their 
 duty to consider them. 
 
 ''And even though we admitted that the body had 
 been proved up to the hilt to be the Sunchild's, do you 
 think that such a trifle as that could affect Sunchild- 
 ism? Hardly. Sunch'ston is no match for Bridge- 
 ford and the King; our only difficulty would lie in 
 settling which was the most plausible way of the many 
 plausible ways in which the death could be explained. 
 We should hatch up twenty theories in less than twenty 
 hours, and the last state of Sunchildism would be 
 stronger than the first. For the people want it, and so 
 long as they want it they will have it. At the same 
 time the supposed identification of the body, even by 
 some few ignorant people here, might lead to a local 
 heresy that is as well avoided, and it will be better 
 that your son should arrest the man before the dedica- 
 tion, if he can be found, and throw him into the Blue 
 Pool without any one but ourselves knowing that he 
 has been here at all." 
 
 I need not dwell on the deep disgust with which this 
 speech was listened to, but the Mayor, and Yram, 
 and George said not a word. 
 
132 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 ''But, Mayoress," said Panky, who had not opened 
 his lips so far, ''are you sure that you are not too 
 hasty in believing this stranger to be the Sunchild? 
 People are continually thinking that such and such an- 
 other is the Sunchild come down again from the sun's 
 palace and going to and fro among us. How many 
 such stories, sometimes very plausibly told, have we 
 not had during the last twenty years? They never 
 take root, and die out of themselves as suddenly as 
 they spring up. That the man is a poacher can hardly 
 be doubted ; I thought so the moment I saw him ; but 
 I think I can also prove to you that he is not a for- 
 eigner, and, therefore, that he is not the Sunchild. He 
 quoted the Sunchild's prayer with a corruption that 
 can have only reached him from an Erewhonian 
 source " 
 
 Here Hanky interrupted him somewhat brusquely. 
 
 "The man, Panky," said he, "was the Sunchild; and 
 he was not a poacher, for he had no idea that he was 
 breaking the law; nevertheless, as you say, Sunchild- 
 ism on the brain has been a common form of mania 
 for several years. Several persons have even believed 
 themselves to be the Sunchild. We must not forget 
 this, if it should get about that Higgs has been here." 
 
 Then, turning to Yram, he said sternly, "But come 
 what may, your son must take him to the Blue Pool 
 at nightfall." 
 
 "Sir," said George, with perfect suavity, "you have 
 spoken as though you doubted my readiness to do 
 my duty. Let me assure you very solemnly that when 
 the time comes for me to act, I shall act as duty may 
 direct." 
 
Yram Warns Hanky 133 
 
 "I will answer for him," said Yram, with even more 
 than her usual quick, frank smile, ''that he will fulfil 
 his instructions to the letter, unless," she added, "some 
 black and white horses come down from heaven and 
 snatch poor Higgs out of his grasp. Such things have 
 happened before now." 
 
 '*! should advise your son to shoot them if they do," 
 said Hanky drily and sub-defiantly. 
 
 Here the conversation closed ; but it was useless 
 trying to talk of anything else, so the Professors asked 
 Yram to excuse them if they retired early, in view 
 of the fact that they had a fatiguing day before them. 
 This excuse their hostess readily acepted. 
 
 "Do not let us talk any more now," said Yram as 
 soon as they had left the room. "It will be quite time 
 enough when the dedication is over. But I rather 
 think the black and white horses will come." 
 
 "I think so too, my dear," said the Mayor laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 "They shall come," said George gravely; "but we 
 have not yet got enough to make sure of bringing 
 them. Higgs will perhaps be able to help me to- 
 
 "Now what," said Panky as they w^ent upstairs, 
 "does that woman mean — for she means something? 
 Black and white horses indeed !" 
 
 "I do not know what she means to do," said the 
 other, "but I know that she thinks she can best us." 
 
 "I wish we had not eaten those quails." 
 
 "Nonsense, Panky; no one saw us but Higgs, and 
 the evidence of a foreign devil, in such straits as his, 
 
134 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 could not stand for a moment. We did not eat them. 
 No, no ; she has something that she thinks better than 
 that. Besides, it is absolutely impossible that she should 
 have heard what happened. What I do not under- 
 stand is, why she should have told us about the Sun- 
 child's being here at all. Why not have left us to 
 find it out or to know nothing about it? I do not 
 understand it." 
 
 So true is it, as Euclid long since observed, that the 
 less cannot comprehend that which is the greater. 
 True, however, as this is, it is also sometimes true that 
 the greater cannot comprehend the less. Hanky went 
 musing to his own room and threw himself into an 
 easy chair to think the position over. After a few 
 minutes he went to a table on which he saw pen, ink, 
 and paper, and wrote a short letter; then he rang 
 the bell. 
 
 When the servant came he said, **I want to send this 
 note to the manager of the new temple, and it is im- 
 portant that he should have it to-night. Be pleased, 
 therefore, to take it to him and deliver it into his own 
 hands ; but I had rather you said nothing about it to 
 the Mayor or Mayoress, nor to any of your fellow- 
 servants. Slip out unperceived if you can. When 
 you have delivered the note, ask for an answer at 
 once, and bring it to me." 
 
 So saying, he slipped a sum equal to about five shill- 
 ings into the man's hand. 
 
 The servant returned in about twenty minutes, for 
 the temple was quite near, and gave a note to Hanky, 
 which ran, *'Your wishes shall be attended to without 
 fail." 
 
Yram Warns Hanky I35 
 
 ''Good!" said Hanky to the man. ''No one in the 
 house knows of your having run this errand for me?" 
 "No one, sir." 
 'Thank you ! I wish you a very good night." 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A VISIT TO THE PROVINCIAL DEFORM ATORY 
 AT FAIRMEAD 
 
 Having finished his early dinner, and not fearing 
 that he should be either recognised at Fairmead or 
 again enquired after from Sunch'ston, my father went 
 out for a stroll round the town, to see what else he 
 could find that should be new and strange to him. He 
 had not gone far before he saw a large building with 
 an inscription saying that it was the Provincial De- 
 formatory for Boys. Underneath the larger inscrip- 
 tion there was a smaller one — one of those corrupt 
 versions of my father's sayings, which, on dipping 
 into the Sayings of the Sunchild, he had found to be 
 so vexatiously common. The inscription ran: — 
 
 "When the righteous man turneth away from the right- 
 eousness that he hath committed, .and doeth that which is a 
 little naughty and wrong, he will generally be found to have 
 gained in amiability what he has lost in righteousness." — 
 Sunchild Sayings, chap. xxii. v. 15. 
 
 The case of the little girl that he had watched earlier 
 in the day had filled him with a great desire to see the 
 working of one of these curious institutions ; he there- 
 fore resolved to call on the head-master (whose name 
 he found to be Turvey), and enquired about terms, 
 alleging that he had a boy whose incorrigible rectitude 
 
 136 
 
A Deformatory 137 
 
 was giving him much anxiety. The information he 
 had gained in the forenoon would be enough to save 
 him from appearing to know nothing of the system. 
 On having rung the bell, he announced himself to the 
 servant as a Mr. Senoj, and asked if he could see the 
 Principal. 
 
 Almost immediately he was ushered into the pres- 
 ence of a beaming, dapper-looking, little old gentle- 
 man, quick of speech and movement, in spite of some 
 little portliness. 
 
 'Ts, ts, ts," he said, when my father had enquired 
 about terms and asked whether he might see the sys- 
 tem at work. *'How unfortunate that you should have 
 called on a Saturday afternoon. We always have a 
 half -holiday. But stay — yes — that will do very 
 nicely ; I will send for them into school as a means of 
 stimulating their refractory system." 
 
 He called his servant and told him to ring the boys 
 into school. Then, turning to my father he said, 
 "Stand here, sir, by the window ; you will see them all 
 come trooping in. H'm, h'm, I am sorry to see them 
 still come back as soon as they hear the bell. I sup- 
 pose I shall ding some recalcitrancy into them some 
 day, but it is uphill work. Do you see the head-boy — 
 the third of those that are coming up the path? I 
 shall have to get rid of him. Do you see him? he is 
 going back to whip up the laggers — and now he has 
 boxed a boy's ears : that boy is one of the most hope- 
 ful under my care. I feel sure he has been using im- 
 proper language, and my head-boy has checked him 
 instead of encouraging him." And so on till the boys 
 were all in school. 
 
 "You see, my dear sir," he said to my father, "we 
 
138 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 are in an impossible position. We have to obey in- 
 structions from the Grand Council of Education at 
 Bridgeford, and they have established these institu- 
 tions in consequence of the Sunchild's having said that 
 we should aim at promoting the greatest happiness of 
 the greatest number. This, no doubt, is a sound prin- 
 ciple, and the greatest number are by nature somewhat 
 dull, conceited, and unscrupulous. They do not like 
 those who are quick, unassuming, and sincere; how, 
 then, consistently with the first principles either of 
 morality or political economy as revealed to us by the 
 Sunchild, can we encourage such people if we can 
 bring sincerity and modesty fairly home to them ? We 
 cannot do so. And we must correct the young as far 
 as possible from forming habits which, unless indulged 
 in with the greatest moderation, are sure to ruin them. 
 "I cannot pretend to consider myself very success- 
 ful. I do my best, but I can only aim at making my 
 school a reflection of the outside world. In the out- 
 side world we have to tolerate much that is prejudicial 
 to the greatest happiness of the greatest number, 
 partly because we cannot always discover in time who 
 may be let alone as being genuinely insincere, and who 
 are in reality masking sincerity under a garb of flip- 
 pancy, and partly also because we wish to err on the 
 side of letting the guilty escape, rather than of pun- 
 ishing the innocent. Thus many people who are per- 
 fectly well known to belong to the straightforward 
 classes are allowed to remain at large, and may be 
 even seen hobnobbing with the guardians of public 
 immorality. Indeed it is not in the public interest that 
 straightforwardness should be extirpated root and 
 branch, for the presence of a small modicum of sin- 
 
A Deformatory 139 
 
 cerity acts as a wholesome irritant to the academi- 
 cism of the greatest number, stimulating it to con- 
 sciousness of its own happy state, and giving it 
 something to look down upon. Moreover, we hold 
 it useful to have a certain number of melancholy ex- 
 amples, whose notorious failure shall serve as a warn- 
 ing to those who neglect cultivating that power of im- 
 moral self-control which shall prevent them from say- 
 ing, or even thinking, anything that shall not imme- 
 diately and palpably minister to the happiness, and 
 hence meet the approval, of the greatest number." 
 
 By this time the boys were all in school. ^'There is 
 not one prig in the whole lot," said the head-master 
 sadly. "I wish there was, but only those boys come 
 here who are notoriously too good to become current 
 coin in the world unless they are hardened with an 
 alloy of vice. I should have liked to show you our 
 gambling, book-making, and speculation class, but the 
 assistant-master who attends to this branch of our 
 curriculum is gone to Sunch'ston this afternoon. He 
 has friends who have asked him to see the dedication 
 of the new temple, and he will not be back till Mon- 
 day. I really do not know what I can do better for 
 you than examine the boys in Counsels of Imperfec- 
 tion." 
 
 So saying, he went into the schoolroom, over the 
 fireplace of which my father's eye caught an inscrip- 
 tion, "Resist good, and it will fly from you. Sun- 
 child's Sayings, xvii. 2." Then, taking down a copy 
 of the work just named from a shelf above his desk, 
 he ran his eye over a few of its pages. 
 
 He called up a class of about twenty boys. 
 
140 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 "Now, my boys," he said, "why is it so necessary to 
 avoid extremes of truthfulness?" 
 
 "It is not necessary, sir," said one youngster, "and 
 the man who says that it is so is a scoundrel." 
 
 "Come here, my boy, and hold out your hand." 
 When he had done so, Mr. Turvey gave him two sharp 
 cuts with a cane. "There now, go down to the bottom 
 of the class and try not to be so extremely truthful in 
 future." Then, turning to my father, he said, "I hate 
 caning them, but it is the only way to teach them. I 
 really do believe that boy will know better than to say 
 what he thinks another time." 
 
 He repeated his question to the class, and the head- 
 boy answered, "Because, sir, extremes meet, and ex- 
 treme truth will be mixed with extreme falsehood." 
 
 "Quite right, my boy. Truth is like religion; it has 
 only two enemies — the too much and the too little. 
 Your answer is more satisfactory than some of your 
 recent conduct had led me to expect." 
 
 "But, sir, you punished me only three weeks ago for 
 telling you a lie." 
 
 "Oh yes ; why, so I did ; I had forgotten. But then 
 you overdid it. Still it was a step in the right direc- 
 tion." 
 
 "And now, my boy," he said to a very frank and in- 
 genious youth about half way up the class, "and how is 
 truth best reached?" 
 
 "Through the falling out of thieves, sir." 
 
 "Quite so. Then it will be necessary that the more 
 earnest, careful, patient, self-sacrificing enquirers 
 after truth should have a good deal of the thief about 
 them, though they are very honest people at the same 
 time. Now what does the man" (who on enquiry my 
 
A Deformatory 141 
 
 father found to be none other than Mr. Turvey him- 
 self) "say about honesty?" 
 
 **He says, sir, that honesty does not consist in never 
 stealing, but in knowing how and where it will be safe 
 to do so." 
 
 "Remember," said Mr. Turvey to my father, "how 
 necessary it is that we should have a plentiful supply 
 of thieves, if honest men are ever to come by their 
 own." 
 
 He spoke with the utmost gravity, evidently quite 
 easy in his mind that his scheme was the only one by 
 which truth could be successfully attained. "But pray 
 let me have any criticism you may feel inclined to 
 make." 
 
 "I have none," said my father, "Your system com- 
 mends itself to common sense; it is the one adopted in 
 the law courts, and it lies at the very foundation of 
 party government. If your academic bodies can sup- 
 ply the country with a sufficient number of thieves — 
 which I have no doubt they can — there seems no limit 
 to the amount of truth that may be attained. If, how- 
 ever, I may suggest the only difficulty that occurs to 
 me, it is that academic thieves shew no great alacrity 
 in falling out, but incline rather to back each other up 
 through thick and thin." 
 
 "Ah, yes," said Mr. Turvey, "there is that diffi- 
 culty; nevertheless circumstances from time to time 
 arise to get them by the ears in spite of themselves. 
 But from whatever point of view you may look at the 
 question, it is obviously better to aim at imperfection 
 than perfection ; for if we aim steadily at imperfection, 
 we shall probably get it within a reasonable time, 
 whereas to the end of our days we should never reach 
 
142 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 perfection. Moreover, from a worldly point of view, 
 there is no mistake so great as that of being always 
 right." He then turned to his class and said — 
 
 "And now tell me what did the Sunchild tell us 
 about God and Mammon?" 
 
 The head-boy answered: "He said that we must 
 serve both, for no man can serve God well and truly 
 who does not serve Mammon a little also ; and no man 
 can serve Mammon effectually unless he serve God 
 largely at the same time." 
 
 "What were his words ?" 
 
 "He said, 'Cursed be they that say, "Thou shalt 
 not serve God and Mammon," for it is the whole duty 
 of man to know how to adjust the conflicting claims 
 of these two deities.' " 
 
 Here my father interposed. "I knew the Sunchild; 
 and I more than once heard him speak of God and 
 Mammon. He never varied the form of the words he 
 used, which were to the effect that a man must serve 
 either God or Mammon, but that he could not serve 
 both." 
 
 "Ah!" said Mr. Turvey, "that no doubt was his 
 exoteric teaching, but Professors Hanky and Panky 
 have assured me most solemnly that his esoteric teach- 
 ing was as I have given it. By the way, these gentle- 
 men are both, I understand, at Sunch'ston, and I think 
 it quite likely that I shall have a visit from them this 
 afternoon, li you do not know them I should have 
 great pleasure in introducing you to them; I was at 
 Bridgeford with both of them." 
 
 "I have had the pleasure of meeting them already," 
 said my father, "and as you are by no means certain 
 that they will come, I will ask you to let me thank you 
 
A Deformatory 143 
 
 for all that you have been good enough to shew me, 
 and bid you good-afternoon. I have a rather press- 
 ing engagement " 
 
 ''My dear sir, you must please give me five min- 
 utes more. I shall examine the boys in the Musical 
 Bank Catechism." He pointed to one of them, and 
 said, ''Repeat your duty towards your neighbour." 
 
 "My duty towards my neighbour," said the boy, 
 "is to be quite sure that he is not likely to borrow 
 money of me before I let him speak to me at all, and 
 then to have as little to do with him as " 
 
 At this point there was a loud ring at the door bell. 
 "Hanky and Panky come to see me, no doubt," said 
 Mr. Turvey. "I do hope it is so. You must stay and 
 see them." 
 
 "My dear sir," said my father, putting his handker- 
 chief up to his face, "I am taken suddenly unwell and 
 must positively leave you." He said this in so per- 
 emptory a tone that Mr. Turvey had to yield. My 
 father held his handkerchief to his face as he went 
 through the passage and hall, but when the servant 
 opened the door he took it down, for there was no 
 Hanky or Panky — no one, in fact, but a poor, wizened 
 old man who had come, as he did every other Satur- 
 day afternoon, to wind up the Deformatory clocks. 
 
 Nevertheless, he had been scared, and was in a very 
 wicked-fleeth-when-no-man-pursueth frame of mind. 
 He went to his inn, and shut himself up in his room 
 for some time, taking notes of all that had happened 
 to him in the last three days. But even at his inn he no 
 longer felt safe. How did he know but that Hanky 
 and Panky might have driven over from Sunch^ston to 
 
144 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 see Mr. Turvey, and might put up at this very house? 
 or they might even be going to spend the night here. 
 He did not venture out of his room till after seven, by 
 which time he had made rough notes of as much of the 
 foregoing chapters as had come to his knowledge so 
 far. Much of what I have told as nearly as I could in 
 the order in which it happened, he did not learn till 
 later. After giving the merest outline of his interview 
 with Mr. Turvey, he wrote a note as follows : — 
 
 "I suppose I must have held forth about the greatest 
 happiness of the greatest number, but I had quite for- 
 gotten it, though I remember repeatedly quoting my 
 favourite proverb, 'Every man for himself, and the 
 devil take the hindmost.' To this they have paid no 
 attention." 
 
 By seven his panic about Hanky and Panky ended, 
 for if they had not come by this time, they were not 
 likely to do so. Not knowing that they were staying 
 at the Mayor's, he had rather settled it that they would 
 now stroll up to the place where they had left their 
 hoard and bring it down as soon as night had fallen. 
 And it is quite possible that they might have found 
 some excuse for doing this, when dinner was over, if 
 their hostess had not undesignedly hindered them by 
 telling them about the Sunchild. When the conversa- 
 tion recorded in the preceding chapter was over, it was 
 too late for them to make any plausible excuse for 
 leaving the house; we may be sure, therefore, that 
 much more had been said than Yram and George were 
 able to remember and report to my father. 
 
 After another stroll about Fairmead, during which 
 he saw nothing but what on a larger scale he had 
 
A Deformatory 145 
 
 already seen at Sunch'ston, he returned to his inn at 
 about half -past eight, and ordered supper in a public 
 room that corresponded with the coffee-room of an 
 English hotel. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 my father makes the acquaintance of mr. 
 balm'y, and walks with him neixt day to 
 sunch'ston 
 
 Up to this point, though he had seen enough to 
 shew him the main drift of the great changes that had 
 taken place in Erewhonian opinions, my father had 
 not been able to glean much about the history of the 
 transformation. He could see that it had all grown 
 out of the supposed miracle of his balloon ascent, and 
 he could understand that the ignorant masses had been 
 so astounded by an event so contrary to all their ex- 
 perience, that their faith in experience was utterly 
 routed and demoralised. If a man and a woman might 
 rise from the earth and disappear into the sky, what 
 else might not happen? If they had been wrong in 
 thinking such a thing impossible, in how much else 
 might they not be mistaken also? The ground was 
 shaken under their very feet. 
 
 It was not as though the thing had been done in a 
 corner. Hundreds of people had seen the ascent; and 
 even if only a small number had been present, the dis- 
 appearance of the balloon, of my mother, and of my 
 father himself, would have confirmed their story. My 
 father, then, could understand that a single incontro- 
 vertible miracle of the first magnitude should unroot 
 the hedges of caution in the minds of the common 
 
 146 
 
Mr. Balmy 147 
 
 people, but he could not understand how such men as 
 Hanky and Panky, who evidently did not believe that 
 there had been any miracle at all, had been led to throw 
 themselves so energetically into a movement so sub- 
 versive of all their traditions, when, as it seemed to 
 him, if they had held out they might have pricked the 
 balloon bubble easily enough, and maintained every- 
 thing in statu quo. 
 
 How, again, had they converted the King — if they 
 had converted him? The Queen had had full knowl- 
 edge of all the preparations for the ascent. The King 
 had had everything explained to him. The workmen 
 and workwomen who had made the balloon and the gas 
 could testify that none but natural means had been 
 made use of — means which, if again employed any 
 number of times, would effect a like result. How 
 could it be that when the means of resistance were so 
 ample and so easy, the movement should nevertheless 
 have been irresistible ? For had it not been irresistible, 
 was it to be believed that astute men like Hanky and 
 Panky would have let themselves be drawn into it? 
 
 What then had been its inner history? My father 
 had so fully determined to make his way back on the 
 following evening, that he saw no chance of getting to 
 know the facts — unless, indeed, he should be able to 
 learn something from Hanky's sermon ; he was there- 
 fore not sorry to find an elderly gentleman of grave 
 but kindly aspect seated opposite to him when he sat 
 down to supper. 
 
 The expression on this man's face was much like 
 that of the early Christians as shewn in the S. Giovanni 
 Laterano bas-reliefs at Rome, and again, though less 
 aggressively self-confident, like that on the faces of 
 
148 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 those who have joined the Salvation Army. If he haH! 
 been in England, my father would have set him down 
 as a Swedenborgian ; this being impossible, he could 
 only note that the stranger bowed his head, evidently 
 saying a short grace before he began to eat, as my 
 father had always done when he was in Erewhon be- 
 fore. I will not say that my father had never omitted 
 to say grace during the whole of the last twenty years, 
 but he said it now, and unfortunately forgetting him- 
 self, he said it in the English language, not loud, but 
 nevertheless audibly. 
 
 My father was alarmed at what he had done, but 
 there was no need, for the stranger immediately said, 
 "I hear, sir, that you have the gift of tongues. The 
 Sunchild often mentioned it to us, as having been 
 vouchsafed long since to certain of the people, to 
 whom, for our learning, he saw fit to feign that he be- 
 longed. Ele thus foreshadowed prophetically its mani- 
 festation also among ourselves. All which, however, 
 you must know as well as I do. Can you interpret?" 
 
 My father was much shocked, but he remembered 
 having frequently spoken of the power of speaking in 
 unknown tongues which was possessed by many of the 
 early Christians, and he also remembered that in times 
 of high religious enthusiasm this power had repeatedly 
 been imparted, or supposed to be imparted, to devout 
 believers in the middle ages. It grated upon him to 
 deceive one who was so obviously sincere, but to avoid 
 immediate discomfiture he fell in with what the 
 stranger had said. 
 
 "Alas ! sir," said he, "that rarer and more precious 
 gift has been withheld from me ; nor can I speak in an 
 unknown tongue, unless as it is borne in upon me at 
 
Mr. Balmy 149 
 
 the moment. I could not even repeat the words that 
 have just fallen from me." 
 
 'That," replied the stranger, "is almost invariably 
 the case. These illuminations of the spirit are beyond 
 human control. You spoke in so low a tone that I 
 cannot interpret what you have just said, but should 
 you receive a second inspiration later, I shall doubt- 
 less be able to interpret it for you. I have been sin- 
 gularly gifted in this respect — more so, perhaps, than 
 any other interpreter in Erewhon." 
 
 My father mentally vowed that no second inspira- 
 tion should be vouchsafed to him, but presently re- 
 membering how anxious he was for information on the 
 points touched upon at the beginning of this chapter, 
 and seeing that fortune had sent him the kind of man 
 who would be able to enlighten him, he changed his 
 mind; nothing, he reflected, would be more likely to 
 make the stranger talk freely with him, than the afford- 
 ing him an opportunity for showing off his skill as an 
 interpreter. 
 
 Something, therefore, he would say, but what? No 
 one could talk more freely when the train of his 
 thoughts, or the conversation of others, gave him his 
 cue, but when told to say an unattached "something," 
 he could not even think of "How do you do this morn- 
 ing ? it is a very fine day" ; and the more he cudgelled 
 his brains for "something" the more they gave no re- 
 sponse. He could not even converse further with the 
 stranger beyond plain "yes" and "no" ; so he went on 
 with his supper, and in thinking of what he was eating 
 and drinking for the moment forgot to ransack his 
 brain. No sooner had he left off ransacking it, than 
 it suggested something — not, indeed, a very brilliant 
 
150 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 something, but still something. On having grasped it, 
 he laid down his knife and fork, and with the air of 
 one distraught he said — 
 
 "My name is Nerval, on the Grampian Hills 
 My father feeds his flock — a frugal swain." 
 
 "I heard you," exclaimed the stranger, *'and I can 
 interpret every word of what you have said, but it 
 would not become me to do so, for you have con- 
 veyed to me a message more comforting than I can 
 bring myself to repeat even to him who has conveyed 
 it." 
 
 Having said this he bowed his head, and remained 
 for some time wrapped in meditation. My father kept 
 a respectful silence, but after a little time he ventured 
 to say in a low tone, how glad he was to have been 
 the medium through whom a comforting assurance 
 had been conve3^ed. Presently, on finding himself en- 
 couraged to renew the conversation, he threw out a 
 deferential feeler as to the causes that might have in- 
 duced Mr. Balmy to come to Fairmead. "Perhaps," 
 he said, *'you, like myself, have come to these parts in 
 order to see the dedication of the new temple; I could 
 not get a lodging in Sunch'ston, so I walked down here 
 this morning." 
 
 This, it seemed, had been Mr. Balmy's own case, ex- 
 cept that he had not yet been to Sunch'ston. Having 
 heard that it was full to overflowing, he had deter- 
 mined to pass the night at Fairmead, and walk over in 
 the morning — starting soon after seven, so as to ar- 
 rive in good time for the dedication ceremony. When 
 my father heard this, he proposed that they should 
 walk together, to which Mr. Balmy gladly consented; 
 
Mr. Balmy 151 
 
 it was therefore arranged that they should go to bed 
 early, breakfast soon after six, and then walk to 
 Sunch'ston. My father then went to his own room, 
 where he again smoked a surreptitious pipe up the 
 chimney. 
 
 Next morning the two men breakfasted together, 
 and set out as the clock was striking seven. The day 
 was lovely beyond the power of words, and still fresh 
 — for Fairmead was some 2500 feet above the sea, and 
 the sun did not get above the mountains that overhung 
 it on the east side, till after eight o'clock. Many per- 
 sons were also starting for Sunch'ston, and there was 
 a procession got up by the Musical Bank Managers of 
 the town, who walked in it, robed in rich dresses of 
 scarlet and white embroidered with much gold thread. 
 There was a banner displaying an open chariot in 
 which the Sunchild and his bride were seated, beaming 
 with smiles, and in attitudes suggesting that they were 
 bowing to people who were below them. The chariot 
 was, of course, drawn by the four black and white 
 horses of which the reader has already heard, and the 
 balloon had been ignored. Readers of my father's 
 book will perhaps remember that my mother was not 
 seen at all — she was smuggled into the car of the bal- 
 loon along with sundry rugs, under which she lay con- 
 cealed till the balloon had left the earth. All this went 
 for nothing. It has been said that though God cannot 
 alter the past, historians can ; it is perhaps because they 
 can be useful to Him in this respect that He tolerates 
 their existence. Painters, my father now realised, can 
 do all that historians can, with even greater effect. 
 
 Women headed the procession — the younger ones 
 dressed in white, with veils and chaplets of roses, blue 
 
152 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 cornflower, and peasant's eye Narcissus, while the 
 older women were more soberly attired. The Bank 
 Managers and the banner headed the men, who were 
 mostly peasants, but among them were a few who 
 seemed to be of higher rank, and these, for the most 
 part, though by no means all of them, wore their clothes 
 reversed — as I have forgotten to say was done also by 
 Mr. Balmy. Both men and women joined in singing 
 a litany the words of which my father could not catch; 
 the tune was one he had been used to play on his 
 apology for a flute when he was in prison, being, in fact, 
 none other than ''Home, Sweet Home." There was 
 no harmony ; they never got beyond the first four bars, 
 but these they must have repeated, my father thought, 
 at least a hundred times between Fairmead and Sunch'- 
 ston. ''Well," said he to himself, ^'however little else 
 I may have taught them, I at any rate gave them the 
 diatonic scale." 
 
 He now set himself to exploit his fellow-traveller, 
 for they soon got past the procession. 
 
 "The greatest miracle," said he, *'in connection 
 with this whole matter, has been — so at least it seems 
 to me — not the ascent of the Sunchild with his bride, 
 but the readiness with which the people generally ac- 
 knowledge its miraculous character. I was one of 
 those that witnessed the ascent, but I saw no signs that 
 the crowd appreciated its significance. They were 
 astounded, but they did not fall down and worship." 
 
 "Ah," said the other, "but you forget the long 
 drought and the rain that the Sunchild immediately 
 prevailed on the air-god to send us. He had an- 
 nounced himself as about to procure it for us; it was 
 on this ground that the King assented to the prepara- 
 
Mr. Balmy 153 
 
 tion of those material means that were necessary be- 
 fore the horses of the sun could attach themselves to 
 the chariot into which the balloon was immediately 
 transformed. Those horses might not be defiled by 
 contact with this gross earth. I too witnessed the as- 
 cent ; at the moment, I grant you, I saw neither chariot 
 nor horses, and almost all those present shared my 
 own temporary blindness ; the whole action from the 
 moment when the balloon left the earth, moved so rap- 
 idly, that we were flustered, and hardly knew what it 
 was that we were really seeing. It was not till two or 
 three years later that I found the scene presenting 
 itself to my soul's imaginary sight in the full splendour 
 which was no doubt witnessed, but not apprehended, 
 by my bodily vision." 
 
 "There," said my father, **you confirm an opinion 
 that I have long held. — Nothing is so misleading as 
 the testimony of eye-witnesses." 
 
 *'A spiritual enlightenment from within," returned 
 Mr. Balmy, ''is more to be relied on than any merely 
 physical affluence from external objects. Now, when 
 I shut my eyes, I see the balloon ascend a little way, 
 but almost immediately the heavens open, the horses 
 descend, the balloon is transformed, and the glorious 
 pageant careers onward till it vanishes into the heaven 
 of heavens. Hundreds with whom I have conversed 
 assure me that their experience has been the same as 
 mine. Has yours been different?" 
 
 ''Oh no, not at all; but I always see some storks 
 circling round the balloon before I see any horses." 
 
 "How strange! I have heard others also say that 
 they saw the storks you mention; but let me do my 
 utmost I cannot force them into my mental image of 
 
154 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 the scene. This shows, as you were saying just now, 
 how incomplete the testimony of an eye-witness often 
 is. It is quite possible that the storks were there, but 
 the horses and the chariot have impressed themselves 
 more vividly on my mind than anything else has/' 
 
 "Quite so ; and I am not without hope that even at 
 this late hour some further details may yet be revealed 
 to us." 
 
 *'It is possible, but we should be as cautious in ac- 
 cepting any fresh details as in rejecting them. Should 
 some heresy obtain wide acceptance, visions will per- 
 haps be granted to us that may be useful in refuting 
 it, but otherwise I expect nothing more." 
 
 "Neither do I, but I have heard people say that in- 
 asmuch as the Sunchild said he was going to interview 
 the air-god in order to send us rain, he was more prob- 
 ably son to the air-god than to the sun. Now here is a 
 heresy which " 
 
 "But, my dear sir," said Mr. Balmy, interrupting 
 him with great warmth, "he spoke of his father in 
 heaven as endowed with attributes far exceeding any 
 that can be conceivably ascribed to the air-god. The 
 power of the air-god does not extend beyond our own 
 atmosphere." 
 
 "Pray believe me," said my father, who saw by the 
 ecstatic gleam in his companion's eye that there was 
 nothing to be done but to agree with him, "that I ac- 
 cept " 
 
 "Hear me to the end," replied Mr. Balmy. "Who 
 ever heard the Sunchild claim relationship with the air- 
 god? He could command the air-god, and evidently 
 did so, halting no doubt for this beneficent purpose on 
 his journey towards his ultimate destination. Can we 
 
Mr. Balmy 155 
 
 suppose that the air-god, who had evidently intended 
 withholding the rain from us for an indefinite period, 
 should have so immediately relinquished his designs 
 against us at the intervention of any less exalted per- 
 sonage than the sun's own offspring? Impossible!" 
 
 *1 quite agree with you," exclaimed my father, "it 
 is out of the " 
 
 "Let me finish what I have to say. When the rain 
 came so copiously for days, even those who had not 
 seen the miraculous ascent found its consequences 
 come so directly home to them, that they had no diffi- 
 culty in accepting the report of others. There was not 
 a farmer or cottager in the land but heaved a sigh of 
 relief at rescue from impending ruin, and they all 
 knew it was the Sunchild who had promised the King 
 that he would make the air-god send it. So abun- 
 dantly, you will remember, did it come, that we had to 
 pray to him to stop it, which in his own good time he 
 was pleased to do." 
 
 "I remember," said my father, who was at last able 
 to edge in a word, "that it nearly flooded me out of 
 house and home. And yet, in spite of all this, I hear 
 that there are many at Bridgeford who are still hard- 
 ened unbelievers." 
 
 "Alas! you speak too truly. Bridgeford and the 
 Musical Banks for the first three years fought tooth 
 and nail to blind those whom it was their first duty to 
 enlighten. I was a Professor of the hypothetical lan- 
 guage, and you may perhaps remember how I was 
 driven from my chair on account of the fearlessness 
 with which I expounded the deeper mysteries of Sun- 
 childism." 
 
156 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 "Yes, I remember well how cruelly " but my 
 
 father was not allowed to get beyond "cruelly." 
 
 "It was I who explained why the Sunchild had rep- 
 resented himself as belonging to a people in many 
 respects analogous to our own, when no such people 
 can have existed. It was I who detected that the sup- 
 posed nation spoken of by the Sunchild was an inven- 
 tion designed in order to give us instruction by the 
 light of which we might more easily remodel our in- 
 stitutions. I have sometimes thought that my gift of 
 interpretation was vouchsafed to me in recognition of 
 the humble services that I was hereby allowed to ren- 
 der. By the way, you have received no illumination 
 this morning, have you?" 
 
 "I never do, sir, when I am in the company of one 
 whose conversation I find supremely interesting. But 
 you were telling me about Bridgeford : I live hundreds 
 of miles from Bridgeford, and have never understood 
 the suddenness, and completeness, with which men 
 like Professors Hanky and Panky and Dr. Downie 
 changed front. Do they believe as you and I do, or 
 did they merely go with the times? I spent a couple 
 of hours with Hanky and Panky only two evenings 
 ago, and was not so much impressed as I could have 
 wished with the depth of their religious fervour." 
 
 "They are sincere now — more especially Hanky — 
 but I cannot think I am judging them harshly, if I 
 say that they were not so at first. Even now, I fear, 
 that they are more carnally than spiritually minded. 
 See how they have fought for the aggrandisement of 
 their own order. It is mainly their doing that the 
 Musical Banks have usurped the spiritual authority 
 formerly exercised by the straighteners." 
 
Mr. Balmy 157 
 
 "But the straighteners," said my father, "could not 
 co-exist with Sunchildism, and it is hard to see how 
 the claims of the Banks can be reasonably gainsaid." 
 
 "Perhaps ; and after all the Banks are our main bul- 
 wark against the evils that I fear will follow from the 
 repeal of the laws against machinery. This has 
 already led to the development of a materialism which 
 minimizes the miraculous element in the Sunchild^s 
 ascent, as our own people minimize the material means 
 that were the necessary prologue to the miraculous." 
 
 Thus did they converse ; but I will not pursue their 
 conversation further. It will be enough to say that in 
 further floods of talk Mr. Balmy confirmed what 
 George had said about the Banks having lost their hold 
 upon the masses. That hold was weak even in the 
 time of my father's first visit ; but when the people saw 
 the hostility of the Banks to a movement which far the 
 greater number of them accepted, it seemed as though 
 both Bridgeford and the Banks were doomed, for 
 Bridgeford was heart and soul with the Banks. 
 Hanky, it appeared, though tmder thirty, and not yet 
 a Professor, grasped the situation, and saw that 
 Bridgeford must either move with the times, or go. 
 He consulted some of the most sagacious Heads of 
 Houses and Professors, with the result that a com- 
 mittee of enquiry was appointed, which in due course 
 reported that the evidence for the Sunchild's having 
 been the only child of the sun was conclusive. It was 
 about this time — that is to say some three years after 
 his ascent — that "Higgism," as it had been hitherto 
 been called, became "Sunchildism," and "Higgs" the 
 "Sunchild." 
 
 My father also learned the King's fury at his escape 
 
158 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 (for he would call it nothing else) with my mother. 
 This was so great that though he had hitherto been, 
 and had ever since proved himself to be, a humane 
 ruler, he ordered the instant execution of all who had 
 been concerned in making either the gas or the balloon ; 
 and his cruel orders were carried out within a couple 
 of hours. At the same time he ordered the destruction 
 by fire of the Queen's workshops, and of all remnants 
 of any materials used in making the balloon. It is said 
 the Queen was so much grieved and outraged (for it 
 was her doing that the material groundwork, so to 
 speak, had been provided for the miracle) that she 
 wept night and day without ceasing three whole 
 months, and never again allowed her husband to em- 
 brace her, till he had also embraced Sunchildism. 
 
 When the rain came, public indignation at the 
 King's action was raised almost to revolution pitch, 
 and the King was frightened at once by the arrival of 
 the promised downfall and the displeasure of his sub- 
 jects. But he still held out, and it was only after con- 
 cessions on the part of the Bridgeford committee, that 
 he at last consented to the absorption of Sunchildism 
 into the Musical Bank system, and to its establish- 
 ment as the religion of the country. The far-reaching 
 changes in Erewhonian institutions with which the 
 reader is already acquainted followed as a matter of 
 course. 
 
 'T know the difficulty," said my father presently, 
 *Vith which the King was persuaded to allow the way 
 in which the Sunchild's dress should be worn to be a 
 matter of opinion, not dogma. I see we have adopted 
 different fashions. Have you any decided opinions 
 upon the subject?" 
 
Mr. Balmy 159 
 
 "I have ; but I will ask you not to press me for them. 
 Let this matter remain as the King has left it." 
 
 My father thought that he might now venture on a 
 shot. So he said, "I have always understood, too, that 
 the King forced the repeal of the laws against ma- 
 chinery on the Bridgeford committee, as another con- 
 dition of his assent?" 
 
 "Certainly. He insisted on this, partly to gratify the 
 Queen, who had not yet forgiven him, and who had 
 set her heart on having a watch, and partly because he 
 expected that a development of the country's resources, 
 in consequence of a freer use of machinery, would 
 bring more money into his exchequer. Bridgeford 
 fought hard and wisely here, but they had gained so 
 much by the Musical Bank Managers being recognised 
 as the authorised exponents of Sunchildism, that they 
 thought it wise to yield — apparently with a good 
 grace — and thus gild the pill which his Majesty was 
 about to swallow. But even then they feared the con- 
 sequences that are already beginning to appear, and 
 which, if I mistake not, will assume far more serious 
 proportions in the future." 
 
 "See," said my father suddenly, we are coming to 
 another procession, and they have got some banners; 
 let us walk a little quicker and overtake it." 
 
 "Horrible !" replied Mr. Balmy fiercely. "You must 
 be short-sighted, or you could never have called my 
 attention to it. Let us get it behind us as fast as pos- 
 sible, and not so maich as look at it." 
 
 "Oh, yes, yes," said my father, "it is indeed horrible, 
 I had not seen what it was." 
 
 He had not the faintest idea what the matter was, 
 but he let Mr. Balmy walk a Httle ahead of him, so 
 
l6o Erewhon Revisited 
 
 that he could see the banners, the most important of 
 which he found to display a balloon pure and simple, 
 with one figure in the car. True, at the top of the 
 banner there was a smudge which might be taken for 
 a little chariot, and some very little horses, but the 
 balloon was the only thing insisted on. As for the 
 procession, it consisted entirely of men, whom a 
 smaller banner announced to be workmen from the 
 Fairmead iron and steel works. There was a third 
 banner, which said, ''Science as well as Sunchildism." 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE TEMPLE IS DEDICATED TO MY FATHER,, AND CER- 
 TAIN EXTRACTS ARE READ FROM HIS SUPPOSED 
 SAYINGS 
 
 "It is enough to break one's heart," said Mr. 
 Balmy when he had outstripped the procession, and 
 my father was again beside him. " *As well as,' in- 
 deed ! We know what that means. Wherever there is 
 a factory there is a hot-bed of unbelief. 'As well as' ! 
 Why it is a defiance." 
 
 "What, I wonder," said my father innocently, 
 "must the Sunchild's feelings be, as he looks down 
 on this procession. For there can be little doubt 
 that he is doing so." 
 
 "There can be no doubt at all," replied Mr. Balmy, 
 "that he is taking note of it, and of all else that is hap- 
 pening this day in Erewhon. Heaven grant that he be 
 not so angered as to chastise the innocent as well as 
 the guilty." 
 
 "I doubt," said my father, "his being so angry even 
 with this procession, as you think he is." 
 
 Here, fearing an outburst of indignation, he found 
 an excuse for rapidly changing the conversation. 
 Moreover he was angry with himself for playing upon 
 this poor good creature. He had not done so of malice 
 prepense; he had begun to deceive him, because he 
 believed himself to be in danger if he spoke the truth; 
 
 l6i 
 
i62 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 and though he knew the part to be an unworthy one, 
 he could not escape from continuing to play it, if he 
 was to discover things that he was not likely to dis- 
 cover otherwise. 
 
 Often, however, he had checked himself. It had 
 been on the tip of his tongue to be illuminated with 
 the words, 
 
 Sukoh and Sukop were two pretty men, 
 They lay in bed till the clock struck ten, 
 
 and to follow it up with. 
 
 Now with the drops of this most Yknarc time 
 My love looks fresh, 
 
 in order to see how Mr. Balmy would interpret the 
 assertion here made about the Professors, and what 
 statement he would connect with his own Erewhonian 
 name; but he had restrained himself. 
 
 The more he saw, and the more he heard, the more 
 shocked he was at the mischief he had done. See how 
 he had unsettled the little mind this poor, dear, good 
 gentleman had ever had, till he was now a mere slave 
 to preconception. And how many more had he not 
 in like manner brought to the verge of idiocy? How 
 many again had he not made more corrupt than they 
 were before, even though he had not deceived them — 
 as for example, Hanky and Panky. And the young? 
 how could such a lie as that a chariot and four horses 
 came down out of the clouds enter seriously into the 
 life of any one, without distorting his mental vision, 
 if not ruining it? 
 
 And yet, the more he reflected, the more he also saw 
 
The Dedication 163 
 
 that he could do no good by saying who he was. Mat- 
 ters had gone so far that though he spoke with the 
 tongues of men and angels he would not be listened 
 to; and even if he were, it might easily prove that he 
 had added harm to that which he had done already. 
 No. As soon as he had heard Hanky's sermon, he 
 would begin to work his way back, and if the Profes- 
 sors had not yet removed their purchase, he would 
 recover it; but he would pin a bag containing about 
 five pounds worth of nuggets on to the tree in which 
 they had hidden it, and, if possible, he would find 
 some way of sending the rest to George. 
 
 He let Mr. Balmy continue talking, glad that this 
 gentleman required little more than monosyllabic ans- 
 wers, and still more glad, in spite of some agitation, 
 to see that they were now nearing Sunch'ston, towards 
 which a great concourse of people was hurrying from 
 Clearwater, and more distant towns on the main road. 
 Many whole families were coming, — the fathers and 
 mothers carrying the smaller children, and also their 
 own shoes and stockings, which they would put on 
 when nearing the town. Most of the pilgrims brought 
 provisions with them. All wore European costumes, 
 but only a few of them wore it reversed, and these 
 were almost invariably of higher social status than the 
 great body of the people, who were mainly peasants. 
 
 When they reached the town, my father was re- 
 lieved at finding that Mr. Balmy had friends on whom 
 he wished to call before going to the temple. He 
 asked my father to come with him, but my father said 
 that he too had friends, and would leave him for the 
 present, while hoping to meet him again later in the 
 day. The two, therefore, shook hands with great 
 
164 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 effusion, and went their several ways. My father's 
 way took him first into a confectioner's shop, where 
 he bought a couple of Sunchild buns, which he put 
 into his pocket, and refreshed himself with a bottle 
 of Sunchild cordial and water. All shops except those 
 dealing in refreshments were closed, and the town was 
 gaily decorated with flags and flowers, often fes- 
 tooned into words or emblems proper for the occasion. 
 
 My father, it being now a quarter to eleven, made 
 his way towards the temple, and his heart was clouded 
 with care as he walked along. Not only was his heart 
 clouded, but his brain also was oppressed, and he 
 reeled so much on leaving the confectioner's shop, that 
 he had to catch hold of some railings till the faintness 
 and giddiness left him. He knew the feeling to be 
 the same as what he had felt on the Friday evening, 
 but he had no idea of the cause, and as soon as the 
 giddiness left him he thought there was nothing the 
 matter with him. 
 
 Turning down a side street that led into the main 
 square of the town, he found himself opposite the 
 south end of the temple, with its two lofty towers that 
 flanked the richly decorated main entrance. I will not 
 attempt to describe the architecture, for my father 
 could give me little information on this point. He 
 saw only the south front for two or three minutes, 
 and was not impressed by it, save in so far as it was 
 richly ornamented — evidently at great expense — and 
 very large. Even if he had had a longer look, I doubt 
 whether I should have got more out of him, for he 
 knew nothing of architecture, and I fear his test 
 whether a building was good or bad, was whether it 
 looked old and weather-beaten or no. No matter what 
 
a. Table with cashier's seat on 
 either side, and alms-box in 
 front. The picture is ex- 
 hibited on a scafifolding be- 
 hin<i it. 
 
 *. The feliquary. 
 
 c. The President's chair. 
 
 d. Pulpit and lectern. 
 e. 
 f- 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 Side doors. 
 
 i. Yram's seat. 
 
 k. Seats of George and the Sun- 
 child. 
 
 o' Pillars. 
 
 A,B,C, D, E, F, G, H, blocks 
 of seats. 
 
 /. Steps leading from the apse 
 to the nave. 
 
 A'and Z,. Towers. 
 
 ,M. Steps and main en* 
 trance. 
 
 N. Robing-room. 
 
 165 
 
1 66 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 a building was, if it was three or four hundred years 
 old he liked it, whereas, if it was new, he would look 
 to nothing but whether it kept the rain out. Indeed I 
 have heard him say that the mediaeval sculpture on 
 some of our great cathedrals often only pleases us be- 
 cause time and weather have set their seals upon it, 
 and that if we could see it as it was when it left the 
 mason's hands, we would find it no better than much 
 that is now turned out in the Euston Road. 
 
 The ground plan here given will help the reader to 
 understand the few following pages more easily. 
 
 The building was led up to by a flight of steps (M), 
 and on entering it my father found it to consist of a 
 spacious nave, with two aisles and an apse which was 
 raised some three feet above the nave and aisles. 
 There were no transepts. In the apse there was the 
 table (a), with the two bowls of Musical Bank 
 money mentioned on an earlier page, as also the alms- 
 box in front of it. 
 
 At some little distance in front of the table stood 
 the President's chair (c), or I might almost call it 
 throne. It was so placed that his back would be turned 
 towards the table, which fact again shews that the 
 table was not regarded as having any greater sanctity 
 than the rest of the temple. 
 
 Behind the table, the picture already spoken of was 
 raised aloft. There was no balloon ; some clouds that 
 hung about the lower part of the chariot served to 
 conceal the fact that the painter was uncertain whether 
 it ought to have wheels or no. The horses were with- 
 out driver, and my father thought that some one 
 ought to have had them in hand, for they were in far 
 too excited a state to be left safely to themselves. 
 
The Dedication 167 
 
 They had hardly any harness, but what Httle there 
 was was enriched with gold bosses. My mother was 
 in Erewhonian costume, my father in European, but 
 he wore his clothes reversed. Both he and my mother 
 seemed to be bowing graciously to an unseen crowd 
 beneath them, and in the distance, near the bottom of 
 the picture, was a fairly accurate representation of the 
 Sunch'ston new temple. High up, on the right hand, 
 was a disc, raised and gilt, to represent the sun; on 
 it, in low relief, there was an indication of a gorgeous 
 palace, in which, no doubt, the sun was supposed to 
 live ; though how they made it all out my father could 
 not conceive. 
 
 On the right of the table there was a reliquary (b) 
 of glass, much adorned with gold, or more probably 
 gilding, for gold was so scarce in Erewhon that gild- 
 ing would be as expensive as a thin plate of gold 
 would be in Europe : but there is no knowing. The 
 reliquary was attached to a portable stand some five 
 feet high, and inside it was the relic already referred 
 to. The crowd was so great that my father could 
 not get near enough to see what it contained, but I 
 may say here, that when, two days later, circumstances 
 compelled him to have a close look at it, he saw that it 
 consisted of about a dozen fine coprolites, deposited by 
 some antediluvian creature or creatures, which, what- 
 ever else they may have been, were certainly not 
 horses. 
 
 In the apse there were a few cross benches (G and 
 H) on either side, with an open space between them, 
 which was partly occupied by the President's seat al- 
 ready mentioned. Those on the right, as one looked 
 towards the apse, were for the Managers and Cashiers 
 
i68 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 of the Bank, while those on the left were for their 
 wives and daughters. 
 
 In the centre of the nave, only a few feet in front 
 of the steps leading to the apse, was a handsome pulpit 
 and lectern (d). The pulpit was raised some feet 
 above the ground, and was so roomy that the preacher 
 could walk about in it. On either side of it there were 
 cross benches with backs (E and F) ; those on the 
 right were reserved for the Mayor, civic functionaries, 
 and distinguished visitors, while those on the left were 
 for their wives and daughters. 
 
 Benches with backs (A, B, C, D) were placed about 
 half-way down both nave and aisles — those in the 
 nave being divided so as to allow a free passage be- 
 tween them. The rest of the temple was open space, 
 about which people might walk at their will. There 
 were side doors (e, g, and /, h) at the upper and 
 lower end of each aisle. Over the main entrance was 
 a gallery in which singers were placed. 
 
 As my father was worming his way among the 
 crowd, which was now very dense, he was startled at 
 finding himself tapped lightly on the shoulder, and 
 turning round in alarm was confronted by the beaming 
 face of George. 
 
 "How do you do. Professor Panky?" said the 
 youth — who had decided thus to address him. ''What 
 are you doing here among the common people? Why 
 have you not taken your place in one of the seats re- 
 served for our distinguished visitors? I am afraid 
 they must be all full by this time, but I will see what 
 I can do for you. Come with me." 
 
 "Thank you," said my father. His heart beat so 
 
The Dedication 169 
 
 fast that this was all he could say, and he followed 
 meek as a lamb. 
 
 With some difficulty the two made their way to 
 the right-hand corner seats of block C, for every seat 
 in the reserved block was taken. The places which 
 George wanted for my father and for himself were 
 already occupied by two young men of about eighteen 
 and nineteen, both of them well-grown, and of pre- 
 possessing appearance. My father saw by the trun- 
 cheons they carried that they were special constables; 
 but he took no notice of this, for there were many 
 others scattered about the crowd. George whispered 
 a few words to one of them, and to my father's sur- 
 prise they both gave up their seats, which appear on 
 the plan as {k). 
 
 It afterwards transpired that these two young men 
 were George's brothers, who by his desire had taken 
 the seats some hours ago, for it was here that George 
 had determined to place himself and my father if he 
 could find him. He chose these places because they 
 would be near enough to let his mother (who was at i, 
 in the middle of the front row of block E, to the left 
 of the pulpit) see my father without being so near as 
 to embarrass him; he could also see and be seen by 
 Hanky, and hear every word of his sermon; but per- 
 haps his chief reason had been the fact that they were 
 not far from the side-door at the upper end of the 
 right-hand aisle, while there was no barrier to inter- 
 rupt rapid egress should this prove necessary. 
 
 It was now high time that they should sit down, 
 which they accordingly did. George sat at the end 
 of the bench, and thus had my father on his left. My 
 father was rather uncomfortable at seeing the young 
 
170 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 men whom they had turned out, standing against a 
 column close by, but George said that this was how 
 it was to be, and there was nothing to be done but to 
 submit. The young men seemed quite happy, which 
 puzzled my father, who of course had no idea that 
 their action was preconcerted. 
 
 Panky was in the first row of block F, so that my 
 father could not see his face except sometimes when he 
 turned round. He was sitting on the Mayor's right 
 hand, while Dr. Downie was on his left ; he looked at 
 my father once or twice in a puzzled way, as though 
 he ought to have known him, but my father did not 
 think he recognised him. Hanky was still with Presi- 
 dent Gurgoyle and others in the robing-room, N; 
 Yram had already taken her seat : my father knew her 
 in a moment, though he pretended not to do so when 
 George pointed her out to him. Their eyes met for a 
 second; Yram turned hers quickly away, and my 
 father could not see a trace of recognition in her face. 
 At no time during the whole ceremony did he catch 
 her looking at him again. 
 
 "Why, you stupid man," she said to him later on in 
 the day with a quick, kindly smile, *T was looking at 
 you all the time. As soon as the President or Hanky 
 began to talk about you I knew you would stare at 
 him, and then I could look. As soon as they left off 
 talking about you I knew you would be looking at me, 
 unless you went to sleep — and as I did not know which 
 you might be doing, I waited till they began to talk 
 about you again." 
 
 My father had hardly taken note of his surround- 
 ings when the choir began singing, accompanied by 
 a few feeble flutes and lutes, or whatever the name 
 
The Dedication 171 
 
 of the instrument should be, but with no violins, for 
 he knew nothing of the violin, and had not been able 
 to teach the Erewhonians anything about it. The 
 voices were all in unison, and the tune they sang was 
 one which my father had taught Yram to sing; but 
 he could not catch the words. 
 
 As soon as the singing began, a procession, headed 
 by the venerable Dr. Gurgoyle, President of the Mu- 
 sical Banks of the province, began to issue from the 
 robing-room, and move towards the middle of the 
 apse. The President was sumptuously dressed, but 
 he wore no mitre, nor anything to suggest an English 
 or European Bishop. The Vice-President, Head 
 Manager, Vice-Manager, and some Cashiers of the 
 Bank, now ranged themselves on either side of him, 
 and formed an impressive group as they stood, gor- 
 geously arrayed, at the top of the steps leading from 
 the apse to the nave. Here they waited till the singers 
 left off singing. 
 
 When the litany, or hymn, or whatever it should be 
 called, was over, the Head Manager left the Presi- 
 dent's side and came down to the lectern in the nave, 
 where he announced himself as about to read some 
 passages from the Sunchild's Sayings. Perhaps be- 
 cause it was the first day of the year according to their 
 new calendar, the reading began with the first chapter, 
 the whole of which was read. My father told me that 
 he quite well remembered having said the last verse, 
 which he still held as true; hardly a word of the rest 
 was ever spoken by him, though he recognized his own 
 influence in almost all of it. The reader paused, with 
 good effect, for about five seconds between each para- 
 
172 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 graph, and read slowly and very clearly. The chapter 
 was as follows : — 
 
 "These are the words of the Sunchild about God and 
 man. He said — 
 
 1. God is the baseless basis of all thoughts, things, and 
 deeds. 
 
 2. So that those who say that there is a God, lie, unless 
 they also mean that there is no God ; and those who say that 
 there is no God, lie, unless they also mean that there is a 
 God. 
 
 3. It is very true to say that man is made after the 
 likeness of God ; and yet it is very untrue to say this. 
 
 4. God lives and moves in every atom throughout the 
 universe. Therefore it is wrong to think of Him as 'Him' 
 and 'He,' save as by the clutching of a drowning man at a 
 straw. 
 
 5. God is God to us only so long as we cannot see him. 
 When we are near to seeing Him He vanishes, and we 
 behold Nature in His stead. 
 
 6. We approach Him most nearly when we think of 
 Him as our expression for Man's highest conception, of 
 goodness, wisdom, and power. But we cannot rise to Him 
 above the level of our own highest selves. 
 
 7. We remove ourselves most far from Him when we 
 invest Him with human form and attributes. 
 
 8. My father the sun, the earth, the moon, and all planets 
 that roll round my father, are to God but as a single cell in 
 our bodies to ourselves. 
 
 9. He is as much above my father, as my father is above 
 men and women. 
 
 10. The universe is instinct with the mind of God. The 
 mind of God is in all that has mind throughout all worlds. 
 There is no God but the Universe, and man, in this world 
 is His prophet. 
 
 11. God's conscious life, nascent, so far as this world is 
 concerned, in the infusoria, adolescent in the higher mam- 
 mals, approaches maturity on this earth in man. All these 
 living beings are members one of another, and of God. 
 
The Dedication 173 
 
 12. Therefore, as man cannot live without God in the 
 world, so neither can God live in this world without man- 
 kind. 
 
 13. If we speak ill of God in our ignorance it may be for- 
 given us; but if we speak ill of His Holy Spirit indwelling 
 in good men and women it may not be forgiven us." 
 
 The Head Manager now resumed his place by 
 President Gurgoyle's side, and the President in the 
 name of his Majesty the King declared the temple to 
 be hereby dedicated to the contemplation of the Sun- 
 child and the better exposition of his teaching. This 
 was all that was said. The reliquary was then brought 
 forward and placed at the top of the steps leading 
 from the apse to the nave; but the original intention 
 of carrying it round the temple was abandoned for 
 fear of accidents through the pressure round it of the 
 enormous multitudes who were assembled. More 
 singing followed of a simple but impressive kind ; dur- 
 ing this I am afraid I must own that my father, tired 
 with his walk, dropped off into a refreshing slumber, 
 from which he did not wake till George nudged him 
 and told him not to snore, just as the Vice-Manager 
 was going towards the lectern to read another chapter 
 of the Sunchild's Sayings — which was as follows: — 
 
 The Sunchild also spoke to us a parable about the unwis- 
 dom of the children yet unborn, who though they know so 
 much, yet do not know as much as they think they do. 
 
 He said: — 
 
 "The unborn have knowledge of one another so long as 
 they are unborn, and this w^ithout impediment from walls or 
 material obstacles. The unborn children in any city form 
 a population apart, who talk with one another and tell each 
 other about their developmental progress. 
 
 "They have no knowledge, and cannot even conceive the 
 
174 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 existence of anything that is not such as they are themselves. 
 Those who have been born are to them what the dead are 
 to us. They can see no life in them, and know no more 
 about them than they do of any stage in their own past 
 development other than the one through which they are 
 passing at the moment. They do not even know that their 
 mothers are alive — much less that their mothers were once 
 as they now are. To an embryo, its mother is simply the 
 environment, and is looked upon much as our inorganic sur- 
 roundings are by ourselves. 
 
 "The great terror of their lives is the fear of birth, — 
 that they shall have to leave the only thing that they can 
 think of as life, and enter upon a dark unknown which is 
 to them tantamount to annihilation. 
 
 "Some, indeed, among them have maintained that birth 
 is not the death which they commonly deem it, but that 
 there is a life beyond the womb of which they as yet know 
 nothing, and which is a million fold more truly life than 
 anything they have yet been able even to imagine. But the 
 greater number shake their yet unfashioned heads and say 
 they have no evidence for this that will stand a moment's 
 examination. 
 
 " 'Nay,' answer the others, *so much work, so elaborate, 
 so wondrous as that whereon we are now so busily engaged 
 must have a purpose, though the purpose is beyond our 
 grasp.' 
 
 " 'Never,' reply the first speakers ; 'our pleasure in the 
 work is sufficient justification for it. Who has ever par- 
 taken of this life you speak of, and re-entered into the womb 
 to tell us of it? Granted that some few have pretended to 
 have done this, but how completely have their stories broken 
 down when subjected to the tests of sober criticism. No. 
 When we are born we are born, and there is an end of us.* 
 
 "But in the hour of birth, when they can no longer re- 
 enter the womb and tell the others. Behold! they find that 
 it is not so." 
 
 Here the reader again closed his book and resumed 
 his place in the apse. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 PROFESSOR HANKY PREACHES A SERMON, IN THE 
 COURSE OF WHICH MY FATHER DECLARES HIM- 
 SELF TO BE THE SUNCHILD 
 
 Professor Hanky then went up into the pulpit, 
 richly but soberly robed in vestments the exact nature 
 of which J. cannot determine. His carriage was dig- 
 nified, and the harsh lines on his face gave it a strong 
 individuality, which, though it did not attract, con- 
 veyed an impression of power that could not fail to 
 interest. As soon as he had given attention time to 
 fix itself upon him, he began his sermon without text 
 or preliminary matter of any kind, and apparently 
 without notes. 
 
 He spoke clearly and very quietly, especially at the 
 beginning; he used action whenever it could point his 
 meaning, or give life and colour, but there was no 
 approach to staginess or even oratorical display. In 
 fact, he spoke as one who meant what he was saying, 
 and desired that his hearers should accept his mean- 
 ing, fully confident in his good faith. His use of 
 pause was effective. After the word "mistake," at the 
 end of the opening sentence, he held up his half-bent 
 hand and paused for full three seconds, looking in- 
 tently at his audience as he did so. Every one felt the 
 idea to be here enounced that was to dominate the 
 sermon. 
 
 175 
 
176 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 The sermon — so much of it as I can find room for 
 — was as follows : — 
 
 "My friends, let there be no mistake. At such a 
 time, as this, it is well we should look back upon the 
 path by which we have travelled, and forward to the 
 goal towards which we are tending. As it was neces- 
 sary that the material foundations of this building 
 should be so sure that there shall be no subsidence in 
 the superstructure, so is it not less necessary to ensure 
 that there shall be no subsidence in the immaterial 
 structure that we have raised in consequence of the 
 Sunchild's sojourn among us. Therefore, my friends, 
 I again say, 'Let there be no mistake.' Each stone that 
 goes towards the uprearing of this visible fane, each, 
 human soul that does its part in building the invisible 
 temple of our national faith, is bearing witness to, and 
 lending its support to, that which is either the truth 
 of truths, or the baseless fabric of a dream. 
 
 "My friends, this is the only possible alternative. 
 He in whose name we are here assembled, is either 
 worthy of more reverential honour than we can ever 
 pay him, or he is worthy of no more honour than 
 any other honourable man among ourselves. There 
 can be no halting between these two opinions. The 
 question of questions is, was he the child of the 
 tutelary god of this world — the sun, and is it to the 
 palace of the sun that he returned when he left us, or 
 was he, as some amongst us still do not hesitate to 
 maintain, a mere man, escaping by unusual but strictly 
 natural means to some part of this earth with which 
 we are unacquainted. My friends, either we are on 
 a right path or on a very wrong one, and in a matter 
 
Prof. Hanky's Sermon 177 
 
 of such supreme importance — there must be no mis- 
 take. 
 
 "1 need not remind those of you whose privilege 
 it is to Hve in Sunch'ston, of the charm attendant on 
 the Sunchild's personal presence and conversation, 
 nor of his quick sympathy, his keen intellect, his readi- 
 ness to adapt himself to the capacities of all those who 
 came to see him while he was in prison. He adored 
 children, and it was on them that some of his most 
 conspicuous miracles were performed. Many a time 
 when a child had fallen and hurt itself, was he known 
 to make the place well by simply kissing it. Nor need 
 I recall to your minds the spotless purity of his life — 
 so spotless that not one breath of slander has ever 
 dared to visit it. I was one of the not very many who 
 had the privilege of being admitted to the inner circle 
 of his friends during the later weeks that he was 
 amongst us. I loved him dearly, and it will ever be 
 the proudest recollection of my life that he deigned to 
 return me no small measure of affection." 
 
 My father, furious as he was at finding himself 
 dragged into complicity with this man's imposture, 
 could not resist a smile at the effrontery with which 
 he lowered his tone here, and appeared unwilling to 
 dwell on an incident which he could not recall without 
 being affected almost to tears, and mere allusion to 
 which had involved an apparent self-display that was 
 above all things repugnant to him. What a difference 
 between the Hanky of Thursday evening with its 
 ''never set eyes on him and hope I never shall," and 
 the Hanky of Sunday morning, who now looked as 
 modest as Cleopatra might have done had she been 
 
178 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 standing godmother to a little blue-eyed girl — Bellero- 
 phon's first-born baby. 
 
 Having recovered from his natural, but promptly 
 repressed, emotion, the Professor continued : — 
 
 ''I need not remind you of the purpose for which 
 so many of us, from so many parts of oi«ir kingdom, 
 are here assembled. We know what we have come 
 hither to do : we are come each one of us to sign and 
 seal by his presence the bond of his assent to those 
 momentous Changes, which have found their first 
 great material expression in the temple that you see 
 around you. 
 
 "You all know how, in accordance with the ex- 
 pressed will of the Sunchild, the Presidents and 
 Vice-Presidents of the Musical Banks began as soon 
 as he had left us to examine, patiently, carefully, 
 earnestly, and without bias of any kind, firstly the 
 evidences in support of the Sunchild's claim to be the 
 son of the tutelar deity of this world, and secondly 
 the precise nature of his instructions as regards the 
 future position and authority of the Musical Banks. 
 
 "My friends, it is easy to understand why the Sun- 
 child should have given us these instructions. With 
 that foresight which is the special characteristic of 
 divine, as compared with human, wisdom, he desired 
 that the evidences in support of his superhuman char- 
 acter should be collected, sifted, and placed on record, 
 before anything was either lost through the death of 
 those who could alone substantiate it, or unduly sup- 
 plied through the enthusiasm of over-zealous vision- 
 aries. The greater any true miracle has been, the more 
 certainly will false ones accrete round it; here, then, 
 we find the explanation of the command the Sunchild 
 
Prof. Hanky's Sermon 179 
 
 gave to us to gather, verify, and record, the facts of 
 his sojourn here in Erewhon. For above all things 
 he held it necessary to ensure that there should be 
 neither mistake, nor even possibility of mistake. 
 
 ^'Consider for a moment what differences of 
 opinion would infallibly have arisen, if the evidences 
 for the miraculous character of the Sunchild's mis- 
 sion had been conflicting — if they had rested on 
 versions each claiming to be equally authoritative, but 
 each hopelessly irreconcilable on vital points with 
 every single other. What would future generations 
 have said in answer to those who bade them fling all 
 human experience to the winds, on the strength of 
 records written they knew not certainly by whom, nor 
 how long after the marvels that they recorded, and 
 of which all that could be certainly said was that no 
 two of them told the same story? 
 
 **Who that believes either in God or man — who 
 with any self-respect, or respect for the gift of reason 
 with which God had endowed him, either would, or 
 could, believe that a chariot and four horses had come 
 down from heaven, and gone back again with human 
 or quasi-human occupants, unless the evidences for 
 the fact left no loophole for escape? If a single loop- 
 hole were left him, he would be unpardonable, not for 
 disbelieving the story, but for believing it. The sin 
 against God would lie not in want of faith, but in 
 faith. 
 
 ''My friends, there are two sins in matters of 
 belief. There is that of believing on too little evi- 
 dence, and that of requiring too much before we are 
 convinced. The guilt of the latter is incurred, alas ! by 
 not a few amongst us at the present day, but if the 
 
i8o Erewhon Revisited 
 
 testimony to the truth of the wondrous event so faith- 
 fully depicted on the picture that confronts you had 
 been less contemporaneous, less authoritative, less 
 unanimous, future generations — and it is for them 
 that we should now provide — would be guilty of the 
 first-named, and not less heinous sin if they believed 
 at all. 
 
 "Small wonder, then, that the Sunchild, having 
 come amongst us for our advantage, not his own, 
 would not permit his beneficent designs to be endan- 
 gered by the discrepancies, mythical developments, 
 idiosyncracies, and a hundred other defects inevitably 
 attendant on amateur and irresponsible recording. 
 Small wonder, then, that he should have chosen the 
 officials of the Musical Banks, from the Presidents 
 and Vice-Presidents down\vards to be the authorita- 
 tive exponents of his teaching, the depositaries of his 
 traditions, and his representatives here on earth till 
 he shall again see fit to visit us. For he will come. 
 Nay it is even possible that he may be here amongst 
 us at this very moment, disguised so that none may 
 know him, and intent only on vv^atching our devotion 
 towards him. If this be so, let me implore him, in the 
 name of the sun his father, to reveal himself." 
 
 Now Hanky had already given my father more 
 than one look that had made him uneasy. He had 
 evidently recognized him as the supposed ranger of 
 last Thursday evening. Twice he had run his eye like 
 a searchlight over the front benches opposite to him, 
 and when the beam had reached my father there had 
 been no more searching. It was beginning to dawn 
 upon my father that George might have discovered that 
 he was not Professor Panky; was it for this reason 
 
Prof. Hanky's Sermon i8i 
 
 that these two young special constables, though they 
 gave up their places, still kept so close to him? Was 
 George only waiting his opportunity to arrest him — 
 not of course even suspecting who he was — but as a 
 foreign devil who had tried to pass himself off as 
 Professor Panky? Had this been the meaning of his 
 having followed him to Fairmead? And should he 
 have to be thrown into the Blue Pool by George after 
 all. *lt would serve me," said he to himself, "richly 
 right." 
 
 These fears which had been taking shape for some 
 few minutes were turned almost to certainties by the 
 half -contemptuous glance Hanky threw towards him 
 as he uttered what was obviously intended as a chal- 
 lenge. He saw that all was over, and was starting 
 to his feet to declare himself, and thus fall into the 
 trap that Hanky was laying for him, when George 
 gripped him tightly by the knee and whispered, "Don't 
 — you are in great danger," And he smiled kindly as 
 he spoke. 
 
 My father sank back dumbfounded. "You know 
 me?" he whispered in reply, 
 
 ^ "Perfectly. So does Hanky, so does my mother; 
 say no more," and he again smiled. 
 
 George, as my father afterwards learned, had hoped 
 that he would reveal himself, and had determined in 
 spite of his mother's instructions, to give him an 
 opportunity of doing so. It was for this reason that 
 he had not arrested him quietly, as he could very well 
 have done, before the service began. He wished to 
 discover what manner of man his father was, and was 
 quite happy as soon as he saw that he would have 
 spoken out if he had not been checked. He had not 
 
1 82 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 yet caught Hanky's motive in trying to goad my 
 father, but on seeing that he was trying to do this, he 
 knew that a trap was being laid, and that my father 
 must not be allowed to speak. 
 
 Almost immediately, however, he perceived that 
 while his eyes had been turned on Hanky, two burly 
 vergers had wormed their way through the crowd and 
 had taken their stand close to his two brothers. Then 
 he understood, and understood also how to frustrate. 
 
 As for my father, George's ascendancy over him — 
 quite felt by George — was so absolute that he could 
 think of nothing now but the exceeding great joy of 
 finding his fears groundless, and of delivering himself 
 up to his son's guidance in the assurance that the void 
 in his heart was filled, and that his wager not only 
 would be held as won, but was being already paid. 
 How they had found out, why he was not to speak as 
 he would assuredly have done — for he was in a white 
 heat of fury — what did it all matter now that he had 
 found that which he had feared he should fail to 
 find ? He gave George a puzzled smile, and composed 
 himself as best he could to hear the continuation of 
 Hanky's sermon, which was as follows : — 
 
 ''Who could the Sunchild have chosen, even though 
 he had been gifted with no more than human sagacity, 
 but the body- of men whom he selected ? It becomes 
 me but ill to speak so warmly in favour of that body 
 of whom I am the least worthy member, but what 
 other is there in Erewhon so above all suspicion of 
 slovenliness, self-seeking, preconceived bias, or bad 
 faith? If there was one set of qualities more essential 
 than another for the conduct of the investigations en- 
 trusted to us by the Sunchild, it was those that turn 
 
Prof. Hanky's Sermon 183 
 
 on meekness and freedom from all spiritual pride. I 
 believe I can say quite truly that these are the qualities 
 for which Bridge ford is more especially renowned. 
 The readiness of her Professors to learn even from 
 those who at first sight may seem least able to instruct 
 them — the gentleness with which they correct an op- 
 ponent if they feel it incumbent upon them to do so, the 
 promptitude with which they acknowledge error when 
 it is pointed out to them and quit a position no matter 
 how deeply they have been committed to it, at the first 
 moment in which they see that they cannot hold it 
 righteously, their delicate sense of honour, their utter 
 immunity from what the Sunchild used to call log- 
 rolling or intrigue, the scorn with which they regard 
 anything like hitting below the belt — these I believe I 
 may truly say are the virtues for which Bridge ford 
 is pre-eminently renowned." 
 
 The Professor went on to say a great deal more 
 about the fitness of Bridgeford and the Musical Bank 
 managers for the task imposed on them by the Sun- 
 child, but here my father's attention flagged — nor, on 
 looking at the verbatim report of the sermon that ap- 
 peared next morning in the leading Sunch'ston journal, 
 do I see reason to reproduce Hanky's words on this 
 head. It was all to shew that there had been no pos- 
 sibility of mistake. 
 
 Meanwhile George was writing on a scrap of paper 
 as though he was taking notes of the sermon. Pres- 
 ently he slipped this into my father's hand. It ran : — 
 
 "You see those vergers standing near my brothers, 
 who gave up their seats to us. Hanky tried to goad 
 you into speaking that they might arrest you, and get 
 you into the Bank prisons. If you fall into their 
 
184 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 hands you are lost. I must arrest you instantly on a 
 charge of poaching on the King's preserves, and make 
 you my prisoner. Let those vergers catch sight of the 
 warrant which I shall now give you. Read it and 
 return it to me. Come with me quietly after service. 
 I think you had better not reveal yourself at all." 
 
 As soon as he had given my father time to read the 
 foregoing, George took a warrant out of his pocket. 
 My father pretended to read it and returned it. George 
 then laid his hand on his shoulder, and in an under- 
 tone arrested him. He then wrote on another scrap 
 of paper and passed it on to the elder of his two 
 brothers. It was to the effect that he had now arrested 
 my father, and that if the vergers attempted in any 
 way to interfere between him and his prisoner, his 
 brothers were to arrest both of them, w^hich, as special 
 constables, they had power to do. 
 
 Yram had noted Hanky's attempt to goad my 
 father, and had not been prepared for his stealing a 
 march upon her by trying to get my father arrested 
 by Musical Bank officials, rather than by her son. On 
 the preceding evening this last plan had been arranged 
 on ; and she knew nothing of the note that Hanky had 
 sent an hour or two later to the Manager of the temple 
 — the substance of which the reader can sufficiently 
 guess. When she had heard Hanky's words and saw 
 the vergers, she was for a few minutes seriously 
 alarmed, but she was reassured when she saw George 
 give my father the warrant, and her two sons evi- 
 dently explaining the position to the vergers. 
 
 Hanky had by this time changed his theme, and was 
 warning his hearers of the dangers that would follow 
 on the legalization of the medical profession, and the 
 
Prof. Hanky's Sermon 185 
 
 repeal of the edicts against machines. Space forbids 
 me to give his picture of the horrible tortures that 
 future generations would be put to by medical men, if 
 these were not duly kept in check by the influence of 
 the Musical Banks; the horrors of the inquisition in 
 the middle ages are nothing to what he depicted as 
 certain to ensue if medical men were ever to have 
 much money at their command. The only people in 
 whose hands money might be trusted safely were those 
 who presided over the Musical Banks. This tirade 
 was followed by one not less alarming about the 
 growth of materialistic tendencies among the artisans 
 employed in the production of mechanical inventions. 
 My father, though his eyes had been somewhat opened 
 by the second of the two processions he had seen on 
 his way to Sunch'ston, was not prepared to find that 
 in spite of the superficially almost universal accept- 
 ance of the new faith, there was a powerful, and it 
 would seem growing, undercurrent of scepticism, with 
 a desire to reduce his escape with my mother to a 
 purely natural occurence. 
 
 *'It is not enough," said Hanky, "that the Sunchild 
 vshould have ensured the preparation of authoritative 
 evidence of his supernatural character. The evidences 
 happily exist in overwhelming strength, but they must 
 be brought home to minds that as yet have stubbornly 
 refused to receive them. During the last five years 
 there has been an enormous increase in the number of 
 those whose occupation in the manufacture of ma- 
 chines inclines them to a materialistic explanation even 
 of the most obviously miraculous events, and the 
 growth of this class in our midst constituted, and still 
 constitutes, a grave danger to the state. 
 
1 86 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 **It was to meet this that the society was formed on 
 behalf of which I appeal fearlessly to your generosity. 
 It is called, as most of you doubtless know, the Sun- 
 child Evidence Society; and his Majesty the King 
 graciously consented to become its Patron. This so- 
 ciety not only collects additional evidences — indeed it 
 is entirely due to its labours that the precious relic 
 now in this temple was discovered — but it is its be- 
 neficent purpose to lay those that have been authori- 
 tatively investigated before men who, if left to 
 themselves, would either neglect them altogether, or 
 worse still reject them. 
 
 "For the first year or two the efforts of the society 
 met with but little success among those for whose 
 benefit they were more particularly intended, but dur- 
 ing the present year the working classes in some cities 
 and towns (stimulated very much by the lectures of 
 my illustrious friend Professor Panky) have shewn a 
 most remarkable and zealous interest in Sunchild evi- 
 dences, and have formed themselves into local branches 
 for the study and defence of Sunchild truth. 
 
 "Yet in spite of all this need — of all this patient 
 labour and really very gratifying success — the sub- 
 scriptions to the society no longer furnish it with its 
 former very modest income — an income which is de- 
 plorably insufficient if the organization is to be kept 
 effective, and the work adequately performed. In 
 spite of the most rigid economy, the committee have 
 been compelled to part with a considerable portion of 
 their small reserve fund (provided by a legacy) to 
 tide over difficulties. But this method of balancing 
 expenditure and income is very unsatisfactory, and 
 cannot be long continued. 
 
Prof. Hanky's Sermon 187 
 
 "I am led to plead for the society with especial in- 
 sistence at the present time, inasmuch as more than 
 one of those whose unblemished life has made them 
 fitting recipients of such a signal favour, have recently 
 had visions informing them that the Sunchild will 
 again shortly visit us. We know not when he will 
 come, but when he comes, my friends, let him not find 
 us unmindful of, nor ungrateful for, the inestimable 
 services he has rendered us. For come he surely will. 
 Either in winter, what time icicles hang by the wall 
 and milk comes frozen home in the pail — or in sum- 
 mer when days are at their longest and the mowing 
 grass is about — there will be an hour, either at mom, 
 or eve, or in the middle day, when he will again surely 
 come. May it be mine to be among those who are 
 then present to receive him." 
 
 Here he again glared at my father, whose blood was 
 boiling. George had not positively forbidden him to 
 speak out ; he therefore sprang to his feet, *'You lying 
 hound," he cried, "I am the Sunchild, and you know 
 it." 
 
 George, who knew that he had my father in his 
 own hands, made no attempt to stop him, and was 
 delighted that he should have declared himself though 
 he had felt it his duty to tell him not to do so. Yram 
 turned pale. Hanky roared out, ''Tear him in pieces 
 — leave not a single limb on his body. Take him out 
 and burn him alive." The vergers made a dash for 
 him — but George's brothers seized them. The crowd 
 seemed for a moment inclined to do as Hanky bade 
 them, but Yram rose from her place, and held up her 
 hand as one who claimed attention. She advanced 
 towards George and my father as unconcernedly as 
 
i88 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 though she were merely walking out of church, but 
 she still held her hand uplifted. All eyes were turned 
 on her, as well as on George and my father, and the 
 icy calm of her self-possession chilled those who were 
 inclined for the moment to take Hanky's words lit- 
 erally. There was not a trace of fluster in her gait, 
 action, or words, as she said — 
 
 "My friends, this temple, and this day, must not be 
 profaned with blood. My son will take this poor 
 madman to the prison. Let him be judged and pun- 
 ished according to law. Make room, that he and my 
 son may pass." 
 
 Then, turning to my father, she said, "Go quietly 
 with the Ranger. *' 
 
 Having so spoken, she returned to her seat as 
 unconcernedly as she had left it. 
 
 Hanky for a time continued to foam at the mouth 
 and roar out, "Tear him to pieces! burn him alive!'* 
 but when he saw that there was no further hope of 
 getting the people to obey him, he collapsed on to a 
 seat in the pulpit, mopped his bald head, and consoled 
 himself with a great pinch of powder which corre- 
 sponds very closely to our own snuff. 
 
 George led my father out by the side door at the 
 north end of the western aisle; the people eyed him 
 intently, but made way for him without demonstra- 
 tion. One voice alone was heard to cry out, "Yes, he 
 is the Sunchild!" My father glanced at the speaker, 
 and saw that he was the interpreter who had taught 
 him the Erewhonian language when he was in prison. 
 
 George, seeing a special constable close by, told him 
 to bid his brothers release the vergers, and let them 
 arrest the interpreter — this the vergers, foiled as they 
 
Prof. Hanky's Sermon 189 
 
 had been in the matter of my father's arrest, were 
 very glad to do. So the poor interpreter, to his 
 dismay, was lodged at once in one of the Bank 
 prison-cells, where he could do no further harm. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 GEORGE TAKES HIS FATHER TO PRISON, AND THERE 
 OBTAINS SOME USEFUL INFORMATION 
 
 By this time George had gotten my father into the 
 Open square, where he was surprised to find that a 
 large bonfire had been made and hghted. There had 
 been nothing of the kind an hour before; the wood, 
 therefore, must have been piled and lighted while 
 people had been in church. He had no time at the 
 moment to enquire why this had been done, but later 
 on he discovered that on the Sunday morning the 
 Manager of the new temple had obtained leave from 
 the Mayor to have the wood piled in the square, repre- 
 senting that this was Professor Hanky's contribution 
 to the festivities of the day. There had, it seemed, 
 been no intention of lighting it until nightfall; but it 
 had accidently caught fire through the carelessness of 
 a workman, much about the time when Hanky began 
 to preach. No one for a moment believed that there 
 had been any sinister intention, or that Professor 
 Hanky when he urged the crowd to burn my father 
 alive, even knew that there was a pile of wood in the 
 square at all — much less that it had been lighted — 
 for he could hardly have supposed that the wood had 
 been got together so soon. Nevertheless both George 
 and my father, when they knew all that had passed, 
 congratulated themselves on the fact that my father 
 
 190 
 
In Prison 191 
 
 had not fallen into the hands of the vergers, who 
 would probably have tried to utilise the accidental 
 fire, though in no case is it likely they would have 
 succeeded. 
 
 As soon as they were inside the gaol, the old Master 
 recognised my father. "Bless my heart — what? You 
 here, again, Mr. Higgs? Why, I thought you were in 
 the palace of the sun your father." 
 
 "I wish I was," answered my father, shaking hands 
 with him, but he could say no more. 
 
 "You are as safe here as if you were," said George 
 laughing, "and safer." Then turning to his grand- 
 father, he said, "You have the record of Mr. Higgs's 
 marks and measurements? I know you have: take 
 him to his old cell; it is the best in the prison; and 
 then please bring me the record." 
 
 The old man took George and my father to the cell 
 which he had occupied twenty years earlier — but I 
 cannot stay to describe his feelings on finding himself 
 again within it. The moment his grandfather's back 
 was turned, George said to my father, "And now 
 shake hands also with your son." 
 
 As he spoke he took my father's hand and pressed 
 it warmly between both his own. 
 
 "Then you know you are my son," said my father 
 as steadily as the strong emotion that mastered him 
 would permit. 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "But you did not know this when I was walking 
 with you on Friday?" 
 
 "Of course not. I thought you were Professor 
 Panky; if I had not taken you for one of the two 
 persons named in your permit, I should have ques- 
 
192 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 tioned you closely, and probably ended by throwing 
 you into the Blue Pool." He shuddered as he said this. 
 
 ''But you knew who I was when you called me 
 Panky in the temple?" 
 
 ''Quite so. My mother told me everything on Fri- 
 day evening." 
 
 "And that is why you tried to find me at Fair- 
 mead?" 
 
 "Yes, but where in the world were you?" 
 
 "I was inside the Musical Bank of the town, resting 
 and reading." 
 
 George laughed, and said, "On purpose to hide?" 
 
 "Oh no; pure chance. But on Friday evening? 
 How could your mother have found out by that time 
 that I was in Erewhon? Am I on my head or my 
 heels?" 
 
 "On your heels, my father, which shall take you 
 back to your own country as soon as we can get you 
 out of this." 
 
 "What have I done to deserve so much good-will? 
 I have done you nothing but harm." Again he was 
 quite overcome. 
 
 George patted him gently on the hand, and said, 
 "You made a bet and you won it. During the very 
 short time that we can be together, you shall be paid 
 in full, and may heaven protect us both." 
 
 As soon as my father could speak he said, "But 
 how did your mother find out that I was in Ere- 
 whon ?" 
 
 "Hanky and Panky were dining with her, and they 
 told her some things that she thought strange. She 
 cross-questioned them, put two and two together, 
 learned that you had got their permit out of them, saw 
 
In Prison 193 
 
 that you intended to return on Friday, and concluded 
 that you would be sleeping in Sunch'ston. She sent 
 for me, told me all, bade me scour Sunch'ston to find 
 you, intending that you should be at once escorted 
 safely over the preserves by me. I found your inn, 
 but you had given us the slip. I tried first Fairmead 
 and then Clearwater, but did not find you till this 
 morning. For reasons too long to repeat, my mother 
 warned Hanky and Panky that you would be in the 
 temple; whereon Hanky tried to get you into his 
 clutches. Happily he failed, but if I had known what 
 he was doing I should have arrested you before the 
 service. I ought to have done this, but I wanted you 
 to win your wager, and I shall get you safely away in 
 spite of them. My mother will not like my having let 
 you hear Hanky's sermon and declare yourself." 
 *'You half told me not to say who I was." 
 "Yes, but I was delighted when you disobeyed me." 
 "I did it very badly. I never rise to great occa- 
 sions, I always fall to them, but these things must 
 come as they come." 
 
 **You did it as well as it could be done, and good 
 .will come of it." 
 
 "And now," he continued, "describe exactly all that 
 passed between you and the Professors. On which 
 side of Panky did Hanky sit, and did they sit north 
 and south or east and west? How did you get — oh 
 yes, I know that — you told them it would be of no 
 further use to them. Tell me all else you can." 
 
 My father said that the Professors were sitting 
 pretty well east and west, so that Hanky, who was on 
 the east side, nearest tlie mountains, had Panky, who 
 was on the Sunch'ston side, on his right hand. George 
 
194 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 made a note of this. My father then told what the 
 reader already knows, but when he came to the meas- 
 urement of the boots, George said, 'Take your boots 
 off," and began taking off his own. "Foot for foot," 
 he said, ''we are not father and son, but brothers. 
 Yours will fit me; they are less worn than mine, but 
 I daresay you will not mind that." 
 
 On this George ex abiindanti cautela knocked a nail 
 out of the right boot that he had been wearing and 
 changed boots with my father ; but he thought it more 
 plausible not to knock out exactly the same nail that 
 was missing on my father's boot. When the change 
 was made, each found — or said he found — ^the other's 
 boots quite comfortable. 
 
 My father all the time felt as though he were a 
 basket given to a dog. The dog had got him, was 
 proud of him, and no one must try to take him away. 
 The promptitude with which George took to him, the 
 obvious pleasure he had in "running" him, his quick 
 judgment, verging as it should towards rashness, his 
 confidence that my father trusted him without reserve, 
 the conviction of perfect openness that was conveyed 
 by the way in which his eyes never budged from my 
 father's when he spoke to him, his genial, kindly, 
 manner, perfect physical health, and the air he had of 
 being on the best possible terms with himself and 
 every one else — the combination of all this so over- 
 mastered my poor father (who indeed had been suffi- 
 ciently mastered before he had been five minutes in 
 George's company) that he resigned himself as grate- 
 fully to being a basket, as George had cheerfully 
 undertaken the task of carrying him. 
 
 In passing I may say that George could never get 
 
In Prison 195 
 
 his own boots back again, though he tried more than 
 once to do so. My father always made some excuse. 
 They were the only memento of George that he 
 brought home with him ; I wonder that he did not ask 
 for a lock of his hair, but he did not. He had the 
 boots put against a wall in his bedroom, where he 
 could see them from his bed, and during his illness, 
 while consciousness yet remained with him, I saw his 
 eyes continually turn towards them. George, in fact, 
 dominated him as long as anything in this world could 
 do so. Nor do I wonder; on the contrary, I love his 
 memory the better ; for I too, as will appear later, have 
 seen George, and whatever little jealousy I may have 
 felt, vanished on my finding him almost instanta- 
 neously gain the same ascendancy over me his brother, 
 that he had gained over his and my father. But of 
 this no more at present. Let me return to the gaol in 
 Sunch'ston. 
 
 "Tell me more," said George, ''about the Profes- 
 sors." 
 
 My father told him about the nuggets, the sale of 
 his kit, the receipt he had given for the money, and 
 how he had got the nuggets back from a tree, the 
 position of which he described. 
 
 "I know the tree; have you got the nuggets here?" 
 
 "Here they are, with the receipt, and the pocket 
 handkerchief marked with Hanky's name. The pocket 
 handkerchief was found wrapped round some dried 
 leaves that we call tea, but I have not got these with 
 me." As he spoke he gave everything to George, who 
 showed the utmost delight in getting possession of 
 them. 
 
196 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 "I suppose the blanket and the rest of the kit are 
 still in the tree ?" 
 
 ''Unless Hanky and Panky have got them away, or 
 some one has found them/* 
 
 **This is not likely. I will now go to my office, but 
 I will com.e back very shortly. My grandfather shall 
 bring you something to eat at once. I will tell him to 
 send enough for two" — which he accordingly did. 
 
 On reaching the office, he told his next brother 
 (whom he had made an under-ranger) to go to the 
 tree he described, and bring back the bundle he should 
 find concealed therein. *'You can go there and back," 
 he said, "in an hour and a half, and I shall want the 
 bundle by that time." 
 
 The brother, whose name I never rightly caught, 
 set out at once. As soon as he was gone, George took 
 from a drawer the feathers and bones of quails, that 
 he had shown my father on the morning when he met 
 him. He divided them in half, and made them into 
 two bundles, one of which he docketed, "Bones of 
 quails eaten, XIX. xii. 29, by Professor Hanky, P.O. 
 W.W., &c." And he labelled Panky's quail bones in 
 like fashion. 
 
 Having done this he returned to the gaol, but on his 
 way he looked in at the Mayor's, and left a note say- 
 ing that he should be at the gaol, where any message 
 would reach him, but that he did not wish to meet 
 Professors Hanky and Panky for another couple of 
 hours. It was now about half-past twelve, and he 
 caught sight of a crowd coming quietly out of the 
 temple, whereby he knew that Hanky would soon be 
 at the Mayor's house. 
 
 Dinner was brought in almost at the moment when 
 
In Prison 197 
 
 George returned to the gaol. As soon as it was over 
 George said : — 
 
 ''Are you quite sure you have made no mistake 
 about the way in which you got the permit out of the 
 Professors?" 
 
 ''Quite sure. I told them they would not want it, 
 and said I could save them trouble if they gave it me. 
 They never suspected why I wanted it. Where do you 
 think I may be mistaken?" 
 
 "You sold your nuggets for rather less than a 
 twentieth part of their value, and you threw in some 
 curiosities, that would have fetched about half as 
 much as you got for the nuggets. You say you did 
 this because you wanted money to keep you going till 
 you could sell some of your nuggets. This sounds 
 well at first, but the sacrifice is too great to be plausible 
 when considered. It looks more like a case of good 
 honest manly straightforward corruption." 
 
 "But surely you believe me?" 
 
 "Of course I do. I believe every syllable that comes 
 from your mouth, but I shall not be able to make out 
 that the story was as it was not, unless I am quite 
 certain what it really was." 
 
 "It was exactly as I have told you." 
 
 "That is enough. And now, may I tell my mother 
 that you will put yourself in her, and the Mayor's, and 
 my, hands, and will do whatever we tell you?" 
 
 "I will be obedience itself — but you will not ask me 
 to do anything that will make your mother or you 
 think less well of me?" 
 
 "If we tell you what you are to do, we shall not 
 think any the worse of you for doing it. Then I may 
 say to my mother that you will be good and give no 
 
198 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 trouble — not even though we bid you shake hands 
 with Hanky and Panky?" 
 
 "I will embrace them and kiss them on both cheeks, 
 if you and she tell me to do so. But what about the 
 Mayor?" 
 
 *'He has known everything, and condoned every- 
 thing, these last twenty years. He will leave every- 
 thing to my mother and me.'* 
 
 "Shall I have to see him?" 
 
 "Certainly. You must be brought up before him 
 to-morrow morning.'' 
 
 "How can I look him in the face ?" 
 
 "As you would me, or any one else. It is under- 
 stood among us that nothing happened. Things may 
 have looked as though they had happened, but they 
 did not happen." 
 
 "And you are not yet quite twenty?" 
 
 "No, but I am son to my mother — and," he added, 
 "to one who can stretch a point or two in the way of 
 honesty as well as other people." 
 
 Having said this with a laugh, he again took my 
 father's hand between both his, and went back to his 
 office — where he set himself to think out the course he 
 intended to take when dealing with the Professors. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 VRAM INVITES DR. DOWNIE AND MRS. HUMDRUM TO 
 
 LUNCHEON A PASSAGE AT ARMS BETWEEN HER 
 
 AND HANKY IS AMICABLY ARRANGED 
 
 The disturbance caused by my father's outbreak 
 was quickly suppressed, for George got him out of 
 the temple almost immediately; it was bruited about, 
 however, that the Sunchild had come down from the 
 palace of the sun, but had disappeared as soon as any 
 one had tried to touch him. In vain did Hanky try 
 to put fresh life into his sermon; its back had been 
 broken, and large numbers left the church to see what 
 they could hear outside, or faiHng information, to dis- 
 course more freely with one another. 
 
 Hanky did his best to quiet his hearers when he 
 found that he could not infuriate them, — 
 ^ "This poor man," he said, *'is already known to me, 
 as one of those who have deluded themselves into be- 
 lieving that they are the Sunchild. I have known of 
 his so declaring himself, more than once, in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Bridgeford, and others have not infre- 
 quently done the same; I did not at first recognize 
 him, and regret that the shock of horror his words 
 occasioned me should have prompted me to suggest 
 violence against him. Let this unfortunate affair pass 
 from 3^our minds, and let me again urge upon you the 
 claims of the Sunchild Evidence Society/' 
 
 199 
 
200 Ere when Revisited 
 
 The audience on hearing that they were to be told 
 more about the Sunchild Evidence Society melted 
 away even more rapidly than before, and the sermon 
 fizzled out to an ignominious end quite unworthy of 
 its occasion. 
 
 About half-past twelve, the service ended, and 
 Hanky went to the robing-room to take off his vest- 
 ments. Yram, the Mayor, and Panky, waited for him 
 at the door opposite to that through which my father 
 had been taken; while waiting, Yram scribbled off 
 two notes in pencil, one to Dr. Downie, and another to 
 Mrs. Humdrum, begging them to come to lunch at 
 once — for it would be one o'clock before they could 
 reach the Mayor's. She gave these notes to the Mayor, 
 and bade him bring both the invited guests along with 
 him. 
 
 The Mayor left just as Hanky was coming towards 
 her. "This, Mayoress," he said with some asperity, 
 "is a very serious business. It has ruined my collec- 
 tion. Half the people left the temple without giving 
 anything at all. You seem," he added in a tone the 
 significance of which could not be mistaken, "to be 
 very fond. Mayoress, of this Mr. Higgs." 
 
 "Yes," said Yram, "I am : I always liked him, and 
 I am sorry for him ; but he is not the person I am most 
 sorry for at this moment — he, poor man, is not going 
 to be horsewhipped within the next twenty minutes." 
 And she spoke the "he" in italics. 
 
 "I do not understand you, Mayoress." 
 
 "My husband will explain, as soon as I have seen 
 him." 
 
 "Hanky," said Panky, "you must withdraw, and 
 apologise at once." 
 
After Service 201 
 
 Hanky was not slow to do this, and when he had 
 disavowed everything, withdrawn everything, apolo- 
 gised for everything, and eaten humble pie to Yram's 
 satisfaction, she smiled graciously, and held out her 
 hand, which Hanky was obliged to take. 
 
 ''And now. Professor,'* she said, "let me return to 
 your remark that this is a very serious business, and 
 let me also claim a woman's privilege of being listened 
 to whenever she chooses to speak. I propose, then, 
 that we say nothing further about this matter till after 
 luncheon. I have asked Dr. Downie and Mrs. Hum- 
 drum to join us " 
 
 "Why Mrs. Humdrum?" interrupted Hanky none 
 too pleasantly, for he was still furious about the duel 
 that had just taken place between himself and his 
 hostess. 
 
 "My dear Professor," said Yram good-humouredly, 
 "pray say all you have to say and I will continue." 
 
 Hanky was silent. 
 
 "I have askd," resumed Yram, "Dr. Downie and 
 Mrs. Humdrum to join us, and after luncheon we can 
 discuss the situation or no as you may think proper. 
 Till then let us say no more. Luncheon will be over 
 by two o'clock or soon after, and the banquet will not 
 begin till seven, so we shall have plenty of time." 
 
 Hanky looked black and said nothing. As for 
 Panky he was morally in a state of collapse, and did 
 not count. 
 
 Hardly had they reached the Mayor's house when 
 the Mayor also arrived with Dr. Downie and Mrs. 
 Humdrum, both of whom had seen and recognised 
 my father in spite of his having dyed his hair. Dr. 
 Downie had met him at supper at Mr. Thims's rooms 
 
202 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 when he had visited Bridgeford, and naturally enough 
 had observed him closely. Mrs. Humdrum, as I have 
 already said, had seen him more than once when he 
 was in prison. She and Dr. Downie were talking 
 earnestly over the strange reappearance of one whom 
 they had believed long since dead, but Yram imposed 
 on them the same silence that she had already imposed 
 on the Professors. 
 
 *Trofessor Hanky," said she to Mrs. Humdrum, in 
 Hanky's hearing, ''is a little alarmed at my having 
 asked you to join our secret conclave. He is not mar- 
 ried, and does not know how well a woman can hold 
 her tongue when she chooses. I should have told you 
 all that passed, for I mean to follow your advice, so 
 I thought you had better hear everything yourself." 
 
 Hanky still looked black, but he said nothing. 
 Luncheon was promptly served, and done justice to in 
 spite of much preoccupation; for if there is one thing 
 that gives a better appetite than another, it is a Sun- 
 day morning's service with a charity sermon to follow. 
 As the guests might not talk on the subject they 
 wanted to talk about, and were in no humour to speak 
 of anything else, they gave their whole attention to the 
 good things that were before them, without so much 
 as a thought about reserving themselves for the eve- 
 ning's banquet. Nevertheless, when luncheon was 
 over, the Professors were in no more genial, manage- 
 able, state of mind than they had been when it began. 
 
 When the servants had left the room, Yram said to 
 Hanky, "You saw the prisoner, and he was the man 
 you met on Thursday night ?" 
 
 '^Certainly, he was wearing the forbidden dress and 
 
After Service 203 
 
 he had many quails in his possession. There is no 
 doubt also that he was a foreign devil/' 
 
 At this point, it being now nearly half-past two, 
 George came in, and took a seat next to Mrs. Hum- 
 drum — between her and his mother — who of course 
 sat at the head of the table with the Mayor opposite to 
 her. On one side of the table sat the Professors, and 
 on the other Dr. Downie, Mrs. Humdrum, and 
 George, who had heard the last few words that Hanky 
 had spoken. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A COUNCIL IS HELD AT THE MAYOR'S, IN THE COURSE 
 OF WHICH GEORGE TURNS THE TABLES ON THE 
 PROFESSORS 
 
 "Now who," said Yram, "is this unfortunate crea- 
 ture to be, when he is brought up to-morrow morning, 
 on the charge of poaching?" 
 
 "It is not necessary," said Hanky severely, "that he 
 should be brought up for poaching. He is a foreign 
 devil, and as such your son is bound to fling him with- 
 out trial into the Blue Pool. Why bring a smaller 
 charge when you must inflict the death penalty on a 
 more serious one? I have already told you that I shall 
 feel it my duty to report the matter at headquarters, 
 unless I am satisfied that the death penalty has been 
 inflicted." 
 
 "Of course," said George, "we must all of us do our 
 duty, and I shall not shrink from mine — but I have 
 arrested this man on a charge of poaching, and must 
 give my reasons; the case cannot be dropped, and it 
 must be heard in public. Am I, or am I not, to have 
 the sworn depositions of both you gentlemen to the 
 fact that the prisoner is the man you saw with quails 
 in his possession? If you can depose to this he will 
 be convicted, for there can be no doubt he killed the 
 birds himself. The least penalty my father can inflict 
 is twelve months' imprisonment with hard labour ; and 
 
 204 
 
A Council 205 
 
 he must undergo this sentence before I can Blue-Pool 
 him. 
 
 'Then comes the question whether or no he is a 
 foreign devil. I may decide this in private, but I must 
 have depositions on oath before I do so, and at present 
 I have nothing but hearsay. Perhaps you gentlemen 
 can give me the evidence I shall require, but the case 
 is one of such importance that were the prisoner 
 proved never so clearly to be a foreign devil, I should 
 not Blue-Pool him till I had taken the King's pleasure 
 concerning him. I shall rejoice, therefore, if you gen- 
 tlemen can help me to sustain the charge of poaching, 
 and thus give me legal standing-ground for deferring 
 action which the King might regret, and which once 
 taken cannot be recalled." 
 
 Here Yram interposed. "These points," she said, 
 ''are details. Should we not first settle, not what, but 
 who, we shall allow the prisoner to be, when he is 
 brought up to-morrow morning? Settle this, and the 
 rest will settle itself. He has declared himself to be 
 the Sunchild, and will probably do so again. I am 
 prepared to identify him, so is Dr. Downie, so is Mrs. 
 Humdrum, the interpreter, and doubtless my father. 
 Others of known respectability will also do so, and his 
 marks and measurements are sure to correspond quite 
 sufficiently. The question is, whether all this is to be 
 allowed to appear on evidence, or whether it is to be 
 established, as it easily may, if we give our minds to 
 it, that he is not the Sunchild." 
 
 "Whatever else he is," said Hanky, "he must not 
 be the Sunchild. He must, if the charge of poaching 
 cannot be dropped, be a poacher and a foreign devil. I 
 was doubtless too hasty when I said that I believed I 
 
2o6 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 recognised the man as one who had more than once 
 declared himself to be the Sunchild " 
 
 "But, Hanky," interrupted Panky, "are you sure 
 that you can swear to this man's being the man we met 
 on Thursday night? We only saw him by firelight, 
 and I doubt whether I should feel justified in swear- 
 ing to him." 
 
 "Well, well: on second thoughts I am not sure, 
 Panky, but what you may be right after all; it is pos- 
 sible that he may be what I said he was in my ser- 
 mon." 
 
 "I rejoice to hear you say so," said George, "for in 
 this case the charge of poaching will fall through. 
 There will be no evidence against the prisoner. And 
 I rejoice also to think that I shall have nothing to war- 
 rant me in believing him to be a foreign devil. For if 
 he is not to be the Sunchild, and not to be your 
 poacher, he becomes a mere monomaniac. If he apolo- 
 gises for having made a disturbance in the temple, 
 and promises not to offend again, a fine, and a few 
 days' imprisonment, will meet the case, and he may be 
 discharged." 
 
 "I see, I see," said Hanky very angrily. "You are 
 determined to get this man off if you can." 
 
 "I shall act," said George, "in accordance with 
 sworn evidence, and not otherwise. Choose whether 
 you will have the prisoner to be your poacher or no : 
 give me your sworn depositions one way or the other, 
 and I shall know how to act. If you depose on oath 
 to the identity of the prisoner and your poacher, he 
 will be convicted and imprisoned. As to his being a 
 foreign devil, if he is the Sunchild, of course he is one; 
 but otherwise I cannot Blue-Pool him even when his 
 
A Council 207 
 
 sentence is expired, without testimony deposed to me 
 on oath in private, though no open trial is required. A 
 case for suspicion was made out in my hearing last 
 night, but I must have depositions on oath to all the 
 leading facts before I can decide what my duty is. 
 What will you swear to?" 
 
 "All this," said Hanky, in a voice husky with pas- 
 sion, "shall be reported to the King." 
 
 "I intend to report every word of it ; but that is not 
 the point: the question is what you gentlemen will 
 swear to?" 
 
 "Very well. I will settle it thus. We will swear 
 that the prisoner is the poacher we met on Thursday 
 night, and that he is also a foreign devil : his wearing 
 the forbidden dress; his foreign accent; the foot- 
 tracks we found in the snow, as of one coming over 
 from the other side; his obvious ignorance of the 
 Afforesting Act, as shown by his having lit a fire and 
 making no effort to conceal his quails till our permit 
 shewed him his blunder; the cock-and-bull story he 
 told us about your orders, and that other story about 
 his having killed a foreign devil — if these facts do not 
 aatisfy you, they will satisfy the King that the pris- 
 oner is a foreign devil as well as a poacher." 
 
 "Some of these facts," answered George, **are new 
 to me. How do you know that the foot-tracks were 
 made by the prisoner?" 
 
 Panky brought out his note-book and read the de- 
 tails he had noted. 
 
 "Did you examine the man's boots?" 
 
 "One of them, the right foot; this, with the measur- 
 ments, was quite enough." 
 
 "Hardly. Please to look at both soles of my own 
 
2o8 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 boots; you will find that those tracks were mine. I 
 will have the prisoner's boots examined ; in the mean- 
 time let me tell you that I was up at the statues on 
 Thursday morning, walked three or four hundred 
 yards beyond them, over ground where there was less 
 snow, returned over the snow, and went two or three 
 times round them, as it is the Ranger's duty to do once 
 a year in order to see that none of them are beginning 
 to lean." 
 
 He showed the soles of his boots, and the Professors 
 were obliged to admit that the tracks were his. He 
 cautioned them as to the rest of the points on which 
 they relied. Might they not be as mistaken, as they 
 had just proved to be about the tracks? He could not, 
 however, stir them from sticking to it that there was 
 enough evidence to prove my father to be a foreign 
 devil, and declaring their readiness to depose to the 
 facts on oath. In the end Hanky again fiercely ac- 
 cused him of trying to shield the prisoner. 
 
 "You are quite right," said George, **and you will 
 see my reasons shortly." 
 
 "I have no doubt," said Hanky significantly, "that 
 they are such as would weigh with any man of ordi- 
 nary feeling." 
 
 "I understand, then," said George, appearing to take 
 no notice of Hanky's innuendo, "that you will swear 
 to the facts as you have above stated them?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "Then kindly wait while I write them on the form 
 that I have brought wdth me ; the Mayor can adminis- 
 ter the oath and sign your depositions. I shall then 
 be able to leave you, and proceed with getting up the 
 case against the prisoner." 
 
A Council 209 
 
 So saying, he went to a writing-table in another part 
 of the room, and made out the depositions. 
 
 Meanwhile the Mayor, Mrs. Humdrum, and Dr. 
 Downie (who had each of them more than once vainly 
 tried to take part in the above discussion) conversed 
 eagerly in an undertone among themselves. Hanky 
 was blind with rage, for he had a sense that he was 
 going to be outwitted; the Mayor, Yram and Mrs. 
 Humdrum had already seen that George thought he 
 had all the trumps in his own hand but they did not 
 know more. Dr. Downie was frightened, and Panky 
 so muddled as to be hors de combat. 
 
 George now rejoined the Professors, and read the 
 depositions : the Mayor administered the oath accord- 
 ing to Erewhonian custom; the Professors signed 
 without a word, and George then handed the docu- 
 ment to his father to countersign. 
 
 The Mayor examined it, and almost immediately 
 said, "My dear George, you have made a mistake; 
 these depositions are on a form reserved for deponents 
 who are on the point of death." 
 
 ''Alas !" answered George, "there is no help for it. I 
 did my utmost to prevent their signing. I knew that 
 those depositions were their own death warrant, and 
 that is why, though I was satisfied that the prisoner is 
 a foreign devil, I had hoped to be able to shut my eyes. 
 I can now no longer do so, and as the inevitable con- 
 sequence, I must Blue-Pool both the Professors be- 
 fore midnight. What man of ordinary feeling would 
 not under these circumstances have tried to dissuade 
 them from deposing as they have done?" 
 
 By this time the Professors had started to their feet, 
 and there was a look of horrified astonishment on the 
 
210 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 faces of all present, save that of George, who seemed 
 quite happy. 
 
 **What monstrous absurdity is this?" shouted 
 Hanky; "do you mean to murder us?" 
 
 "Certainly not. But you have insisted that I should 
 do my duty, and I mean to do it. You gentlemen have 
 now been proved to my satisfaction to have had traffic 
 with a foreign devil; and under section 37 of the 
 Afforesting Act, I must at once Blue-Pool any such 
 persons without public trial." 
 
 "Nonsense, nonsense, there was nothing of the kind 
 on our permit, and as for trafficking with this foreign 
 devil, we spoke to him, but we neither bought nor sold. 
 Where is the Act?" 
 
 "Here. On your permit you were referred to cer- 
 tain other clauses not set out therein, which might be 
 seen at the Mayor's office. Clause 37 is as follows : — 
 
 "It is furthermore enacted that should any of his Ma- 
 jesty's subjects be found, after examination by the Head 
 Ranger, to have had traffic of any kind by way of sale or 
 barter with any foreign devil, the said Ranger, on being 
 satisfied that such traffic has taken place, shall forthwith, 
 with or without the assistance of his under-rangers, convey 
 such subjects of his Majesty to the Blue Pool, bind them, 
 weight them, and fling them into it, without the formality 
 of a trial, and shall report the circumstances of the case to 
 his Majesty." 
 
 "But we never bought anything from the prisoner. 
 What evidence can you have of this but the word of a 
 foreign devil in such straits that he would swear to 
 anything?" 
 
 "The prisoner has nothing to do with it. I am con- 
 vinced by this receipt in Professor Panky's handwrit- 
 
A Council 211 
 
 ing which states that he and you jointly purchased his 
 kit from the prisoner, and also this bag of gold nug- 
 gets worth about £ioo in silver, for the absurdly small 
 sum of £4, I OS. in silver. I am further convinced by 
 this handkerchief marked with Professor Hanky's 
 name, in which was found a broken packet of dried 
 leaves that are now at my office with the rest of the 
 prisoner's kit." 
 
 *Then we were watched and dogged," said Hanky, 
 *'on Thursday evening." 
 
 'That, sir," replied George, "is my business, not 
 yours." 
 
 Here Panky laid his arms on the table, buried his 
 head in them, and burst into tears. Every one seemed 
 aghast, but the Mayor, Yram, and Mrs. Humdrum 
 saw that George was enjoying it all far too keenly to 
 be serious. Dr. Downie was still frightened (for 
 George's surface manner was Rhadamanthine) and 
 did utmost to console Panky. George pounded away 
 ruthlessly at his case. 
 
 "I say nothing about your having bought quails 
 from the prisoner and eaten them. As you justly re- 
 marked just now, there is no object in preferring a 
 smaller charge when one must inflict the death penalty 
 on a more serious one. Still, Professor Hanky, these 
 are bones of the quails you ate as you sate opposite the 
 prisoner on the side of the fire nearest Sunch'ston; 
 these are Professor Panky's bones, with which I need 
 not disturb him. This is your permit, which was 
 found upon the prisoner, and which there can be no 
 doubt you sold him, having been bribed by the offer of 
 the nuggets for " 
 
 "Monstrous, monstrous! Infamous falsehood! 
 
212 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 Who will believe such a childish trumped-up story!" 
 
 "Who, sir, will believe anything else? You will 
 hardly contend that you did not know the nuggets 
 were gold, and no one will believe you mean enough to 
 have tried to get this poor man's property out of him 
 for a song — you knowing its value, and he not know- 
 ing the same. No one will believe that you did not 
 know the man to be a foreign devil, or that he could 
 hoodwink two such learned Professors so cleverly as 
 to get their permit out of them. Obviously he seduced 
 you into selling him your permit, and — I presume be- 
 cause he wanted a little of our money — ^he made you 
 pay him for his kit. I am satisfied that you have not 
 only had traffic with a foreign devil, but traffic of a 
 singularly atrocious kind, and this being so, I shall 
 Blue-Pool both of you as soon as I can get you up to 
 the Pool itself. The sooner we start the better. I 
 shall gag you, and drive you up in a close carriage as 
 far as the road goes; from that point you can walk up, 
 or be dragged up as you may prefer, but you will prob- 
 ably find walking more comfortable." 
 
 "But" said Hanky, "come what may, I must be at 
 the banquet. I am set down to speak." 
 
 "The Mayor will explain that you have been taken 
 somewhat suddenly unwell." 
 
 Here Yram, who had been talking quietly with her 
 husband. Dr. Downie, and Mrs. Humdrum, motioned 
 her son to silence. 
 
 "I feared," she said, "that difficulties might arise, 
 though I did not foresee how seriously they would 
 afifect my guests. Let Mrs. Humdrum on our side, 
 and Dr. Downie on that of the Professors, go into the 
 next room and talk the matter quietly over ; let us then 
 
A Council 213 
 
 see whether we cannot agree to be bound by their de- 
 cision. I do not doubt but they will find some means 
 of averting any catastrophe more serious — No, Pro- 
 fessor Hanky, the doors are locked — than a little per- 
 jury in which we shall all share and share alike." 
 
 ''Do what you like," said Hanky, looking for all the 
 world like a rat caught in a trap. As he spoke he 
 seized a knife from the table, whereupon George pulled 
 a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and slipped them 
 on to his wrists before he well knew what was being 
 done to him. 
 
 "George," said the Mayor, "this is going too far. 
 Do you mean to Blue-Pool the Professors or no?" 
 
 "Not if they will compromise. If they will be rea- 
 sonable, they will not be Blue-Pooled; if they think 
 they can have everything their own Vv^ay, the eels will 
 be at them before morning." 
 
 A voice was heard from the head of Panky which 
 he had buried in his arms upon the table. "Co — co — 
 CO — CO — compromise," it said; and the effect was so 
 comic that every one except Hanky smiled. Mean- 
 while Yram had conducted Dr. Downie and Mrs. 
 Humdrum into an adjoining room. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 MRS. HUMDRUM AND DR. DOWNIE PROPOSE A COM- 
 PROMISE, WHICH, AFTER AN AMENDMENT BY 
 GEORGE, IS CARRIED NEM CON. 
 
 They returned in about ten minutes, and Dr. 
 Downie asked Mrs. Humdrum to say what they had 
 agreed to recommend. 
 
 "We think," said she very demurely, "that the strict 
 course would be to drop the charge of poaching, and 
 Blue-Pool both the Professors and the prisoner with- 
 out delay. 
 
 "We also think that the proper thing would be to 
 place on record that the prisoner is the Sunchild — 
 about which neither Dr. Downie nor I have a shadow 
 of doubt. 
 
 "These measures we hold to be the only legal ones, 
 but at the same time we do not recommend them. We 
 think it would ofiend the public conscience if it came 
 to be known, as it certainly would, that the Sunchild 
 was violently killed, on the very day that had seen us 
 dedicate a temple in his honour, and perhaps at the 
 very hour when laudatory speeches were being made 
 about him at the Mayor's banquet ; we think also that 
 we should strain a good many points rather than Blue- 
 Pool the Professors. 
 
 "Nothing is perfect, and Truth makes her mistakes 
 like other people; when she goes wrong and reduces 
 
 214 
 
The Compromise 215 
 
 herself to such an absurdity as she has here done, those 
 who love her must save her from herself, correct her, 
 and rehabilitate her. 
 
 "Our conclusion, therefore, is this : — 
 
 'The prisoner must recant on oath his statement 
 that he is the Sunchild. The interpreter must be 
 squared, or convinced of his mistake. The Mayoress, 
 Dr. Downie, I, and the gaoler (with the interpreter if 
 we can manage him), must depose on oath that the 
 prisoner is not Higgs. This must be our contribution 
 to the rehabilitation of Truth. 
 
 "The Professors must contribute as follows : They 
 must swear that the prisoner is not the man they met 
 with quails in his possession on Thursday night. They 
 must further swear that they have one or both of them 
 known him, off and on, for many years past, as a 
 monomaniac with Sunchildism on the brain but other- 
 wise harmless. If they will do this, no proceedings 
 are to be taken against them. 
 
 *'The Mayor's contribution shall be to reprimand the 
 prisoner, and order him to repeat his recantation in 
 the new temple before the Manager and Head Cashier, 
 and to confirm his statement on oath by kissing the 
 reliquary containing the newly found relic. 
 
 ''The Ranger and the Master of the Gaol must con- 
 tribute that the prisoner's measurements, and the 
 marks found on his body, negative all possibility of 
 his identity with the Sunchild, and that all the hair on 
 the covered as well as the uncovered parts of his body 
 was found to be jet black. 
 
 "We advise further that the prisoner should have 
 his nuggets and his kit returned to him, and that the 
 receipt given by the Professors together with Profes- 
 
2i6 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 sor Hanky's handkerchief be given back to the Pro- 
 fessors. 
 
 "Furthermore, seeing that we should all of us like 
 to have a quiet evening with the prisoner, we should 
 petition the Mayor and Mayoress to ask him to meet 
 all here present at dinner to-morrow evening, after his 
 discharge, on the plea that Professors Hanky and 
 Panky and Dr. Downie may give him counsel, con- 
 vince him of his folly, and if possible free him hence- 
 forth from the monomania under which he now 
 suffers. 
 
 *The prisoner shall give his word of honour, never 
 to return to Erewhon, nor to encourage any of his 
 countrymen to do so. After the dinner to which we 
 hope the Mayoress will invite us, the Ranger, if the 
 night is fair, shall escort the prisoner as far as the 
 statues, whence he will find his own way home. 
 
 *Those who are in favour of this compromise hold 
 up their hands." ' 
 
 The Mayor and Yram held up theirs. *'Will you 
 hold up yours. Professor Hanky," said George, "if I 
 release you?" 
 
 "Yes," said Hanky with a gruff laugh, whereon 
 George released him and he held up both his hands. 
 
 Panky did not hold up his, whereon Hanky said, 
 "Hold up your hands, Panky, can't you? We are 
 really very well out of it." 
 
 Panky, hardly lifting his head sobbed out, "I think 
 we ought to have our f-f-fo-fo-four pounds ten re- 
 turned to us." 
 
 "I am afraid, sir," said George, "that the prisoner 
 must have spent the greater part of this money." 
 
 Every one smiled, indeed it was all George could do 
 
The Compromise 217 
 
 to prevent himself from laughing outright. The 
 Mayor brought out his purse, counted the money, and 
 handed it good-humouredly to Panky, who gratefully 
 received it, and said he would divide it with Hanky. 
 He then held up his hands, "But," he added, turning 
 to his brother Professor, "so long as I live. Hanky, I 
 will never go out anywhere again with you." 
 
 George then turned to Hanky and said, "I am 
 afraid I must now trouble you and Professor Panky to 
 depose on oath to the facts which Mrs. Humdrum 
 and Dr. Downie propose you should swear to in open 
 court to-morrow. I knew you would do so, and have 
 brought an ordinary form, duly filled up, which de- 
 clares that the prisoner is not the poacher you met on 
 Thursday; and also, that he has been long known to 
 both of you as a harmless monomaniac." 
 
 As he spoke he brought out depositions to the above 
 effect which he had just written in his office ; he shewed 
 the Professors that the form was this time an innocent 
 one, whereon they made no demur to signing and 
 swearing in the presence of the Mayor, who attested. 
 
 "The former depositions," said Hanky, "had better 
 be destroyed at once." 
 
 "That," said George, "may hardly be, but so long 
 as you stick to what you have just sworn to, they will 
 not be used against you." 
 
 Hanky scowled, but knew that he was powerless 
 and said no more. 
 
 The knowledge of what ensued did not reach me 
 from my father. George and his mother, seeing how 
 ill he looked, and what a shock the events of the last 
 few days had given him, resolved that he should not 
 
2i8 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 know of the risk that George was about to run; they 
 therefore said nothing to him about it. What I shall 
 now tell, I learned on the occasion already referred to 
 when I had the happiness to meet George. I am in 
 some doubt whether it is more fitly told here, or when 
 I come to the interview between him and me; on the 
 whole, however, I suppose chronological order is least 
 outraged by dealing with it here. 
 
 As soon as the Professors had signed the second 
 depositions, George said, *'I have not yet held up my 
 hands, but I will hold them up if Mrs. Humdrum and 
 Dr. Downie will approve of what I propose. Their 
 compromise does not go far enough, for swear as we 
 may, it is sure to get noised abroad, with the usual 
 exaggerations, that the Sunchild has been here, and 
 that he has been spirited away either by us, or by the 
 sun his father. For one person whom we know of as 
 having identified him, there will be five, of whom we 
 know nothing, and whom we cannot square. Reports 
 will reach the King sooner or later, and I shall be sent 
 for. Meanwhile the Professors will be living in fear 
 of intrigue on my part, and I, however unreasonably, 
 shall fear the like on theirs. This should not be. I 
 mean, therefore, on the day following my return from 
 escorting the prisoner, to set out for the capital, see 
 the King, and make a clean breast of the whole matter. 
 To this end I must have the nuggets, the prisoner's kit, 
 his receipt. Professor Hanky's handkerchief, and, of 
 course, the two depositions just sworn to by the Pro- 
 fessors. I hope and think that the King will pardon 
 us all round ; but whatever he may do I shall tell him 
 everything" 
 
 Hanky was up in arms at once. "Sheer madness," 
 
The Compromise 219 
 
 he exclaimed. Yram and the Mayor looked anxious; 
 Dr. Downie eyed George as though he were some curi- 
 ous creature, which he heard of but had never seen, 
 and was rather disposed to like. Mrs. Humdrum 
 nodded her head approvingly. 
 
 "Quite right, George," said she, "tell his Majesty 
 everything." 
 
 Dr. Downie then said, "Your son, Mayoress is a 
 very sensible fellow. I will go with him, and with the 
 Professors — for they had better come too; each will 
 hear what the other says, and we will tell the truth, the 
 whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I am, as you 
 know, a persona grata at Court; I will say that I ad- 
 vised your son's action. The King has liked him ever 
 since he was a boy, and I am not much afraid about 
 what he will do. In public, no doubt we had better 
 hush things up, but in private the King must be told." 
 
 Hanky fought hard for some time, but George told 
 him that it did not matter whether he agreed or no. 
 "You can come," he said, "or stop away, just as you 
 please. If you come, you can hear and speak; if you 
 do not, you will not hear, but these two depositions 
 will speak for you. Please yourself." 
 
 "Very well," he said at last, "I suppose we had 
 better go." 
 
 Every one having now understood what his or her 
 part was to be, Yram said they had better shake hands 
 all round and take a couple of hours' rest before get- 
 ting ready for the banquet. George said that the Pro- 
 fessors did not shake hands with him very cordially, 
 but the farce was gone through. When the hand- 
 shaking was over, Dr. Downie and Mrs. Humdrum 
 
220 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 left the house, and the Professors retired grumpily to 
 their own room. 
 
 I will say here that no harm happend either to 
 George or the Professors in consequence of his having 
 told the King, but will reserve particulars for my con- 
 cluding chapter. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 VRAM, ON GETTING RID OF HER GUESTS, GOES TO 
 THE PRISON TO SEE MY FATHER 
 
 Yram did not take the advice she had given her 
 guests, but set about preparing a basket of the best cold 
 dainties she could find, including a bottle of choice 
 wine that she knew my father would like ; thus loaded 
 she went to the gaol, which she entered by her father's 
 private entrance. 
 
 It was now about half -past four, so that much more 
 must have been said and done after luncheon at the 
 Mayor's than ever reached my father. The wonder is 
 that he was able to collect so much. He, poor man, as 
 soon as George left him, flung himself on to the bed 
 that was in his cell and lay there wakeful, but not un- 
 quiet, till near the time when Yram reached the gaol. 
 ^ The old gaoler came to tell him that she had come 
 and would be glad to see him ; much as he dreaded the 
 meeting there was no avoiding it, and in a few min- 
 utes Yram stood before him. 
 
 Both were agitated, but Yram betrayed less of what 
 she felt than my father. He could only bow his head 
 and cover his face with his hands. Yram said, "We 
 are old friends ; take your hands from your face and 
 let me see you. There ! That is well." 
 
 She took his right hand between both hers, looked at 
 him with eyes full of kindness, and said softly — 
 
 221 
 
222 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 "You are not much changed, but you look haggard, 
 worn, and ill ; I am uneasy about you. Remember, you 
 are among friends, who will see that no harm befalls 
 you. There is a look in your eyes that frightens me.'* 
 
 As she spoke she took the wine out of her basket, 
 and poured him out a glass, but rather to give him 
 some little thing to distract his attention, than because 
 she expected him to drink it — which he could not do. 
 
 She never asked him whether he found her altered, 
 or turned the conversation ever such a little on to her- 
 self ; all was for him; to sooth and comfort him, not in 
 words alone, but in look, manner, and voice. My 
 father knew that he could thank her best by con- 
 trolling himself, and letting himself be soothed and 
 comforted — at any rate so far as he could seem to be. 
 
 Up to this time they had been standing, but now 
 Yram, seeing my father calmer, said, "Enough, let us 
 sit down." 
 
 So saying she seated herself at one end of the small 
 table that was in the cell, and motioned my father to 
 sit opposite to her. "The light hurts you?" she said, 
 for the sun was coming into the room. "Change 
 places with me, I am a sun worshipper. No, we can 
 move the table, and we can then see each other better." 
 
 This done, she said, still very softly, "And now tell 
 me what it is all about. Why have you come here ?" 
 
 "Tell me first," said my father, "what befell you 
 after I had been taken away. Why did you not send 
 me word when you found what had happened? or 
 come after me? You know I should have married you 
 at once, unless they bound me in fetters." 
 
 "I know you would ; but you remember Mrs. Hum- 
 drum? Yes, I see you do. I told her everything; it 
 
Yram Visits My Father 223 
 
 was she who saved me. We thought of you, but she 
 saw that it would not do. As I was to marry Mr. 
 Strong, the more you were lost sight of the better, but 
 with George ever with me I have not been able to for- 
 get you. I might have been very happy with you, but 
 I could not have been happier than I have been ever 
 since that short dreadful time was over. George must 
 tell you the rest. I cannot do so. All is well. I love 
 my husband with my whole heart and soul, and he 
 loves me with his. As between him and me, he knows 
 everything; George is his son, not yours; we have 
 settled it so, though we both know otherwise; as be- 
 tween you and me, for this one hour, here, there is no 
 use in pretending that you are not George's father. I 
 have said all I need say. Now, tell me what I asked 
 you — Why are you here?" 
 
 "I fear," said my father, set at rest by the sweet- 
 ness of Yram's voice and manner — he told me he had 
 never seen any one to compare with her except my 
 mother — *'I fear, to do as much harm now as I did be- 
 fore, and with as little wish to do any harm at all." 
 
 He then told her all that the reader knows, and ex- 
 
 ^plained how he had thought he could have gone about 
 
 the country as a peasant, and seen how she herself had 
 
 fared, without her, or any one, even suspecting that 
 
 he was in the country. 
 
 "You say your wife is dead, and that she left you 
 with a son — is he like George?" 
 
 *'In mind and disposition, wonderfully; in appear- 
 ance, no; he is dark and takes after his mother, and 
 though he is handsome, he is not so good-looking as 
 George." 
 
224 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 *'No one,'* said George's mother, "ever was, or ever 
 will be, and he is as good as he looks." 
 
 "I should not have believed you if you had said he 
 was not." 
 
 *That is right. I am glad you are proud of him. 
 He irradiates the lives of every one of us." 
 
 "And the mere knowledge that he exists will irradi- 
 ate the rest of mine." 
 
 "Long may it do so. Let us now talk about this 
 morning — did you mean to declare yourself?" 
 
 "I do not know what I meant; what I most cared 
 about was the doing what I thought George would 
 wish to see his father do." 
 
 "You did that; but he says he told you not to say 
 who you were." 
 
 "So he did, but I knew what he would think right. 
 He was uppermost in my thoughts all the time." 
 
 Yram smiled, and said, "George is a dangerous per- 
 son; you were both of you very foolish; one as bad as 
 the other." 
 
 "I do not know. I do not know anything. It is be- 
 yond me; but I am at peace about it, and hope I shall 
 do the like again to-morrow before the Mayor." 
 
 "I heartily hope you will do nothing of the kind. 
 George tells me you have promised him to be good and 
 to do as we bid you." 
 
 "So I will ; but he will not tell me to say that I am 
 not what I am." 
 
 "Yes, he will, and I will tell you why. If we permit 
 you to be Higgs the Sunchild, he must either throw his 
 own father into the Blue Pool — which he will not do 
 — or run great risk of being thrown into it himself, 
 for not having Blue-Pooled a foreigner. I am afraid 
 
Yram Visits My Father 225 
 
 we shall have to make you do a good deal that neither 
 you nor we shall like." 
 
 She then told him briefly of what had passed after 
 luncheon at her house, and what it had been settled to 
 do, leaving George to tell the details while escorting 
 him towards the statues on the following evening. She 
 said that every one would be so completely in every 
 one else's power that there was no fear of any one's 
 turning traitor. But she said nothing about George's 
 intention of setting out for the capital on Wednesday 
 morning to tell the whole story to the King. 
 
 "Now," she said, when she had told him as much 
 as was necessary, "be good, and do as you said you 
 would." 
 
 "I will. I will deny myself, not once, nor twice, but 
 as often as is necessary. I will kiss the reliquary, and 
 when I meet Hanky and Panky at your table, I will be 
 sworn brother to them — so long, that is, as George is 
 out of hearing; for I cannot lie well to them when he 
 is listening." 
 
 "Oh yes, you can. He will understand all about it ; 
 he enjoys falsehood as well as we all do, and has the 
 nicest sense of when to lie and when not to do so." 
 
 "What gift can be more invaluable?" 
 
 My father, knowing that he might not have another 
 chance of seeing Yram alone, now changed the con- 
 versation. 
 
 "I have something," he said, "for George, but he 
 must know nothing about it till after I am gone." 
 
 As he spoke, he took from his pockets the nine small 
 bags of nuggets that remained to him. 
 
 "But this," said Yram, "being gold, is a large sum: 
 
226 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 can you indeed spare it, and do you really wish George 
 to have it all?" 
 
 *'I shall be very unhappy if he does not, but he must 
 know nothing about it till I am out of Erewhon." 
 
 My father then explained to her that he was now 
 very rich, and would have brought ten times as much, 
 if he had known of George's existence. 
 
 ^Then," said Yram, musing, "if you are rich, I ac- 
 cept and thank you heartily on his behalf. I can see a 
 reason for his not knowing what you are giving him at 
 present, but it is too long to tell." 
 
 The reason was, that if George knew of this gold 
 before he saw the King, he would be sure to tell him 
 of it, and the King might claim it, for George would 
 never explain that it was a gift from father to son; 
 whereas if the King had once pardoned him, he would 
 not be so squeamish as to open up the whole thing 
 again with a postscript to his confession. But of this 
 she said not a word. 
 
 My father then told her of the box of sovereigns 
 that he had left in his saddle-bags. ''They are coined," 
 he said, *'and George will have to melt them down, but 
 he will find some way of doing this. They will be 
 worth rather more than these nine bags of nuggets." 
 
 "The difficulty will be to get him to go down and 
 fetch them, for it is against his oath to go far beyond 
 the statues. If you could be taken faint and say you 
 wanted help, he would see you to your camping ground 
 without a word, but he would be angry if he found he 
 had been tricked into breaking his oath in order that 
 money might be given him. It would never do. Be- 
 sides, there would not be time, for he must be back 
 here on Tuesday night. No; if he breaks his oath he 
 
Yram Visits My Father 227 
 
 must do it with his eyes open — and he will do it later 
 on — or I will go and fetch the money for him myself. 
 He is in love with a grand-daughter of Mrs. Hum- 
 drum's, and this sum, together with what you are now 
 leaving with me, will make him a well-to-do man. I 
 have always been unhappy about his having any of the 
 Mayor's money, and his salary was not quite enough 
 for him to marry on. What can I say to thank you?" 
 
 *Tell me, please, about Mrs. Humdrum's grand- 
 daughter. You like her as a wife for George?" 
 
 "Absolutely. She is just such another as her grand- 
 mother must have been. She and George have been 
 sworn lovers ever since he was ten, and she eight. The 
 only drawback is that her mother, Mrs. Humdrum's 
 second daughter, married for love, and there are many 
 children, so that there will be no money with her ; but 
 what you are leaving will make everything quite easy, 
 for he will sell the gold at once. I am so glad about 
 it" 
 
 "Can you ask Mrs. Humdrum to bring her grand- 
 daughter with her to-morrow evening?" 
 
 "I am afraid not, for we shall want to talk freely at 
 dinner, and she must not know that you are the Sun- 
 child ; she shall come to my house in the afternoon and 
 you can see her then. You will be quite happy about 
 her, but of course she must not know that you are her 
 father-in-law that is to be." 
 
 "One thing more. As George must know nothing 
 about the sovereigns, I must tell you how I will hide 
 them. They are in a silver box, which I will bind to 
 the bough of some tree close to my camp; or if I can 
 find a tree with a hole in it I will drop the box into the 
 hole. He cannot miss my camp ; he has only to follow 
 
228 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 the stream that runs down from the pass till it gets 
 near a large river, and on a small triangular patch of 
 flat ground, he will see the ashes of my camp fire, a 
 few yards away from the stream on his right hand as 
 he descends. In whatever tree I may hide the box, I 
 will strew wood ashes for some yards in a straight line 
 towards it. I will then light another fire underneath, 
 and bl?ze the tree with a knife that I have left at my 
 camping ground. He is sure to find it." 
 
 Yram again thanked him, and then my father, to 
 change the conversation, asked whether she thought 
 that George really would have Blue-Pooled the Pro- 
 fessors. 
 
 "There is no knowing," said Yram. "He is the 
 gentlest creature living till some great provocation 
 rouses him, and I never saw him hate and despise any 
 one as he does the Professors. Much of what he said 
 was merely put on, for he knew the Professors must 
 yield. I do not like his ever having to throw any one 
 into that horrid place, no more does he, but the Rang- 
 ership is exactly the sort of thing to suit him, and 
 the opening was too good to lose. I must now leave 
 you, and get ready for the Mayor's banquet. We shall 
 meet again to-morrow evening. Try and eat what I 
 have brought you in this basket. I hope you will like 
 the wine." She put out her hand, which my father 
 took, and in another moment she was gone, for she 
 saw a look in his face as though he would fain have 
 asked her to let him once more press his lips to hers. 
 Had he done this, without thinking about it, it is likely 
 enough she would not have been ill pleased. But who 
 can say? 
 
 For the rest of the evening my father was left very 
 
Yram Visits My Father 229 
 
 much to his own not too comfortable reflections. He 
 spent part of it in posting up the notes from which, as 
 well as from his own mouth, my story is in great part 
 taken. The good things that Yram had left with him, 
 and his pipe, which she had told him he might smoke 
 quite freely, occupied another part, and by ten o'clock 
 he went to bed. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 MAINLY OCCUPIED WITH A VERACIOUS EXTRACT 
 FROM A SUNCH'STONIAN JOURNAL 
 
 While my father was thus wiHng away the hours 
 in his cell, the whole town was being illuminated in his 
 honour, and not more than a couple of hundred yards 
 off, at the Mayor's banquet, he was being extolled as 
 a superhuman being. 
 
 The banquet, which was at the town hall, was in- 
 deed a very brilliant affair, but the little space that is 
 left me forbids my saying more than that Hanky made 
 what was considered the speech of the evening, and 
 betrayed no sign of ill effects from the bad quarter of 
 an hour which he had spent so recently. Not a trace 
 was to be seen of any desire on his part to change his 
 tone as regards Sunchildism — as, for example, to 
 minimize the importance of the relic, or to remind his 
 hearers that though the chariot and horses had un- 
 doubtedly come down from the sky and carried away 
 my father and mother, yet that the earlier stage of the 
 ascent had been made in a balloon. It almost seemed, 
 so George told my father, as though he had resolved 
 that he would speak lies, all lies, and nothing but lies. 
 
 Panky, who was also to have spoken, was excused 
 by the Mayor on the ground that the great heat and the 
 excitement of the day's proceedings had quite robbed 
 him of his voice. 
 
 230 
 
The Sunch'stonian Version 231 
 
 Dr. Downie had a jumping cat before his mental 
 vision. He spoke quietly and sensibly, dwelling chiefly 
 on the benefits that had already accrued to the king- 
 dom through the abolition of the edicts against ma- 
 chinery, and the great developments which he foresaw 
 as probable in the near future. He held up the Sun- 
 child's example, and his ethical teaching, to the imita- 
 tion and admiration of his hearers, but he said nothing 
 about the miraculous element in my father's career, on 
 which he declared that his friend Professor Hanky 
 had already so eloquently enlarged as to make further 
 allusion to it superfluous. 
 
 The reader knows what was to happen on the fol- 
 lowing morning. The programme concerted at the 
 Mayor's was strictly adhered to. The following ac- 
 count, however, which appeared in the Sunch'ston bi- 
 weekly newspaper two days after my father had left, 
 was given me by George a year later, on the occasion 
 of that interview to which I have already more than 
 once referred. There were other accounts in other 
 papers, but the one I am giving departs the least widely 
 from the facts. It ran : — 
 
 . ''The close of a disagreeable incident. — Our readers 
 will remember that on Sunday last during the solemn 
 inauguration of the temple now dedicated to the Sun- 
 child, an individual on the front bench of those set 
 apart for the public suddenly interrupted Professor 
 Hanky's eloquent sermon by declaring himself to be 
 the Sunchild, and saying that he had come down from 
 the sun to sanctify by his presence the glorious fane 
 which the piety of our fellow-citizens and others has 
 erected in his honour. 
 
 "Wild rumours obtained credence throughout the 
 
232 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 congregation to the effect that this person was none 
 other than the Sunchild himself, and in spite of the 
 fact that his complexion and the colour of his hair 
 showed this to be impossible, more than one person 
 was carried away by the excitement of the moment, 
 and by some few points of resemblance between the 
 stranger and the Sunchild. Under the influence of this 
 belief, they were preparing to give him the honour 
 which they supposed justly due to him, when to the 
 surprise of every one he was taken into custody by 
 the deservedly popular Ranger of the King's preserves, 
 and in the course of the afternoon it became generally 
 known that he had been arrested on the charge of be- 
 ing one of a gang of poachers who have been known 
 for some time past to be making such havoc among the 
 quails on the preserves. 
 
 "This offence, at all times deplored by those who 
 desire that his Majesty shall enjoy good sport when he 
 honours us with a visit, is doubly deplorable during 
 the season when, on the higher parts of the preserves, 
 the young birds are not yet able to shift for them- 
 selves; the Ranger, therefore, is indefatigable in his 
 efforts to break up the gang, and with this end in view, 
 for the last fortnight has been out night and day on 
 the remoter sections of the forest — little suspecting 
 that the marauders would venture so near Sunch'ston 
 as it now seems they have done. It is to his extreme 
 anxiety to detect and punish these miscreants that we 
 must ascribe the arrest of a man, who, however 
 foolish, and indeed guilty, he is in other respects, is 
 innocent of the particular crime imputed to him. The 
 circumstances that led to his arrest have reached us 
 
The Sunch'stonian Version 233 
 
 from an exceptionally well-informed source, and are 
 as follows : — 
 
 "Our distinguished guests, Professors Hanky and 
 Panky, both of them justly celebrated archaeologists, 
 had availed themselves of the opportunity afforded 
 them by their visit to Sunch'ston, to inspect the mys- 
 terious statues at the head of the stream that comes 
 down near this city, and which have hitherto baffled 
 all those who have tried to ascertain their date and 
 purpose. 
 
 "On their descent after a fatiguing day the Profes- 
 sors were benighted, and lost their way. Seeing the 
 light of a small fire among some trees near them, they 
 made towards it, hoping to be directed rightly, and 
 found a man, respectably dressed, sitting by the fire 
 with several brace of quails beside him, some of them 
 plucked. Believing that in spite of his appearance, 
 which would not have led them to suppose that he was 
 a poacher, he must unquestionably be one, they hur- 
 riedly enquired their way, intending to leave him as 
 soon as they had got their answer; he, however, at- 
 tacked them, or made as though he would do so, and 
 said he would show them a way which they should be 
 in no fear of losing, whereon Professor Hanky, with 
 a well-directed blow, felled him to the ground. The 
 two Professors, fearing that other poachers might 
 come to his assistance, made off as nearly as they could 
 guess in the direction of Sunch'ston. When they had 
 gone a mile or two onward at haphazard, they sat 
 down under a large tree, and waited till day began to 
 break; they then resumed their joumay, and before 
 long struck a path which led them to a spot from 
 which they could see the towers of the new temple. 
 
234 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 "Fatigued though they were, they waited before 
 taking the rest of which they stood much in need, till 
 they had reported their adventure at the Ranger's of- 
 fice. The Ranger was still out on the preserves, but 
 immediately on his return on Saturday morning he 
 read the description of the poacher's appearance and 
 dress, about which last, however, the only remarkable 
 feature was that it was better than a poacher might be 
 expected to possess, and gave an air of respectability 
 to the wearer that might easily disarm suspicion. 
 
 "The Ranger made enquiries at all the inns in 
 Sunch'ston, and at length succeeded in hearing of a 
 stranger who appeared to correspond with the poacher 
 whom the Professors had seen; but the man had 
 already left, and though the Ranger did his best to 
 trace him he did not succeed. On Sunday morning, 
 however, he observed the prisoner, and found that he 
 answered the description given by the Professors; he 
 therefore arrested him quietly in the temple, but told 
 him that he should not take him to prison till the ser- 
 vice was over. The man said he would come quietly 
 inasmuch as he should easily be able to prove his in- 
 nocence. In the meantime, however, he professed the 
 utmost anxiety to hear Professor Hanky's sermon, 
 which he said he believed would concern him nearly. 
 The Ranger paid no attention to this, and was as much 
 astounded as the rest of the congregation were, when 
 immediately after one of Professor Hanky's most elo- 
 quent passages, the man started up and declared him- 
 self to be the Sunchild. On this the Ranger took him 
 away at once, and for the man's own protection hur- 
 ried him off to prison. 
 
 "Professor Hanky was so much shocked at such 
 
The Sunch'stonian Version 235 
 
 outrageous conduct, that for the moment he failed to 
 recognise the offender; after a few seconds, however, 
 he grasped the situation, and knew him to be one who 
 on previous occasions, near Bridgeford, had done what 
 he was now doing. It seems that he is notorious in 
 the neighbourhood of Bridgeford, as a monomaniac 
 who is so deeply impressed with the beauty of the 
 Sunchild's character — and we presume also of his own 
 — as to believe that he is himself the Sunchild. 
 
 "Recovering almost instantly from the shock the 
 interruption had given him, the learned Professor 
 calmed his hearers by acquainting them with the facts 
 of the case, and continued his sermon to the delight 
 of all who heard it. We should say, however, that the 
 gentleman who twenty years ago instructed the Sun- 
 child in the Erewhonian language, was so struck with 
 some few points of resemblance between the stranger 
 and his former pupil, that he acclaimed him, and was 
 removed forcibly by the vergers. 
 
 ''On Monday morning the prisoner was brought up 
 before the Mayor. We cannot say whether it was the 
 sobering effect of prison walls, or whether he had been 
 drinking before he entered the temple, and had now 
 had time enough to recover himself — at any rate for 
 some reason or other he was abjectly penitent when his 
 case came on for hearing. The charge of poaching 
 was first gone into, but was immediately disposed of 
 by the evidence of tlie two Professors, who stated that 
 the prisoner bore no resemblance to the poacher they 
 had seen, save that he was about the same height and 
 age, and was respectably dressed. 
 
 "The charge of disturbing the congregation by de- 
 claring himself the Sunchild was then proceeded with, 
 
236 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 and unnecessary as it may appear to be, it was thought 
 advisable to prevent all possibility of the man's asser- 
 tion being accepted by the ignorant as true, at some 
 later date, when those who could prove its falsehood 
 were no longer living. The prisoner, therefore, was 
 removed to his cell, and there measured by the Master 
 of the Gaol, and the Ranger in the presence of the 
 Mayor, who attested the accuracy of the measure- 
 ments. Not one single one of them corresponded with 
 those recorded of the Sunchild himself, and a few 
 marks such as moles, and permanent scars on the Sun- 
 child's body were not found on the prisoner's. Further- 
 more the prisoner was shaggy-breasted, with much 
 coarse jet black hair on the fore-arms and from the 
 knees downwards, whereas the Sunchild had little hair- 
 save on his head, and what little there was, was fine, 
 and very light in colour. 
 
 "Confronted with these discrepancies, the gentle- 
 man who had taught the Sunchild our language was 
 convinced of his mistake, though he still maintained 
 that there was some superficial likeness between his 
 former pupil and the prisoner. Here he was con- 
 firmed by the Master of the Gaol, the Mayoress, Mrs. 
 Humdrum, and Professors Hanky and Panky, who all 
 of them could see what the interpreter meant, but de- 
 nied that the prisoner could be mistaken for the Sun- 
 child for more than a few seconds. No doubt the 
 prisoner's unhappy delusion has been fostered, if not 
 entirely caused, by his having been repeatedly told that 
 he was like the Sunchild. The celebrated Dr. Downie, 
 who well remembers the Sunchild, was also examined, 
 and gave his evidence with so much convincing detail 
 as to make it unnecessary to call further witnesses. 
 
The Sunch'stonian Version 237 
 
 *'It having been thus once for all officially and au- 
 thoritatively placed on record that the prisoner was 
 not the Sunchild, Professors Hanky and Panky then 
 identified him as a well known monomaniac on the 
 subject of Sunchildism, who in other respects was 
 harmless. We withhold his name and place of abode, 
 out of consideration for the well known and highly 
 respectable family to which he belongs. The prisoner 
 admitted with much contrition that he had made a dis- 
 turbance in the temple, but pleaded that he had been 
 carried away by the eloquence of Professor Hanky; 
 he promised to avoid all like offence in future, and 
 threw himself on the mercy of the court. 
 
 "The Mayor, unwilling that Sunday's memorable 
 ceremony should be the occasion of a serious punish- 
 ment to any of those who took part in it, reprimanded 
 the prisoner in a few severe but not unkindly words, 
 inflicted a fine of forty shillings, and ordered that the 
 prisoner should be taken directly to the temple, where 
 he should confess his folly to the Manager and Head 
 Cashier, and confirm his words by kissing the reliquary 
 in which the newly found relic has been placed. The 
 .prisoner being unable to pay the fine, some of the ladies 
 and gentlemen in court kindly raised the amount 
 amongst them, in pity for the poor creature's obvious 
 contrition, rather than see him sent to prison for a 
 month in default of payment. 
 
 "The prisoner was then conducted to the temple, 
 followed by a considerable number of people. Strange 
 to say, in spite of the overwhelming evidence that they 
 had just heard, some few among the followers, whose 
 love of the marvellous overpowered their reason, still 
 maintained that the prisoner was the Sunchild. Noth- 
 
238 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 ing could be more decorous than the prisoner's be- 
 haviour when, after hearing the recantation that was 
 read out to him by the Manager, he signed the docu- 
 ment with his name and address, which we again with- 
 hold, and kissed the reliquary in confirmation of his 
 words. 
 
 'The Mayor then declared the prisoner to be at 
 liberty. When he had done so he said, 1 strongly urge 
 you to place yourself under my protection for the 
 present, that you may be freed from the impertinent 
 folly and curiosity of some whose infatuation might 
 lead you from that better mind to which I believe you 
 are now happily restored. I wish you to remain for 
 some few hours secluded in the privacy of my own 
 study, where Dr. Downie and the two excellent Pro- 
 fessors will administer that ghostly counsel to you, 
 which will be likely to protect you from any return of 
 your unhappy delusion.' 
 
 'The man humbly bowed assent, and was taken by 
 the Mayor's younger sons to the Mayor's own house, 
 where he was duly cared for. About midnight, when 
 all was quiet, he was conducted to the outskirts of the 
 town towards Clearwater, and furnished with enough 
 money to provide for his more pressing necessities till 
 he could reach some relatives who reside three or four 
 days' walk down on the road towards the capital. He 
 desired the man who accompanied him to repeat to the 
 Mayor his heartfelt thanks for the forbearance and 
 generosity with which he had been treated. The re- 
 membrance of this, he said, should be ever present 
 with him, and he was confident would protect him if 
 his unhappy monomania shewed any signs of return- 
 ing. 
 
The Sunch'stonian Version 239 
 
 "Let us now, however, remind our readers that the 
 poacher who threatened Professors Hanky and 
 Panky's life on Thursday evening last is still at large. 
 He is evidently a man of desperate character, and it is 
 to be hoped that our fellow-citizens will give imme- 
 diate information at the Ranger's office if they see any 
 stranger in the neighbourhood of the preserves whom 
 they may have reasonable grounds for suspecting. 
 
 ''PS. — As we are on the point of going to press we 
 learn that a dangerous lunatic, who has been for some 
 years confined in the Clearwater asylum, succeeded in 
 escaping on the night of Wednesday last, and it is 
 surmised with much probability, that this was the man 
 who threatened the two Professors on Thursday eve- 
 ning. His being alone, his having dared to light a fire, 
 probably to cook quails which he had been driven to 
 kill from stress of hunger, the respectability of his 
 dress, and the fury with which he would have attacked 
 the two Professors single-handed, but for Professor 
 Hanky's presence of mind in giving him a knock-down 
 blow, all point in the direction of thinking that he was 
 no true poacher, but — what is even more dangerous — 
 a madman at large. We have not received any par- 
 ticulars as to the man's appearance, nor the clothes he 
 Viras wearing, but we have little doubt that these will 
 confirm the surmise to which we now give publicity. 
 If it is correct it becomes doubly incumbent on all our 
 fellow-citizens to be both on the watch, and on their 
 guard. 
 
 ''We may add that the man was fully believed to 
 have taken the direction towards the capital ; hence no 
 attempts were made to look for him in the neighbour- 
 
240 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 hood of Sunch'ston, until news of the threatened at- 
 tack on the Professors led the keeper of the asylum to 
 feel confident that he had hitherto been on a wrong 
 scent." 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 MY FATHER IS ESCORTED TO THE MAYOR^S HOUSE, 
 AND IS INTRODUCED TO A FUTURE DAUGHTER-IN- 
 LAW 
 
 My father said he was followed to the Mayor's 
 house by a good many people, whom the Mayor's sons 
 in vain tried to get rid of. One or two of these still 
 persisted in saying he was the Sunchild — whereon an- 
 other said, "But his hair is black." 
 
 "Yes," was the answer, "but a man can dye his hair, 
 can he not? look at his blue eyes and his eye-lashes?" 
 
 My father was doubting whether he ought not to 
 again deny his identity out of loyalty to the Mayor 
 and Yram, when George's next brother said, "Pay no 
 attention to them, but step out as fast as you can." 
 This settled the matter, and in a few minutes they were 
 at the Mayor's, where the young men took him into 
 the study; the elder said with a smile, "We should like 
 to stay and talk to you, but my mother said we were 
 not to do so." Whereon they left him much to his 
 regret, but he gathered rightly that they had not been 
 officially told who he was, and were to be left to think 
 what they liked, at any rate for the present. 
 
 In a few minutes the Mayor entered, and going 
 straight up to my father shook him cordially by the 
 hand. 
 
 "I have brought you this morning's paper," said he. 
 
 241 
 
242 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 "You will find a full report of Professor Hanky's ser- 
 mon, and of the speeches at last night's banquet. You 
 see they pass over your little interruption with hardly 
 a word, but I dare say they will have made up their 
 minds about it all by Thursday's issue." 
 
 He laughed as he produced the paper — ^which my 
 father brought home with him, and without which I 
 should not have been able to report Hanky's sermon as 
 fully as I have done. But my father could not let 
 things pass over thus lightly. 
 
 "I thank you," he said, ''but I have much more to 
 thank you for, and know not how to do it.'* 
 
 *'Can you not trust me to take everything as said?" 
 
 "Yes, but I cannot trust myself not to be haunted if 
 I do not say — or at any rate try to say — some part of 
 what I ought to say." 
 
 "Very well; then I will say something myself. I 
 have a small joke, the only one I ever made, which I 
 inflict periodically upon my wife. You, and I sup- 
 pose George, are the only two other people in the world 
 to whom it can ever be told ; let me see, then, if I can- 
 not break the ice with it. It is this. Some men have 
 twin sons; George in this topsy turvey world of ours 
 has twin fathers — you by luck, and me by cunning. I 
 see you smile ; give me your hand." 
 
 My father took the Mayor's hand between both his 
 own. "Had I been in your place," he said, "I should 
 be glad to hope that I might have done as you did." 
 
 "And I," said the Mayor, more readily than might 
 have been expected of him, "fear that if I had been in 
 yours — I should have made it the proper thing for you 
 to do. There! The ice is well broken, and now for 
 business. You will lunch with us, and dine in the 
 
At the Mayor's House 243 
 
 evening. I have given it out that you are of good 
 family, so there is nothing odd in this. At lunch you 
 will not be the Sunchild, for my younger children will 
 be there ; at dinner all present will know who you are, 
 so we shall be free as soon as the servants are out of 
 the room. 
 
 "I am sorry, but I must send you away with George 
 as soon as the streets are empty — say at midnight — 
 for the excitement is too great to allow of your stay- 
 ing longer. We must keep your rug and the things 
 you cook with, but my wife will find you what will 
 serve your turn. There is no moon, so you and George 
 will camp out as soon as you get well on to the pre- 
 serves ; the weather is hot, and you will neither of you 
 take any harm. To-morrow by mid-day you will be 
 at the statues, where George must bid you good-bye, 
 for he must be at Sunch'ston to-morrow night. You 
 will doubtless get safely home; I wish with all my 
 heart that I could hear of your having done so, but 
 this, I fear, may not be." 
 
 "So be it," replied my father, *'but there is some- 
 thing I should yet say. The Mayoress has no doubt 
 told you of some gold, coined and uncoined, that I am 
 leaving for George. She will also have told you that 
 I am rich; this being so, I should have brought him 
 much more, if I had known that there was any such 
 person. You have other children; if you leave him 
 anything, you will be taking it away from your own 
 flesh and blood; if you leave him nothing, it will be a 
 slur upon him. I must therefore send you enough 
 gold to provide for George as your other children will 
 be provided for; you can settle it upon him at once, 
 and make it clear that the settlement is instead of pro- 
 
244 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 vision for him by will. The difficulty is in the getting 
 the gold into Erewhon, and until it is actually here, he 
 must know nothing about it." 
 
 I have no space for the discussion that followed. In 
 the end it was settled that George was to have £2000 
 in gold, which the Mayor declared to be too much, and 
 my father too little. Both, however, were agreed that 
 Erewhon would before long be compelled to enter into 
 relations with foreign countries, in which case the 
 value of gold would decline so much as to make £2000 
 worth little more than it would be in England. The 
 Mayor proposed to buy land with it, which he would 
 hand over to George as a gift from himself, and this 
 my father at once acceded to. All sorts of questions 
 such as will occur to the reader were raised and settled, 
 but I must beg him to be content with knowing that 
 everything was arranged with the good sense that two 
 such men were sure to bring to bear upon it. 
 
 The getting the gold into Erewhon was to be man- 
 aged thus. George was to know nothing, but a 
 promise was to be got from him that at noon on the 
 following New Year's day, or whatever day might be 
 agreed upon, he would be at the statues, where either 
 my father or myself would meet him, spend a couple 
 of hours with him, and then return. Whoever met 
 George was to bring the gold as though it were for 
 the Mayor, and George could be trusted to be human 
 enough to bring it down, when he saw that it would 
 be left where it was if he did not do so. 
 
 **He will kick a good deal," said the Mayor, "at 
 first, but he will come round in the end.'* 
 
 Luncheon was now announced. My father was 
 feeling faint and ill; more than once during the fore- 
 
At the Mayor's House 245 
 
 noon he had had a return of the strange giddiness and 
 momentary loss of memory which had already twice 
 attacked him, but he had recovered in each case so 
 quickly that no one had seen he was unwell. He, poor 
 man, did not yet know what serious brain exhaustion 
 these attacks betokened, and finding himself in his 
 usual health as soon as they passed away, set them 
 down as simply effects of fatigue and undue excite- 
 ment. 
 
 George did not lunch with the others. Yram ex- 
 plained that he had to draw up a report which would 
 occupy him till dinner time. Her three other sons, and 
 her three lovely daughters, were there. My father was 
 delighted with all of them, for they made friends with 
 him at once. He had feared that he would have been 
 disgraced in their eyes, by his having just come from 
 prison, but whatever they may have thought, no trace 
 of anything but a little engaging timidity on the girls* 
 part was to be seen. The two elder boys — or rather 
 young men, for they seemed fully grown, though, like 
 George, not yet bearded — treated him as already an 
 old acquaintance, while the youngest, a lad of four- 
 teen, walked straight up to him, put out his hand, and 
 said, *'How do you do, sir?" with a pretty blush that 
 went straight to my father's heart. 
 
 'These boys,'' he said to Yram aside, "who have 
 nothing to blush for — see how the blood mantles into 
 their young cheeks, while I, who should blush at be- 
 ing spoken to by them, cannot do so." 
 
 ''Do not talk nonsense," said Yram, with mock se- 
 verity. 
 
 But it was no nonsense to my poor father. He w^as 
 awed at the goodness and beauty with which he found 
 
246 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 himself surrounded. His thoughts were too full of 
 what had been, what was, and what was yet to be, to 
 let him devote himself to these young people as he 
 would dearly have liked to do. He could only look at 
 them, wonder at them, fall in love with them, and 
 thank heaven that George had been brought up in such 
 a household. 
 
 When luncheon was over, Yram said, "I will now 
 send you to a room where you can lie down and go 
 to sleep for a few hours. You will be out late to- 
 night, and had better rest while you can. Do you 
 remember the drink you taught us to make of corn 
 parched and ground ? You used to say you liked it. A 
 cup shall be brought to your room at about five, for you 
 must try and sleep till then, li you notice a little box 
 on the dressing-table of your room, you will open it 
 or no as you like. About half-past five there will be a 
 visitor, whose name you can guess, but I shall not let 
 her stay long with you. Here comes the servant to 
 take you to your room." On this she smiled, and 
 turned somewhat hurriedly away. 
 
 My father on reaching his room went to the dress- 
 ing-table, where he saw a small unpretending box, 
 which he immediately opened. On the top was a paper 
 with the words, "Look — say nothing — forget." Be- 
 neath this was some cotton wool, and then — the two 
 buttons and the lock of his own hair, that he had 
 given Yram when he said good-bye to her. 
 
 The ghost of the lock that Yram had then given 
 him rose from the dead, and smote him as with a 
 whip across the face. On what dust-heap had it not 
 been thrown how many long years ago ? Then she had 
 never forgotten him? to have been remembered all 
 
At the Mayor's House 247 
 
 these years by such a woman as that, and never to 
 have heeded it — never to have found out what she was 
 though he had seen her day after day for months. Ah ! 
 but she was then still budding. That was no excuse. 
 If a loveable woman — aye, or any woman — has loved 
 a man, even though he cannot marry her, or even wish 
 to do so, at any rate let him not forget her — and he 
 had forgotten Yram as completely until the last few 
 days, as though he had never seen her. He took her 
 little missive, and under "Look," he wrote, "I have;'* 
 under ''Say nothing,'^ '1 will;" under "forget," 
 "never." "And I never shall," he said to himself, as 
 he replaced the box upon the table. He then lay down 
 to rest upon the bed, but he could get no sleep. 
 
 When the servant brought him his imitation coffee 
 — an imitation so successful that Yram made him a 
 packet of it to replace the tea that he must leave be- 
 hind him — he rose and presently came downstairs into 
 the drawing-room, where he found Yram and Mrs. 
 Humdrum's grand-daughter, of whom I will say 
 nothing, for I have never seen her, and know noth- 
 ing about her, except that my father found her a 
 sweet-looking girl, of graceful figure and very attrac- 
 tive expression. He was quite happy about her, but 
 she was too young and shy to make it possible for him 
 to do more than admire her appearance, and take 
 Yram's word for it that she was as good as she looked. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 AFTER DINNER, DR. DOWNIE AND THE PROFESSORS 
 WOULD BE GLAD TO KNOW WHAT IS TO BE DONE 
 ABOUT SUNCHILDISM 
 
 It was about six when George's fiancee left the 
 house, and as soon as she had done so, Yram began to 
 see about the rug and the best substitutes she could 
 find for the billy and pannikin. She had a basket 
 packed with all that my father and George would want 
 to eat and drink while on the preserves, and enough 
 of everything, except meat, to keep my father going 
 till he could reach the shepherd's hut of which I have 
 already spoken. Meat would not keep, and my father 
 could get plenty of flappers — i.e. ducks that cannot yet 
 fly — when he was on the river-bed down below. 
 
 The above preparations had not been made very 
 long before Mrs. Humdrum arrived, followed pres- 
 ently by Dr. Downie and in due course by the Pro- 
 fessors, who were still staying in the house. My 
 father remembered Mrs. Humdrum's good honest 
 face, but could not bring Dr. Downie to his recollec- 
 tion till the Doctor told him when and where they had 
 met, and then he could only very uncertainly recall 
 him, though he vowed that he could now do so per- 
 fectly well. 
 
 "At any rate," said Hanky, advancing towards him 
 with his best Bridgeford manner, "you will not have 
 
 248 
 
What About Sunchildism? 249 
 
 forgotten meeting my brother Professor and myself." 
 
 **It has been rather a forgetting sort of a morning," 
 said my father demurely, "but I can remember that 
 much, and am delighted to renew my acquaintance 
 with both of you.'* 
 
 As he spoke he shook hands with both Professors. 
 
 George was a little late, but when he came, dinner 
 was announced. My father sat on Yram's right-hand, 
 Dr. Downie on her left. George was next my father, 
 with Mrs. Humdrum opposite to him. The Professors 
 sat one on either side of the Mayor. During dinner 
 the conversation turned almost entirely on my father's 
 flight, his narrow escape from drowning, and his 
 adventures on his return to England; about these last 
 my father was very reticent, for he said nothing about 
 his book, and antedated his accession of wealth by 
 some fifteen years, but as he walked up towards the 
 statues with George he told him everything. 
 
 My father repeatedly tried to turn the conversation 
 from himself, but Mrs. Humdrum and Yram wanted 
 to know about Nna Haras, as they persisted in calling 
 my mother — how she endured her terrible experiences 
 in the balloon, when she and my father were married, 
 all about my unworthy self, and England generally. 
 No matter how often he began to ask questions about 
 the Nosnibors and other old acquaintances, both the 
 ladies soon went back to his own adventures. He suc- 
 ceeded, however, in learning that Mr. Nosnibor was 
 dead, and Zulora, an old maid of the most unattractive 
 kind, who had persistently refused to accept Sun- 
 childism, while Mrs. Nosnibor was the recipient of 
 honours hardly inferior to those conferred by the 
 people at large on my father and mother, with whom, 
 
250 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 indeed, she believed herself to have frequent inter- 
 views by way of visionary revelations. So intolerable 
 were these revelations to Zulora, that a separate 
 establishment had been provided for her George said 
 to my father quietly — "Do you know I begin to think 
 that Zulora must be rather a nice person." 
 
 *Terhaps," said my father grimly, ''but my wife 
 and I did not find it out." 
 
 When the ladies left the room, Dr. Downie took 
 Yram's seat, and Hanky Dr. Downie's; the Mayor 
 took Mrs. Humdrum's, leaving my father, George, 
 and Panky, in their old places. Almost immediatel}/, 
 Dr. Downie said, ''And now, Mr. Higgs, tell us, as a 
 man of the world, what we are to do about Sun- 
 childism ?" 
 
 My father smiled at this. "You know, my dear sir, 
 as well as I do, that the proper thing would be to put 
 me back in prison, and keep me there till you can send 
 me down to the capital. You should eat your oaths of 
 this morning, as I would eat mine ; tell every one here 
 who I am ; let them see that my hair has been dyed ; 
 get all who knew me when I was here before to come 
 and see me; appoint an unimpeachable committee to 
 examine the record of my marks and measurements, 
 and compare it with those of my own body. You 
 should let me be seen in every town at which I lodged 
 on my way down, and tell people that you had made 
 a mistake. When you get to the capital, hand me over 
 to the King's tender mercies and say that our oaths 
 were only taken this morning to prevent a ferment in 
 the town. I will play my part very willingly. The 
 King can only kill me, and I should die like a gentle- 
 man." 
 
What About Sunchildism? 251 
 
 *'They will not do it," said George quietly to my 
 father, **and I am glad of it." 
 
 He was right. *This," said Dr. Downie, ''is a 
 counsel of perfection. Things have gone too far, and 
 we are flesh and blood. What would those who in 
 your country come nearest to us Musical Bank Man- 
 agers do if they found they had made such a mistake 
 as we have, and dared not own it?" 
 
 *'Do not ask me," said my father; *'the story is too 
 long, and too terrible." 
 
 "At any rate, then, tell us what you would have us 
 do that is within our reach." 
 
 "I have done you harm enough, and if I preach, as 
 likely as not I shall do more." 
 
 Seeing, however, that Dr, Downie was anxious to 
 hear what he thought, my father said — 
 
 'Then I must tell you. Our religion sets before us 
 an ideal which we all cordially accept, but it also tells 
 us of marvels like your chariot and horses, which we 
 most of us reject. Our best teachers insist on the 
 ideal, and keep the marvels in the background. If they 
 could say outright that our age has outgrown them, 
 they would say so, but this they may not do ; neverthe 
 less they contrive to let their opinions be sufficiently 
 well known, and their hearers are content with this. 
 
 "We have others who take a very different course, 
 but of these I will not speak. Roughly, then, if you 
 cannot abolish me altogether, make me a peg on which 
 to hang all your own best ethical and spiritual con- 
 ceptions. If you will do this, and wriggle out of that 
 wretched relic, with that not less wretched picture — if 
 you will make me out to be much better and abler tlian 
 I was, or ever shall be, Sunchildism may serve your 
 
252 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 turn for many a long year to come. Otherwise it will 
 tumble about your heads before you think it will. 
 
 "Am I to go on or stop?" 
 
 *'Go on," said George softly That was enough for 
 my father, so on he went. 
 
 "You are already doing part of what I wish. I was 
 delighted with the two passages I heard on Sunday, 
 from what you call the Sunchild's Sayings. I never 
 said a word of either passage; I wish I had; I wish 
 I could say anything half so good. And I have read 
 a pamphlet by President Gurgoyle, which I liked ex- 
 tremely ; but I never said what he says I did. Again, I 
 wish I had. Keep to this sort of thing, and I will \>q 
 as good a Sunchildist as any of you. But you must 
 bribe some thief to steal that relic, and break it up to 
 mend the roads with ; and — for I believe that here as 
 elsewhere fires sometimes get lighted through the 
 carelessness of a workman — set the most careless 
 workman you can find to do a plumbing job near that 
 picture.'' 
 
 Hanky looked black at this, and George trod lightly 
 on my father's toe, but he told me that my father's 
 face was innocence itself. 
 
 "These are hard sayings," said Dr. Downie. 
 
 "I know they are," replied my father, "and I do not 
 like saying them, but there is no royal road to unlearn- 
 ing, and you have much to unlearn. Still, you Musical 
 Bank people bear witness to the fact that beyond the 
 kingdoms of this world there is another, within which 
 the writs of this world's kingdoms do not run. This 
 is the great service which our church does for us in 
 England, and hence many of us uphold it, though we 
 have no sympathy with the party now dominant within 
 
What About Sunchildism? 253 
 
 it. 'Better,' we think, 'a corrupt church than none at 
 all/ Moreover, those who in my country would step 
 into the church's shoes are as corrupt as the church, 
 and more exacting. They are also more dangerous, 
 for the masses distrust the church, and are on their 
 guard against aggression, whereas they do not suspect 
 the doctrinaires and faddists, who, if they could, 
 would interfere in every concern of our lives. 
 
 *Tet me return to yourselves. You Musical Bank 
 Managers are very much such a body of men as your 
 country needs — but when I was here before you had 
 no figurehead; I have unwittingly supplied you with 
 one, and it is perhaps because you saw this, that you 
 good people of Bridge ford took up with me. Sun- 
 childism is still young and plastic; if you will let the 
 cock-and-bull stories about me tacitly drop, and invent 
 no new ones, beyond saying what a delightful person 
 I was, I really cannot see why I should not do for you 
 as well as any one else. 
 
 'There. What I have said is nine-tenths of it 
 rotten and wrong, but it is the most practicable rotten 
 and wrong that I can suggest, seeing into what a 
 rotten and wrong state of things you have drifted. 
 And now, Mr. Mayor, do you not think we may join 
 the Mayoress and Mrs. Humdrum?" 
 
 *'As you please, Mr. Higgs," answered the Mayor. 
 
 'Then let us go, for I have said too much already, 
 and your son George tells me that we must be starting 
 shortly." 
 
 As they were leaving the room Panky sidled up to 
 my father and said, 'There is a point, Mr. Higgs, 
 which you can settle for me, though I feel pretty cer- 
 
254 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 tain how you will settle it. I think that a corruption 
 has crept into the text of the very beautiful " 
 
 At this moment, as my father, who saw what was 
 coming, was wondering what in the world he could 
 say, George came up to him and said, *'Mr. Higgs, my 
 mother wishes me to take you down into the store- 
 room, to make sure that she has put everything for 
 you as you would like it." On this my father said he 
 would return directly and answer what he knew would 
 be Panky's question. 
 
 When Yram had shewn what she had prepared — all 
 of it, of course, faultless — she said, *'And now, Mr. 
 Higgs, about our leave-taking. Of course we shall 
 both of us feel much. I shall; I know you will; 
 George will have a few more hours with you than the 
 rest of us, but his time to say good-bye will come, and 
 it will be painful to both of you. I am glad you came 
 — I am glad you have seen George, and George you, 
 and that you took to one another. I am glad my hus- 
 band has seen you; he has spoken to me about you 
 very warmly, for he has taken to you much as George 
 did. I am very, very glad to have seen you myself, 
 and to have learned what became of you — and of your 
 wife. I know you wish well to all of us; be sure that 
 we all of us wish most heartily well to you and yours. 
 I sent for you and George, because I could not say all 
 this unless we were alone ; it is all I can do," she said, 
 with a smile, **to say it now." 
 
 Indeed it was, for the tears were in her eyes all the 
 time, as they were also in my father's. 
 
 "Let this," continued Yram, ''be our leave-taking — 
 for we must have nothing like a scene upstairs. Just 
 shake hands with us all, say the usual conventional 
 
What About Sunchildism? 255 
 
 things, and make it as short as you can; but I could 
 not bear to send you away without a few warmer 
 words than I could have said when others were in the 
 
 ''May heaven bless you and yours," said my father, 
 "for ever and ever." 
 
 'That will do," said George gently. "Now, both of 
 you shake hands, and come upstairs with me." 
 
 When all three of them had got calm, for George 
 had been moved almost as much as his father and 
 mother, they went upstairs, and Panky came for his 
 answer. "You are very possibly right," said my 
 father — "the version you hold to be corrupt is the one 
 in common use amongst ourselves, but it is only a 
 translation, and very possibly only a translation of a 
 translation, so that it may perhaps h^ve been corrupted 
 before it reached us." 
 
 "That," said Panky, "will explain everything," and 
 he went contentedly away. 
 
 My father talked a little aside with Mrs. Humdrum 
 about her grand-daughter and George, for Yram had 
 told him that she knew all about the attachment, and 
 then George, who saw that my father found the 
 greatest difficulty in maintaining an outward calm, 
 said, "Mr. Higgs, the streets are empty; we had better 
 
 go." 
 
 My father did as Yram had told him ; shook hands 
 with every one, said all that was usual and proper as 
 briefly as he could, and followed George out of the 
 room. The Mayor saw them to the door, and saved 
 my father from embarrassment by saying, "Mr. 
 Higgs, you and I understand one another too well to 
 
256 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 make it necessary for us to say so. Good-bye to you, 
 and may no ill befall you ere you get home." 
 
 My father grasped his hand in both his own. 
 "Again," he said, "I can say no more than that I thank 
 you from the bottom of my heart." 
 
 As he spoke he bowed his head, and went out with 
 George into the night. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 GEORGE ESCORTS MY FATHER TO THE STATUES; 
 THE TWO THEN PART 
 
 The streets were quite deserted as George had said 
 they would be, and very dark, save for an occasional 
 oil lamp. 
 
 ''As soon as we can get within the preserves," said 
 George, **we had better wait till morning. I have a 
 rug for myself as well as for you.'^ 
 
 "I saw you had two," answered my father; "you 
 must let me carry them both ; the provisions are much 
 the heavier load." 
 
 George fought as hard as a dog would do, till my 
 father said that they must not quarrel during the very 
 short time they had to be together. On this George 
 gave up one rug meekly enough, and my father yielded 
 about the basket and the other rug. 
 ^ It was about half -past eleven when they started, 
 and it was after one before they reached the preserves. 
 For the first mile from the town they were not much 
 hindered by the darkness, and my father told George 
 about his book and many another matter ; he also prom- 
 ised George to say nothing about this second visit. 
 Then the road became more rough, and when it dwin- 
 dled away to be a mere lane — becoming presently only 
 a foot track — they had to mind their footsteps, and got 
 on but slowly. The night was starlit, and warm, con- 
 
 257 
 
258 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 sidering that they were more than three thousand feet 
 above the sea, but it was very dark, so that my father 
 was well enough pleased when George showed him the 
 white stones that marked the boundary, and said they 
 had better soon make themselves as comfortable as 
 they could till morning. 
 
 "We can stay here," he said, "till half-past three, 
 there will be a little daylight then; we will rest half an 
 hour for breakfast at about five, and by noon we shall 
 be at the statues, where we will dine." 
 
 This being settled, George rolled himself up in his 
 rug, and in a few minutes went comfortably off to 
 sleep. Not so my poor father. He wound up his 
 watch, wrapped his rug round him, and lay down; 
 but he could get no sleep. After such a day, and such 
 an evening, how could any one have slept? 
 
 About three the first signs of dawn began to show, 
 and half an hour later my father could see the sleeping 
 face of his son — whom it went to his heart to wake. 
 Nevertheless he woke him, and in a few minutes the 
 two were on their way — George as fresh as a lark — 
 my poor father intent on nothing so much as on 
 hiding from George how ill and unsound in body and 
 mind he was feeling. 
 
 They walked on, saying but little, till at five by my 
 father's watch George proposed a halt for breakfast. 
 The spot he chose was a grassy oasis among the trees, 
 carpeted with subalpine flowers, now in their fullest 
 beauty, and close to a small stream that here came 
 down from a side valley. The freshness of the morn- 
 ing air, the extreme beauty of the place, the lovely 
 birds that flitted from tree to tree, the exquisite 
 shapes and colours of the flowers, still dew-be- 
 
Back to the Statues 259 
 
 spangled, and above all, the tenderness with which 
 George treated him, soothed my father, and when he 
 and George had lit a fire and made some hot corn- 
 coffee — with a view to which Yram had put up a bottle 
 of milk — ^he felt so much restored as to look forward 
 to the rest of his journey without alarm. Moreover 
 he had nothing to carry, for George had left his own 
 rug at the place where they had slept, knowing that he 
 should find it on his return ; he had therefore insisted 
 on carrying my father's. My father fought as long 
 as he could, but he had to give in. 
 
 "Now tell me," said George, glad to change the 
 subject, "what will those three men do about what you 
 said to them last night? Will they pay any attention 
 to it?" 
 
 My father laughed. "My dear George, what a 
 question — I do not know them well enough." 
 
 "Oh yes, you do. At any rate say what you think 
 most likely." 
 
 "Very well. I think Dr. Downie will do much as I 
 said. He will not throw the whole thing over, through 
 fear of schism, loyalty to a party from which he can- 
 not well detach himself, and because he does not think 
 that the public is quite tired enough of its toy. He will 
 neither preach nor write against it, but he will live 
 lukewarmly against it, and this is what the Hankys 
 hate. They can stand either hot or cold, but they are 
 afraid of lukewarm. In England Dr. Downie would 
 be a Broad Churchman." 
 
 "Do you think we shall ever get rid of Sunchildism 
 altogether?" 
 
 "If they stick to the cock-and-bull stories they are 
 telling now, and rub them in, as Hanky did on Sun- 
 
26o Erewhon Revisited 
 
 day, it may go, and go soon. It has taken root too 
 quickly and easily; and its top is too heavy for its 
 roots ; still there are so many chances in its favour that 
 it may last a long time." 
 
 "And how about Hanky?" 
 
 "He will brazen it out, relic, chariot, and all: and 
 he will welcome more relics and more cock-and-bull 
 stories ; his single eye will be upon his own aggrandise- 
 ment and that of his order. Plausible, unscrupulous, 
 heartless scoundrel that he is, he will play for the 
 queen and the women of the court, as Dr. Downie will 
 play for the king and the men. He and his party will 
 sleep neither night nor day, but they will have one 
 redeeming feature — whoever they may deceive, they 
 will not deceive themselves. They believe every one 
 else to be as bad as they are, and see no reason why 
 they should not push their own wares in the way of 
 business. Hanky is everything that we in England 
 rightly or wrongly believe a typical Jesuit to be." 
 
 "And Panky — what about him?" 
 
 "Panky must persuade himself of his own lies, be- 
 fore he is quite comfortable about telling them to other 
 people. Hanky keeps Hanky well out of it; Panky 
 must have a base of operations in Panky. Hanky will 
 lead him by the nose, bit by bit, for his is the master 
 spirit. In England Panky would be what we call an 
 extreme ritualist." 
 
 "Then the real battle will be between Hanky and 
 Dr. Downie. Which will carry the day?" 
 
 "For the present, probably Hanky. He is the more 
 vigilant and energetic; in this case Sunchildism will 
 have to go, and I am afraid your whole Musical Bank 
 system will be swept away along with it." 
 
Back to the Statues 261 
 
 "And why not?" 
 
 ''Because, my dear boy, though false in the letter, if 
 good counsels prevail, it may be made true enough in 
 spirit. If it were to go, its place would be soon filled 
 by men who would be as false in letter as the others 
 were, and much more false in spirit. You want a 
 heart to check your head, and a head to check your 
 heart. As in our English body politic there are two 
 parties opposed to one another, neither of which can 
 thrive if the other is unduly weakened, so in our spir- 
 itual and intellectual world two parties more or less 
 antagonistic are equally necessary. Those who are at 
 the head of science provide us with the one party; 
 those whom we call our churchmen are the other. Both 
 are corrupt, but we can spare neither, for each checks 
 as far as it can the corruptions of the other." 
 
 "Then you would have us uphold Sunchildism, 
 knowing it to be untrue?" 
 
 ''Do what you will, you will not get perfect truth. 
 And if you can follow the lead which I believe Dr. 
 Downie will give you, that is to say, get rid of cock- 
 and-bull stories, idealise my unworthy self, and, as I 
 said last night, make me a peg on which to hang your 
 own best thoughts — Sunchildism will be as near truth 
 as anything you are likely to get. But if Hankyism 
 triumphs, come what may you must get rid of it, for 
 he and his school will tamper with the one sure and 
 everlasting word of God revealed to us by human ex- 
 perience. He who plays fast and loose with this is 
 as one who would forge God's signature to a cheque 
 drawn on God's own bank." 
 
 "Are we to foster the belief that it was indeed 
 the Sunchild who interrupted Hanky's sermon?" 
 
262 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 "Yes, where you safely can, but not otherwise; and 
 commit the facts to writing as soon as you can find 
 time. Do nothing to jeopardise your own safety; 
 you can do more by perfunctory acquiescence than by 
 open dissent. And tell those friends whom you can 
 trusty what these my parting words to you have been. 
 But above all I charge you solemnly, do nothing to 
 jeopardise your own safety; you cannot play into 
 Hanky's hands more certainly than by risking this. 
 Think how he and Panky would rejoice, and how Dr. 
 Downie would grieve. Be wise and wary; bide your 
 time; do what you prudently can, and you will find 
 you can do much; try to do more, and you will do 
 nothing. Be guided by the Mayor, by your mother — 
 and by that dear old lady whose grandson you 
 will " 
 
 'Then they have told you," interrupted the youth, 
 blushing scarlet. 
 
 ''My dearest boy, of course they have, and I have 
 seen her, and am head over ears in love with her 
 myself." 
 
 He was all smiles and blushes, and vowed for a few 
 minutes that it was a shame of them to tell me, but 
 presently he said — 
 
 "Then you like her?" 
 
 "Rather!" said my father vehemently, and shaking 
 George by the hand. But he said nothing about the 
 nuggets and the sovereigns, knowing that Yram did 
 not wish him to do so. Neither did George say any- 
 thing about his determination to start for the capital 
 in the morning, and make a clean breast of everything 
 to the King. So soon does it become necessary even 
 for those who are most cordially attached to hide 
 
Back to the Statues 263 
 
 things from one another. My father, however, was 
 made comfortable by receiving a promise from the 
 youth that he would take no step of which the persons 
 he had named would disapprove. 
 
 When once Mrs. Humdrum's grand-daughter had 
 been introduced there was no more talking about 
 Hanky and Panky; for George began to bubble over 
 with the subject that was nearest his heart, and how 
 much he feared that it would be some time yet before 
 he could be married. Many a story did he tell of his 
 early attachment and of its course for the last ten 
 years, but my space will not allow me to inflict one of 
 them on the reader. My father saw that the more he 
 listened and sympathised and encouraged, the fonder 
 George became of him, and this was all he cared about. 
 
 Thus did they converse hour after hour. They 
 passed the Blue Pool, without seeing it or even talking 
 about it for more than a minute. George kept an eye 
 on the quails and declared them fairly plentiful and 
 strong on the wing, but nothing now could keep him 
 from pouring out his whole heart about Mrs. Hum- 
 drum's grand-daughter, until towards noon they 
 •caught sight of the statues, and a halt was made which 
 gave my father the first pang he had felt that 
 morning, for he knew that the statues would be the 
 beginning of the end. 
 
 There was no need to light a fire, for Yram had 
 packed for them two bottles of a delicious white wine, 
 something Hke White Capri, which went admirably 
 with the many more solid good things that she had pro- 
 vided for them. As soon as they had finished a hearty 
 meal my father said to George, "You must have my 
 watch for a keepsake; I see you are not wearing my 
 
264 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 boots. I fear you did not find them comfortable, but 
 I am glad you have not got them on, for I have set 
 my heart on keeping yours." 
 
 "Let us settle about the boots first. I rather fancied 
 that that was why you put me off when I wanted to 
 get my own back again; and then I thought I should 
 like yours for a keepsake, so I put on another pair last 
 night, and they are nothing like so comfortable as 
 yours were." 
 
 "Now I wonder," said my father to me, "whether 
 this was true, or whether it was only that dear fellow's 
 pretty invention; but true or false I was as delighted 
 as he meant me to be." 
 
 I asked George about this when I saw him, and he 
 confessed with an ingenuous blush that my father's 
 boots had hurt him, and that he had never thought of 
 making a keepsake of them, till my father's words 
 stimulated his invention. 
 
 As for the watch, which was only a silver one, but 
 of the best make, George protested for a time, but 
 when he had yielded, my father could see that he was 
 overjoyed at getting it; for watches, though now per- 
 mitted, were expensive and not in com^mon use. 
 
 Having thus bribed him, my father broached the 
 possibility of his meeting him at the statues on that 
 day twelvemonth, but of course saying nothing about 
 why he was so anxious that he should come. 
 
 "I will come," said my father, "not a yard farther 
 than the statues, and if I cannot come I will send your 
 brother. And I will come at noon; but it is possible 
 that the river down below may be in fresh, and I may 
 not be able to hit off the day, though I will move 
 heaven and earth to do so. Therefore if I do not meet 
 
Back to the Statues 265 
 
 you on the day appointed, do your best to come also 
 at noon on the following day. I know how incon- 
 venient this will be for you, and will come true to the 
 day if it is possible." 
 
 To my father's surprise, George did not raise so 
 many difficulties as he had expected. He said it might 
 be done, if neither he nor my father were to go beyond 
 the statues. ''And difficult as it will be for you," said 
 George, "you had better come a second day if neces- 
 sary, as I will, for who can tell what might happen to 
 make the first day impossible?" 
 
 "Then," said my father, "we shall be spared that 
 horrible feeling that we are parting without hope of 
 seeing each other again. I find it hard enough to say 
 good-bye even now, but I do not know how I could 
 have faced it if you had not agreed to our meeting 
 again." 
 
 "The day fixed upon will be our XXL i. 3, and the 
 hour noon as near as may be ?" 
 
 "So. Let me write it down : 'XXL i. 3, i.e. our De- 
 cember 9, 1 89 1, I am to meet George at the statues, at 
 twelve o'clock, and if he does not come, I am to be 
 there again on the following day.' " 
 
 In like manner, George wrote down what he was 
 to do : "XXL i. 3, or failing this XXL i. 4. Statues. 
 Noon." 
 
 "This," he said, "is a solemn covenant, is it not?" 
 
 "Yes," said my father, "and may all good omens 
 attend it!" 
 
 The words were not out of his mouth before a 
 mountain bird, something like our jackdaw, but smaller 
 and of a bluer black, flew out of the hollow mouth of 
 one of the statues, and with a hearty chuckle perched 
 
266 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 on the ground at his feet, attracted doubtless by the 
 scraps of food that were lying about. With the fear- 
 lessness of birds in that country, it looked up at him 
 and George, gave another hearty chuckle, and flew 
 back to its statue with the largest fragment it could 
 find. 
 
 They settled that this was an omen so propitious 
 that they could part in good hope. "Let us finish the 
 wine," said my father, "and then, do what must be 
 done." 
 
 They finished the wine to each other's good health; 
 George drank also to mine, and said he hoped my 
 father would bring me with him, while my father 
 drank to Yram, the Mayor, their children, Mrs. Hum- 
 drum, and above all to Mrs. Humdrum's grand- 
 daughter. They then re-packed all that could be taken 
 away; my father rolled his rug to his liking, slung it 
 over his shoulder, gripped George's hand, and said, 
 "My dearest boy, when we have each turned our backs 
 upon one another, let us walk our several ways as fast 
 as we can, and try not to look behind us." 
 
 So saying he loosed his grip of George's hand, 
 bared his head, lowered it, and turned away. 
 
 George burst into tears, and followed him after he 
 had gone two paces; he threw his arms round him, 
 hugged him, kissed him on his lips, cheeks, and 
 forehead, and then turning round, strode full speed 
 towards Sunch'ston. My father never took his eyes 
 off him till he was out of sight, but the boy did not 
 look round. When he could see him no more, my 
 father with faltering gait, and feeling as though a 
 prop had suddenly been taken from under him, began 
 to follow the stream down towards his old camp. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 MY FATHER REACHES HOME, AND DIES NOT LONG 
 AFTERWARDS 
 
 My father could walk but slowly, for George's boots 
 had blistered his feet, and it seemed to him that the 
 river-bed, of which he caught glimpses now and again, 
 never got any nearer; but all things come to an end, 
 and by seven o'clock on the night of Tuesday, he was 
 on the spot which he had left on the preceding Friday 
 morning. Three entire days had intervened, but he 
 felt that something, he knew not what, had seized him, 
 and that whereas before these three days life had been 
 one thing, what little might follow them, would be 
 another — ^and a very different one. 
 
 He soon caught sight of his horse which had 
 strayed a mile lower down the river-bed, and in spite 
 of his hobbles had crossed one ugly stream that my 
 father dared not ford on foot. Tired though he was, 
 he went after him, bridle in hand, and when the 
 friendly creature saw him, it recrossed the stream, and 
 came to him of its own accord — either tired of his own 
 company, or tempted by some bread my father held 
 out towards him. My father took off the hobbles, and 
 rode him bare-backed to the camping ground, where 
 he rewarded him with more bread and biscuit, and 
 then hobbled him again for the night. 
 
 "It was here," he said to me on one of the first days 
 
 267 
 
268 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 after his return, ''that I first knew myself to be a 
 broken man. As for meeting George again, I felt 
 sure that it would be all I could do to meet his brother; 
 and though George was always in my thoughts, it was 
 for you and not him that I was now yearning. When 
 I gave George my watch, how glad I was that I had 
 left my gold one at home, for that is yours, and I 
 could not have brought myself to give it him.'* 
 
 "Never mind that, my dear father," said I, ''but tell 
 me how you got down the river, and thence home 
 again.'' 
 
 *'My very dear boy," he said, "I can hardly re- 
 member, and I had no energy to make any more notes. 
 I remember putting a scrap of paper into the box of 
 sovereigns, merely sending George my love along with 
 the money; I remember also dropping the box into a 
 hole in a tree, which I blazed, and towards which I 
 drew a line of wood-ashes. I seem to see a poor un- 
 hinged creature gazing moodily for hours into a fire 
 which he heaps up now and again with wood. There 
 is not a breath of air; Nature sleeps so calmly that 
 she dares not even breathe for fear of waking; the 
 very river has hushed his flow. Without, the starlit 
 calm of a summer's night in a great wilderness; 
 within, a hurricane of wild and incoherent thoughts 
 battling with one another in their fury to fall upon 
 him and rend him — and on the other side the great wall 
 of mountain, thousands of children praying at their 
 mother's knee to this poor dazed thing. I suppose this 
 half delirious wretch must have been myself. But I 
 must have been more ill when I left England than I 
 thought I was, or Erewhon would not have broken me 
 down as it did.'* 
 
The Homeward Journey 269 
 
 No doubt he was right. Indeed it was because Mr. 
 Cathie and his doctor saw that he was out of health 
 and in urgent need of change, that they left off op- 
 posing his wish to travel. There is no use, however, 
 in talking about this now. 
 
 I never got from him how he managed to reach the 
 shepherd's hut, but I learned some little from the 
 shepherd, when I stayed with him both on going to- 
 wards Erewhon and on returning. 
 
 "He did not seem to have drink in him," said the 
 shepherd, *Svhen he first came here ; but he must have 
 been pretty full of it, or he must have had some bottles 
 in his saddle-bags; for he was awful when he came 
 back. He had got them worse than any man I ever 
 saw, only that he was not awkward. He said there 
 was a bird flying out of a giant's mouth and laughing 
 at him, and he kept muttering about a blue pool, and 
 hanky-panky of all sorts, and he said he knew it was 
 all hanky-panky, at least I thought he said so, but it 
 was no use trying to follow him, for it was all nothing 
 but horrors. He said I was to stop the people from 
 trying to worship him. Then he said the sky opened 
 and he could see the angels going about and singing 
 ^Hallelujah.' " 
 
 "How long did he stay with you?" I asked. 
 
 "About ten days, but the last three he was himself 
 again, only too weak to move. He thought he was 
 cured except for weakness.'* 
 
 "Do you know how he had been spending the last 
 two days or so before he got down to your hut?" 
 
 I said two days, because this was the time I sup- 
 posed he would take to descend the river. 
 
 "I should say drinking all the time. He said he had 
 
270 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 fallen off his horse two or three times, till he took to 
 leading him. If he had had any other horse than old 
 Doctor he would have been a dead man. Bless you, I 
 have known that horse ever since he was foaled, and 
 I never saw one like him for sense. He would pick 
 fords better than that gentleman could, I know, and 
 if the gentleman fell off him he would just stay stock 
 still. He was badly bruised, poor man, when he got 
 here. I saw him through the gorge when he left me, 
 and he gave me a sovereign; he said he had only one 
 other left to take him down to the port, or he would 
 have made it more." 
 
 "He was my father," said I, "and he is dead, but 
 before he died he told me to give you five pounds 
 which I have brought you. I think you are wrong in 
 saying that he had been drinking." 
 
 *'That is what they all say; but I take it very kind 
 of him to have thought of me." 
 
 My father's illness for the first three weeks after 
 his return played with him as a cat plays with a 
 mouse ; now and again it would let him have a day or 
 two's run, during which he was so cheerful and un- 
 clouded that his doctor was quite hopeful about him. 
 At various times on these occasions I got from him 
 that when he left the shepherd's hut, he thought his 
 illness had run itself out, and that he should now reach 
 the port from which he was to sail for S. Francisco 
 without misadventure. This he did, and he was able 
 to do all he had to do at the port, though frequently 
 attacked with passing fits of giddiness. I need not 
 dwell upon his voyage to S. Francisco, and thence 
 home ; it is enough to say that he was able to travel by 
 
The Homeward Journey 271 
 
 himself in spite of gradually, but continually, increas- 
 ing failure. 
 
 "When," he said, "I reached the port, I telegraphed, 
 as you know, for more money. How puzzled you 
 must have been. I sold my horse to the man from 
 whom I bought it, at a loss of only about £io, and I 
 left with him my saddle, saddle-bags, small hatchet, 
 my hobbles, and in fact everything that I had taken 
 with me, except what they had impounded in Ere- 
 whon. Yram's rug I dropped into the river when I 
 knew that I should no longer need it — as also her sub- 
 stitutes for my billy and pannikin; and I burned her 
 basket. The shepherd would have asked me questions. 
 You will find an order to deliver everything up to 
 bearer. You need therefore take nothing from Eng- 
 land." 
 
 At another time he said, "When you go, for it is 
 plain I cannot, and go one or other of us must, try 
 and get the horse I had : he will be nine years old, and 
 he knows all about the rivers : if you leave everything 
 to him, you may shut your eyes, but do not interfere 
 with him. Give the shepherd what I said and he will 
 attend to you, but go a day or two too soon, for the 
 margin of one day was not enough to allow in case of 
 a fresh in the river; if the water is discoloured you 
 must not cross it — not even with Doctor. I could not 
 ask George to come up three days running from 
 Sunch'ston to the statues and back." 
 
 Here he became exhausted. Almost the last co- 
 herent string of sentences I got from him was as 
 follows : — 
 
 "About George's money if I send him £2000 you 
 will still have nearly £150,000 left, and Mr. Cathie 
 
272 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 will not let you try to make it more. I know you 
 would give him four or five thousand, but the 
 Mayor and I talked it over, and settled that £2000 in 
 gold would make him a rich man. Consult our good 
 friend Alfred" (meaning, of course, Mr. Cathie) 
 "about the best way of taking the money. I am afraid 
 there is nothing for it but gold, and this will be a 
 great weight for you to carry — ^about, I believe, 36 lbs. 
 Can you do this? I really think that if you lead your 
 horse you . . . no — ^there will be the getting him down 
 again " 
 
 *'Don't worry about it, my dear father," said I, "I 
 can do it easily if I stow the load rightly, and I will 
 see to this. I shall have nothing else to carry, for I 
 shall camp down below both morning and evening. 
 But would you not like to send some present to the 
 Mayor, Yram, their other children, and Mrs. Hum- 
 drum's grand-daughter?" 
 
 "Do what you can," said my father. And these 
 were the last instructions he gave me about those 
 adventures with which alone this work is concerned. 
 
 The day before he died, he had a little flicker of 
 intelligence, but all of a sudden his face became 
 clouded as with great anxiety; he seemed to see some 
 horrible chasm in front of him which he had to cross, 
 or which he feared that I must cross, for he gasped 
 out words, which, as near as I could catch them, were, 
 "Look out ! John ! Leap ! Leap ! Le . . . " but he could 
 not say all that he was trying to say and closed his 
 eyes, having, as I then deemed, seen that he was on the 
 brink of that gulf which lies between life and death; 
 I took it that in reality he died at that moment; for 
 there was neither struggle nor hardly movement of 
 
The Homeward Journey 273 
 
 any kind afterwards— nothing but a pulse which for 
 the next several hours grew fainter and fainter so 
 gradually, that it was not till some time after it had 
 teased to beat that we were certain of its having 
 done so. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 I MEET MY BROTHER GEORGE AT THE STATUES, ON THE 
 TOP OF THE PASS INTO EREWHON 
 
 This book has already become longer than I in- 
 tended, but I will ask the reader to have patience while 
 I tell him briefly of my own visit to the threshold of 
 that strange country of which I fear that he may be 
 already beginning to tire. 
 
 The winding-up of my father's estate was a very 
 simple matter, and by the beginning of September 
 1 89 1 I should have been free to start; but about that 
 time I became engaged, and naturally enough I did not 
 want to be longer away than was necessary. I should 
 not have gone at all if I could have helped it. I left, 
 however, a fortnight later than my father had done. 
 
 Before starting I bought a handsome gold repeater 
 for the Mayor, and a brooch for Yram, of pearls and 
 diamonds set in gold, for which I paid £200. For 
 Yram's three daughters and for Mrs. Humdrum's 
 grand-daughter I took four brooches each of which 
 cost about £15, 15s., and for the boys I got three ten- 
 guinea silver watches. For George I only took a 
 strong English knife of the best make, and the two 
 thousand pounds' worth of uncoined gold, which for 
 convenience' sake I had had made into small bars. I 
 also had a knapsack made that would hold these and 
 nothing else — each bar being strongly sewn into its 
 
 274 
 
I Meet George 275 
 
 place, so that none of them could shift. Whenever I 
 went on board ship, or went on shore, I put this on 
 my back, so that no one handled it except myself — and 
 I can assure the reader that I did not find it a light 
 weight to handle. I ought to have taken something 
 for old Mrs. Humdrum, but I am ashamed to say that 
 I forgot her. 
 
 I went as directly as I could to the port of which 
 my father had told me, and reached it on November 
 27, one day later than he had done in the preceding 
 year. 
 
 On the following day, which was a Saturday, I 
 went to the livery stables from which my father had 
 bought his horse, and found to my great delight that 
 Doctor could be at my disposal, for, as it seemed to 
 me, the very reasonable price of fifteen shillings a 
 day. I shewed the owner of the stables my father's 
 order, and all the articles he had left were immediately 
 delivered to me. I was still wearing crape round one 
 arm, and the horse-dealer, whose name was Baker, 
 said he was afraid the other gentleman might be dead. 
 
 ''Indeed, he is so," said I, *'and a great grief it is to 
 me; he was my father.'* 
 
 . "Dear, dear," answered Mr. Baker, *'that is a very 
 serious thing for the poor gentleman. He seemed 
 quite unfit to travel alone, and I feared he was not 
 long for this world, but he was bent on going." 
 
 I had nothing now to do but to buy a blanket, pan- 
 nikin, and billy, with some tea, tobacco, two bottles of 
 brandy, some ship's biscuits, and whatever other few 
 items were down on the list of requisites which my 
 father had dictated to me. Mr. Baker, seeing that I 
 was what he called a new chum, shewed me how to 
 
276 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 pack my horse, but I kept my knapsack full of gold on 
 my back, and though I could see that it puzzled him, 
 he asked no questions. There was no reason why I 
 should not set out at once for the principal town of the 
 colony, which was some ten miles inland ; I, therefore, 
 arranged at my hotel that the greater part of my lug- 
 gage should await my return, and set out to climb the 
 high hills that back the port. From the top of these 
 I had a magnificent view of the plains that I should 
 have to cross, and of the long range of distant moun- 
 tains which bounded them north and south as far as 
 the eye could reach. On some of the mountains I 
 could still see streaks of snow, but my father had ex- 
 plained to me that the ranges I should here see were 
 not those dividing the English colony from Erewhon. 
 I also saw, some nine miles or so out upon the plains, 
 the more prominent buildings of a large town which 
 seemed to be embosomed in trees, and this I reached 
 in about an hour and a half; for I had to descend at 
 a foot's pace, and Doctor's many virtues did not com- 
 prise a willingness to go beyond an amble. 
 
 At the town above referred to I spent the night, and 
 began to strike across the plains on the following 
 morning. I might have crossed these in three days at 
 twenty-five miles a day, but I had too much time on 
 my hands, and my load of gold was so uncomfortable 
 that I was glad to stay at one accommodation house 
 after another, averaging about eighteen miles a day. 
 I have no doubt that if I had taken advice, I could 
 have stowed my load more conveniently, but I could 
 not unpack it, and made the best of it as it was. 
 
 On the evening of Wednesday, December 2, I 
 reached the river which I should have to follow up ; it 
 
I Meet George 277 
 
 was here nearing the gorge through which it had to 
 pass before the country opened out again at the back 
 of the front range. I came upon it quite suddenly on 
 reaching the brink of a great terrace, the bank of 
 which sloped almost precipitously down towards it, 
 but was covered with grass. The terrace was some 
 three hundred feet above the river, and faced another 
 similar one, w^hich was from a mile and a half to two 
 miles distant. At the bottom of this nuge yawning 
 chasm rolled the mighty river, and I shuddered at the 
 thought of having to cross and recross it. For it was 
 angry, muddy, evidently in heavy fresh, and filled 
 bank and bank for nearly a mile with a flood of seeth- 
 ing waters. 
 
 I follow^ed along the northern edge of the terrace, 
 till I reached the last accommodation house that could 
 be said to be on the plains — which, by the way, were 
 here some eight or nine hundred feet above sea level. 
 When I reached this house, I was glad to learn that 
 the river was not likely to remain high for more than 
 a day or two, and that if what was called a Southerly 
 Burster came up, as it might be expected to do at any 
 moment, it would be quite low again before three days 
 were over. 
 
 At this house I stayed the night, and in the course 
 of the evening a stray dog — a retriever, hardly full 
 grown, and evidently very much down on his luck — • 
 took up with me; when I inquired about him, and 
 asked if I might take him with me, the landlord said 
 he wished I would, for he knew nothing about him 
 and was trying to drive him from the house. Know- 
 ing what a boon the companionship of this poor beast 
 would be to me when I was camping out alone, I 
 
278 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 encouraged him, and next morning he followed me as 
 a matter of course. 
 
 In the night the Southerly Burster which my host 
 anticipated had come up, cold and blustering, but in- 
 vigorating after the hot, dry wind that had been 
 blowing hard during the daytime as I had crossed the 
 plains. A mile or two higher up I passed a large 
 sheep-station, but did not stay there. One or two men 
 looked at me with surprise, and asked me where I was 
 going, whereon I said I was in search of rare plants 
 and birds for the Museum of the town at which I had 
 slept the night after my arrival. This satisfied their 
 curiosity, and I ambled on accompanied by the dog. In 
 passing I may say that I found Doctor not to excel at 
 any pace except an amble, but for a long journey, 
 especially for one who is carrying a heavy, awkward 
 load, there is no pace so comfortable; and he ambled 
 fairly fast. 
 
 I followed the horse track which had been cut 
 through the gorge, and in many places I disliked it 
 extremely, for the river, still in fresh, was raging 
 furiously ; twice, for some few yards, where the gorge 
 was wider and the stream less rapid, it covered the 
 track, and I had no confidence that it might not have 
 washed it away ; on these occasions Doctor pricked his 
 ears towards the water, and was evidently thinking 
 exactly what his rider was. He decided, however, 
 that all would be sound, and took to the water without 
 any urging on my part. Seeing his opinion, I remem- 
 bered my father's advice, and let him do what he liked, 
 but in one place for three or four yards the water came 
 nearly up to his belly, and I was in great fear for the 
 watches that were in my saddle-bags. As for the dog, 
 
I Meet George 279 
 
 I feared I had lost him, but after a time he rejoined 
 me, though how he contrived to do so I cannot say. 
 
 Nothing could be grander than the sight of this 
 great river pent into a narrow compass, and occasion- 
 ally becoming more like an immense waterfall than a 
 river, but I was in continual fear of coming to more 
 places where the water would be over the track, and 
 perhaps of finding myself unable to get any farther, I 
 therefore failed to enjoy what was really far the most 
 impressive sight in its way that I had ever seen. "Give 
 me," I said to myself, "the Thames at Richmond," and 
 right thankful was I, when at about two o'clock I 
 found that I was through the gorge and in a wide 
 valley, the greater part of which, however, was still 
 covered by the river. It was here that I heard for the 
 first time the curious sound of boulders knocking 
 against each other underneath the great body of water 
 that kept rolling them round and round. 
 
 I now halted, and lit a fire, for there was much dead 
 scrub standing that had remained after the ground 
 had been burned for the first time some years previ- 
 ously. I made myself some tea, and turned Doctor 
 out for a couple of hours to feed. I did not hobble 
 him, for my father had told me that he would always 
 come for bread. When I had dined, and smoked, and 
 slept for a couple of hours or so, I reloaded Doctor 
 and resumed my journey towards the shepherd's hut, 
 which I caught sight of about a mile before I reached 
 it. When nearly half a mile ofY it, I dismounted, and 
 made a written note of the exact spot at which I did 
 so. I then turned for a couple of hundred yards to my 
 right, at right angles to the track, where some huge 
 rocks were lying — fallen ages since from the moun- 
 
28o Erewhon Revisited 
 
 tain that flanked this side of the valley. Here I 
 deposited my knapsack in a hollow underneath some 
 of the rocks, and put a good sized stone in front of it, 
 for I meant spending a couple of days with the shep- 
 herd to let the river go down. Moreover, as it was 
 now only December 3, I had too much time on my 
 hands, but I had not dared to cut things finer. 
 
 I reached the hut at about six o'clock, and intro- 
 duced myself to the shepherd, who was a nice, kind 
 old man, commonly called Harris, but his real name he 
 told me was Horace — Horace Taylor. I had the con- 
 versation with him of which I have already told the 
 reader, adding that my father had been unable to give 
 a coherent account of what he had seen, and that I 
 had been sent to get the information he had failed to 
 furnish. 
 
 The old man said that I must certainly wait a couple 
 of days before I went higher up the river. He had 
 made himself a nice garden, in which he took the 
 greatest pride, and which supplied him with plenty 
 of vegetables. He was very glad to have company, 
 and to receive the new^spapers which I had taken care 
 to bring him. He had a real genius for simple cookery, 
 and fed me excellently. My father's £5, and the 
 ration of brandy which I nightly gave him, made me 
 a welcome guest, and though I was longing to be at 
 any rate as far as the foot of the pass into Erewhon, I 
 amused myself very w^ell in an abundance of ways 
 with which I need not trouble the reader. 
 
 One of the first things that Harris said to me was, 
 *T wish I knew what your father did with the nice red 
 blanket he had with him when he went up the river. 
 He had none when he came down again; I have no 
 
I Meet George 281 
 
 horse here, but I borrowed one from a man who came 
 up one clay from down below, and rode to a place 
 where I found what I am sure were the ashes of the 
 last fire he made, but I could find neither the blanket 
 nor the billy and pannikin he took away with him. He 
 said he supposed he must have left the things there, 
 but he could remember nothing about it." 
 
 "I am afraid," said I, "that I cannot help you." 
 
 "At any rate," continued the shepherd, "I did not 
 have my ride for nothing, for as I was coming back I 
 found this rug half covered with sand on the river- 
 bed." 
 
 As he spoke he pointed to an excellent warm rug, on 
 the spare bunk in his hut. "It is none of our make," 
 said he; "I suppose some foreign digger has come 
 over from the next river down south and got drowned, 
 for it had not been very long where I found it, at least 
 I think not, for it was not much fly-blown, and no one 
 had passed here to go up. the river since your father." 
 
 I knew what it was, but I held my tongue beyond 
 saying that the rug was a very good one. 
 
 The next day, December 4, v^as lovely, after a night 
 that had been clear and cold, with frost towards early 
 morning. When the shepherd had gone for some 
 three hours in the forenoon to see his sheep (that were 
 now lambing), I walked down to the place where I 
 had left my knapsack, and carried it a good mile above 
 the hut, v^here I again hid it. I could see the great range 
 from one place, and the thick new fallen snow as- 
 sured me that the river would be quite normal shortly. 
 Indeed, by evening it was hardly at all discoloured, but 
 I waited another day, and set out on the morning of 
 Sunday, December 6. The river was now almost as 
 
282 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 low as in winter, and Harris assured me that if I used 
 my eyes I could not miss finding a ford over one 
 stream or another every half mile or so. I had the 
 greatest difficulty in preventing him from accompany- 
 ing me on foot for some little distance, but I got rid 
 of him in the end ; he came with me beyond the place 
 where I had hidden my knapsack, but when he had 
 left me long enough, I rode back and got it. 
 
 I see I am dwelling too long upon my own small 
 adventures. Suffice it that, accompanied by my dog, I 
 followed the north bank of the river till I found I 
 must cross one stream before I could get any farther. 
 This place would not do, and I had to ride half a mile 
 back before I found one that seemed as if it might be 
 safe. I fancy my father must have done just the 
 same thing, for Doctor seemed to know the ground, 
 and took to the water the moment I brought him to it. 
 It never reached his belly, but I confess I did not like 
 it. By and by I had to recross, and so on, off and on, 
 till at noon I camped for dinner. Here the dog found 
 me a nest of young ducks, nearly fledged, from which 
 the parent birds tried with great success to decoy me. 
 I fully thought I was going to catch them, but the dog 
 knew better and made straight for the nest, from 
 which he returned immediately with a fine young duck 
 in his mouth, which he laid at my feet, wagging his 
 tail and barking. I took another from the nest and 
 left two for the old birds. 
 
 The afternoon was much as the morning and 
 towards seven I reached a place which suggested itself 
 as a good camping ground. I had hardly fixed on it 
 and halted before I saw a few pieces of charred wood, 
 and felt sure that my father must have camped at this 
 
I Meet George 283 
 
 very place before me. I hobbled Doctor, unloaded, 
 plucked and singed a duck, and gave the dog some of 
 the meat with which Harris had furnished me ; I made 
 tea, laid my duck on the embers till it was cooked, 
 smoked, gave myself a nightcap of brandy and water, 
 and by and by rolled myself round in my blanket, with 
 the dog curled up beside me. I will not dwell upon 
 the strangeness of my feelings — nor the extreme 
 beauty of the night. But for the dog, and Doctor, I 
 should have been frightened, but I knew that there 
 were no savage creatures or venomous snakes in the 
 country, and both the dog and Doctor were such good 
 companionable creatures, that I did not feel so much 
 oppressed by the solitude as I had feared I should be. 
 But the night was cold, and my blanket was not 
 enough to keep me comfortably warm. 
 
 The following day was delightfully warm as soon 
 as the sun got to the bottom of the valley, and the 
 fresh fallen snow disappeared so fast from the snowy 
 range that I was afraid it would raise the river — 
 which, indeed, rose in the afternoon and became 
 slightly discoloured, but it cannot have been more than 
 three or four inches deeper, for it never reached the 
 bottom of my saddle-bags. I believe Doctor knew 
 exactly where I was going, for he wanted no guidance. 
 I halted again at mid-day, got two more ducks, crossed 
 and recrossed the river,, or some of its streams, several 
 times, and at about six, caught sight, after a bend in 
 the valley, of the glacier descending on to the river bed. 
 This I knew to be close to the point at which I was to 
 camp for the night, and from which I was to ascend 
 the mountain. After another hour's slow progress 
 over the increasing roughness of the river-bed, I saw 
 
284 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 the triangular delta of which my father had told me, 
 and the stream that had formed it, bounding down the 
 mountain side. Doctor went right up to the place 
 where my father's fire had been, and I again found 
 many pieces of charred wood and ashes. 
 
 As soon as I had unloaded Doctor and hobbled him, 
 I went to a tree hard by, on which I could see the 
 mark of a blaze, and towards which I thought I could 
 see a line of wood ashes running. There I found a 
 hole in which some bird had evidently been wont to 
 build, and surmised correctly that it must be the one 
 in which my father had hidden his box of sovereigns. 
 There was no box in the hole now, and I began to feel 
 that I was at last within measureable distance of Ere- 
 whon and the Erewhonians. 
 
 I camped for the night here, and again found my 
 single blanket insufficient. The next day, i.e. Tues- 
 day, December 8, I had to pass as I best could, and it 
 occurred to me that as I should find the gold a great 
 weight, I had better take it some three hours up the 
 mountain side and leave it there, so as to make the 
 following day less fatiguing, and this I did, returning 
 to my camp for dinner; but I was panic-stricken all 
 the rest of the day lest I should not have hidden it 
 safely, or lest I should be unable to find it next day — 
 conjuring up a hundred absurd fancies as to what 
 might befall it. And after all, heavy though it was, I 
 could have carried it all the way. In the afternoon I 
 saddled Doctor and rode him up to the glaciers, which 
 were indeed magnificent, and then I made the few 
 notes of my journey from which this chapter has been 
 taken. I made excuses for turning in early, and at 
 daybreak rekindled my fire and got my breakfast. All 
 
I Meet George 285 
 
 the time the companionship of the dog was an un- 
 speakable comfort to me. 
 
 It was now the day my father had fixed for my 
 meeting with George, and my excitement (with which 
 I have not yet troubled the reader, though it had been 
 consuming me ever since I had left Harris's hut) was 
 beyond all bounds, so much so that I almost feared I 
 was in a fever which would prevent my completing the 
 little that remained of my task ; in fact, I was in as 
 great a panic as I had been about the gold that I had 
 left. My hands trembled as I took the watches and 
 the brooches for Yram and her daughters from my 
 saddle-bags, which I then hung, probably on the very 
 bough on which my father had hung them. Needless 
 to say, I also hung my saddle and bridle along with 
 the saddle-bags. 
 
 It was nearly seven before I started, and about ten 
 before I reached the hiding-place of my knapsack. I 
 found it, of course, quite easily, shouldered it, and 
 toiled on towards the statues. At a quarter before 
 twelve I reached them, and almost beside myself as I 
 was, could not refrain from some disappointment at 
 finding them a good deal smaller than I expected. My 
 father, correcting the measurement he had given in 
 his book, said he thought that they were about four 
 or five times the size of life; but really I do not think 
 they were more than twenty feet high, any one of 
 them. In other respects my father's description of 
 them is quite accurate. There was no wind, and as a 
 matter of course, therefore, they were not chanting. I 
 wiled away the quarter of an hour before the time 
 when George became due, with wondering at them, 
 and in a way admiring them, hideous though they 
 
286 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 were ; but all the time I kept looking towards the part 
 from which George should come. 
 
 At last my watch pointed to noon, but there was no 
 George. A quarter past twelve, but no George. Half- 
 past, still no George. One o'clock, and all the quarters 
 till three o'clock, but still no George. I tried to eat 
 some of the ship's biscuits I had brought with me, but 
 I could not. My disappointment was now as great as 
 my excitement had been all the forenoon; at three 
 o'clock I fairly cried, and for half an hour could only 
 fling myself on the ground and give way to all the 
 unreasonable spleen that extreme vexation could sug- 
 gest. True, I kept telling myself that for aught I 
 knew George might be dead, or down with a fever; 
 but this would not do ; for in this last case he should 
 have sent one of his brothers to meet me, and it was 
 not likely that he was dead. I am afraid I thought it 
 most probable that he had been casual — of which 
 unworthy suspicion I have long since been heartily 
 ashamed. 
 
 I put the brooches inside my knapsack, and hid it 
 in a place where I was sure no one would find it ; then, 
 with a heavy heart, I trudged down again to my camp 
 — broken in spirit, and hopeless for the morrow. 
 
 I camped again, but it was some hours before I got 
 a wink of sleep; and when sleep came it was accom- 
 panied by a strange dream. I dreamed that I was by 
 my father's bedside, watching his last flicker of in- 
 telligence, and vainly trying to catch the words that 
 he was not less vainly trying to utter. All of a sudden 
 the bed seemed to be at my camping ground, and the 
 largest of the statues appeared, quite small, high up 
 the mountain side, but striding down like a giant in 
 
I Meet George 287 
 
 seven league boots till it stood over me and my father, 
 and shouted out ''Leap, John, leap." In the horror of 
 this vision I woke with a loud cry that woke my dog 
 also and made him shew such evident signs of fear, 
 that it seemed to me as though he too must have 
 shared my dream. 
 
 Shivering with cold I started up in a frenzy, but 
 there was nothing, save a night of such singular beauty 
 that I did not even try to go to sleep again. Naturally 
 enough, on trying to keep awake I dropped asleep be- 
 fore many minutes were over. 
 
 In the morning I again climbed up to the statues, 
 without, to my surprise, being depressed with the idea 
 that George would again fail to meet me. On the con- 
 trary, without rhyme or reason, I had a strong pre- 
 sentiment that he would come. And sure enough, as 
 soon as I caught sight of the statues, which I did about 
 a quarter to twelve, I saw a youth coming towards me, 
 with a quick step, and a beaming face that had only to 
 be seen to be fallen in love with. 
 
 "You are my brother," said he to me. ''Is my father 
 with you?" 
 
 I pointed to the crape on my arm, and to the ground, 
 but said nothing. 
 
 He understood me, and bared his head. Then he 
 flung his arms about me and kissed my forehead ac- 
 cording to Erewhonian custom. I was a little sur- 
 prised at his saying nothing to me about the way in 
 which he had disappointed me on the preceding day; I 
 resolved, however, to wait for the explanation that I 
 felt sure he would give me presently. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 GEORGE AND I SPEND A FEW HOURS TOGETHER AT 
 
 THE STATUES, AND THEN PART 1 REACH HOME 
 
 POSTSCRIPT 
 
 I HAVE said on an earlier page that George gained 
 an immediate ascendancy over me, but ascendancy is 
 not the word — he took me by storm; how, or why, I 
 neither know nor want to know, but before I had been 
 with him more than a few minutes I felt as though I 
 had known and loved him all my life. And the dog 
 fawned upon him as though he felt just as I did. 
 
 ''Come to the statues," said he, as soon as he had 
 somewhat recovered from the shock of the news I had 
 given him. "V/e can sit down there on the very stone 
 on which our father and I sat a year ago. I have 
 brought a basket, which my mother packed for — for — 
 him and me. Did he talk to you about me?" 
 
 "He talked of nothing so much, and he thought of 
 nothing so much. He had » your boots put where he 
 could see them from his bed until he died." 
 
 Then followed the explanation a^out these boots, of 
 which the reader has already been told. This made us 
 both laugh, and from that moment we were cheerful. 
 
 I say nothing about our enjoyment of the luncheon 
 with which Yram had provided us, and if I were to 
 detail all that I told George about my father, and 
 all the additional information that I got from 
 
 288 
 
Conclusion 289 
 
 him — (many a point did he clear up for me that I had 
 not fully understood) — I should fill several chapters, 
 whereas I have left myself only one. Luncheon being 
 over I said — 
 
 "And are you married?" 
 
 "Yes" (with a blush), "and are you?" 
 
 I could not blush. Why should I ? And yet young 
 people — especially the most ingenious among them — - 
 are apt to flush up on being asked if they are, or are 
 going, to be married. If I could have blushed, I 
 would. As it was I could only say that I was engaged 
 and should marry as soon as I got back. 
 
 "Then you have come all this way for me, when you 
 were wanting to get married?" 
 
 "Of course I have. My father on his death-bed told 
 me to do so, and to bring you something that I have 
 brought you." 
 
 "What trouble I have given! How can I thank 
 you?" 
 
 "Shake hands with me." 
 
 Whereon he gave my hand a stronger grip than I 
 had quite bargained for. 
 
 "And now," said I, "before I tell you what I have 
 brought, you must promise me to accept it. Your 
 father said I was not to leave you till you had done so, 
 and I was to say that he sent it with his dying bless- 
 ing." 
 
 After due demur George gave his promise, and I 
 took him to the place where I had hidden my knapsack. 
 
 "I brought it up yesterday," said I. 
 
 "Yesterday? but why?" 
 
 "Because yesterday — was it not? — was the first of 
 
290 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 the two days agreed upon between you and our 
 father?" 
 
 *'No — surely to-day is the first day — I was to come 
 XXL i. 3, which would be your December 9.'' 
 
 ''But yesterday was December 9 with us — to-day is 
 December 10." 
 
 "Strange ! What day of the week do you make it ?'* 
 
 "To-day is Thursday, December 10." 
 
 "This is still stranger — we make it Wednesday ; yes- 
 terday was Tuesday." 
 
 Then I saw it. The year XX. had been a leap year 
 with the Erewhonians, and 1891 in England had not. 
 This, then, was what had crossed my father's brain in 
 his dying hours, and what he had vainly tried to tell 
 me. It was also what my unconscious self had been 
 struggling to tell my conscious one during the past 
 night, but which my conscious self had been too stupid 
 to understand. And yet my conscious self had caught 
 it in an imperfect sort of a way after all, for from the 
 moment that my dream had left me I had been com- 
 posed, and easy in my mind that all would be well. I 
 wish some one would write a book about dreams and 
 parthenogenesis — for that the two are part and parcel 
 of the same story — a brood of folly without father 
 bred — I cannot doubt. 
 
 I did not trouble George with any of this rubbish, 
 but only shewed him how the mistake had arisen. 
 When we had laughed sufficiently over my mistake — 
 for it was I who had come up on the wrong day, not 
 he — I fished my knapsack out of its hiding-place. 
 
 "Do not unpack it," said I, "beyond taking out the 
 brooches, or you will not be able to pack it so well ; but 
 you can see the ends of the bars of gold, and you can 
 
Conclusion 291 
 
 feel the weight; my father sent them for you. The 
 pearl brooch is for your mother, the smaller brooches 
 are for your sisters, and your wife." 
 
 I then told him how much gold there was, and from 
 my pockets brought out the watches and the English 
 knife. 
 
 "This last," I said, "is the only thing that I am 
 giving you; the rest is all from our father. I have 
 many many times as much gold myself, and this is 
 legally your property as much as mine is mine." 
 
 George was aghast, but he was powerless alike to 
 express his feelings, or to refuse the gold. 
 
 "Do you mean to say that my father left me this by 
 his will?" 
 
 "Certainly he did," said I, inventing a pious fraud. 
 
 "It is all against my oath," said he, looking grave. 
 
 "Your oath be hanged," said I. "You must give the 
 gold to the Mayor, who knows that it was coming, and 
 it will appear to the world as though he were giving it 
 you now instead of leaving you anything." 
 
 "But it is ever so much too much !" 
 
 "It is not half enough. You and the Mayor must 
 settle all that between you. He and our father talked 
 it all over, and this was what they settled." 
 
 "And our father planned all this without saying a 
 word to me about it while we were on our way up 
 here?" 
 
 "Yes. There might have been some hitch in the 
 gold's coming. Besides the Mayor told him not to tell 
 you." 
 
 "And he never said anything about the other money 
 he left for me — which enabled me to marry at once? 
 Why was this?" 
 
292 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 "Your mother said he was not to do so." 
 
 "Bless my heart, how they have duped me all round. 
 But why would not my mother let your father tell me ? 
 Oh yes — she was afraid I should tell the King about it, 
 as I certainly should, when I told him all the rest." 
 
 "Tell the King?" said I, "what have you been tell- 
 ing the King?" 
 
 "Everything ; except about the nuggets and the sov- 
 ereigns, of which I knew nothing; and I have felt my- 
 self a blackguard ever since for not telling him about 
 these when he came up here last autumn — but I let the 
 Mayor and my mother talk me over, as I am afraid 
 they will do again." 
 
 "When did you tell the King?" 
 
 Then followed all the details that I have told in the 
 latter part of Chapter XXI. When I asked how the 
 .King took the confession, George said — 
 
 "He was so much flattered at being treated like a 
 reasonable being, and Dr. Downie, who was chief 
 spokesman, played his part so discreetly, without at- 
 tempting to obscure even the most compromising 
 issues, that though his Majesty made some show of 
 displeasure at first, it was plain that he was heartily 
 enjoying the whole story. 
 
 "Dr. Downie shewed very well. He took on him- 
 self the onus of having advised our action, and he gave 
 me all the credit of having proposed that we should 
 make a clean breast of everything. 
 
 "The King, too, behaved with truly royal polite- 
 ness; he was on the point of asking why I had not 
 taken our father to the Blue Pool at once, and flung 
 him into it on the Sunday afternoon, when something 
 seemed to strike him : he gave me a searching look, on 
 
Conclusion 293 
 
 which he said in an undertone, *Oh yes,' and did not 
 go on with his question. He never blamed me for 
 anything, and when I begged him to accept my resigna- 
 tion of the Rangership, he said — 
 
 " 'No. Stay where you are till I lose confidence in 
 you, which will not, I think, be very soon. I will come 
 and have a few days' shooting about the middle of 
 March, and if I have good sport I shall order your 
 salary to be increased. If any more foreign devils 
 come over, do not Blue- Pool them ; send them down to 
 me, and I will see what I think of them ; I am much 
 disposed to encourage a few of them to settle here.' 
 
 ''I am sure," continued George, *'that he said this 
 because he knew I was half a foreign devil myself. In- 
 deed he won my heart not only by the delicacy of his 
 consideration, but by the obvious good will he bore me. 
 I do not know what he did with the nuggets, but he 
 gave orders that the blanket and the rest of my father's 
 kit should be put in the great Erewhonian Museum. 
 As regards my father's receipt, and the Professors' 
 two depositions, he said he would have them carefully 
 preserved in his secret archives. 'A document,' he said 
 somewhat enigmatically, 'is a document — but, Pro- 
 'fessor Hanky, you can have this' — and as he spoke he 
 handed him back his pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 "Hanky during the whole interview was furious, at 
 having to play so undignified a part, but even more 
 so, because the King while he paid marked attention 
 to Dr. Downie, and even to myself, treated him with 
 amused disdain. Nevertheless, angry though he was, 
 he was impenitent, unabashed, and brazened it out at 
 Bridgeford, that the King had received him with open 
 arms, and had snubbed Dr. Downie and myself. But 
 
294 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 for his (Hanky's) intercession, I should have been dis- 
 missed then and there from the Rangership. And so 
 forth. Panky never opened his mouth. 
 
 "Returning to the King, his Majesty said to Dr. 
 Downie, *I am afraid I shall not be able to canonize 
 any of you gentlemen just yet. We must let this affair 
 blow over. Indeed I am in half a mind to have this 
 Sunchild bubble pricked; I never liked it, and am 
 getting tired of it; you Musical Bank gentlemen are 
 overdoing it. I will talk it over with her Majesty. As 
 for Professor Hanky, I do not see how I can keep one 
 who has been so successfully hoodwinked, as my Pro- 
 fessor of Worldly Wisdom; but I will consult her 
 Majesty about this point also. Perhaps I can find an- 
 other post for him. If I decide on having Sunchildism 
 pricked, he shall apply the pin. You may go.' 
 
 "And glad enough," said George, "we all of us 
 were to do so." 
 
 "But did he," I asked, "try to prick the bubble of 
 Sunchildism?" 
 
 "Oh no. As soon as he said he would talk it over 
 with her Majesty, I knew the whole thing would end 
 in smoke, as indeed to all outward appearance it 
 shortly did; for Dr. Downie advised him not to be in 
 too great a hurry, and whatever he did to do it grad- 
 ually. He therefore took no further action than to 
 show marked favour to practical engineers and mech- 
 anicians. Moreover he started an aeronautical society, 
 which made Bridgeford furious; but so far, I am 
 afraid it has done us no good, for the first ascent was 
 disastrous, involving the death of the poor fellow who 
 made it, and since then no one has ventured to ascend. 
 I am afraid we do not get on very fast." 
 
Conclusion 295 
 
 "Did the King," I asked, ''increase your salary?" 
 
 "Yes. He doubled it." 
 
 "And what do they say in Sunch'ston about our 
 fathers second visit?" 
 
 George laughed, and shewed me the newspaper ex- 
 tract which I have already given. I asked who wrote 
 it. 
 
 "I did," said he, with a demure smile; "I wrote it 
 at night after I returned home, and before starting 
 for the capital next morning. I called myself 'the de- 
 servedly popular Ranger,' to avert suspicion. No one 
 found me out ; you can keep the extract ; I brought it 
 here on purpose." 
 
 "It does you great credit. Was there ever any 
 lunatic, and was he found?" 
 
 "Oh yes. That part was true, except that he had 
 never been up our way." 
 
 "Then the poacher is still at large?" 
 
 "It is to be feared so." 
 
 "And were Dr. Downie and the Professors canon- 
 ized after all?" 
 
 "Not yet ; but the Professors will be next month — 
 for Hanky is still Professor. Dr. Downie backed out 
 of it. He said it was enough to be a Sunchildist with- 
 out being a Sunchild Saint. He worships the jumping 
 cat as much as the others, but he keeps his eye better 
 on the cat, and sees sooner both w^hen it will jump, and 
 where it will jump to. Then, without disturbing any 
 one, he insinuates himself into the place which will be 
 best when the jump is over. Some say that the cat 
 knows him and follows him; at all events when he 
 makes a move the cat generally jumps towards him 
 soon afterwards." 
 
296 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 "You give him a very high character." 
 
 *'Yes, but I have my doubts about his doing much 
 in this matter; he is getting old, and Hanky burrows 
 Hke a mole night and day. There is no knowing how 
 it will all end." 
 
 "And the people at Sunch'ston? Has it got well 
 about among them, in spite of your admirable article, 
 that it was the Sunchild himself who interrupted 
 Hanky?" 
 
 "It has, and it has not. Many of us know the truth, 
 but a story came down from Bridgeford that it was an 
 evil spirit who had assumed the Sunchild's form, in- 
 tending to make people sceptical about Sunchildism; 
 Hanky and Panky cowed this spirit, otherwise it would 
 never have recanted. Many people swallow this." 
 
 "But Hanky and Panky swore that they knew the 
 man." 
 
 "That does not matter." 
 
 "And now, please, how long have you been mar- 
 ried?" 
 
 "About ten months." 
 
 "Any family?" 
 
 "One boy about a fortnight old. Do come down to 
 Sunch'ston and see him — he is your own nephew. 
 You speak Erewhonian so perfectly that no human 
 being would suspect you were a foreigner, and you 
 look one of us from head to foot. I can smuggle you 
 through quite easily, and my mother would so like to 
 see you." 
 
 I should dearly have liked to have gone, but it was 
 out of the question. I had nothing with me but the 
 clothes I stood in ; moreover I was longing to be back 
 in England, and when once I was in Erewhon there 
 
Conclusion 297 
 
 was no knowing when I should be able to get away 
 again ; but George fought hard before he gave in. 
 
 It was now nearing the time when this strange meet- 
 ing between two brothers — as strange a one as the 
 statues can ever have looked down upon — must come 
 to an end. I shewed George what the repeater would 
 do, and what it would expect of its possessor. I gave 
 him six good photographs, of my father and myself — 
 three of each. He had never seen a photograph, and 
 could hardly believe his eyes as he looked at those I 
 shewed him. I also gave him three envelopes ad- 
 dressed to myself, care of Alfred Emery Cathie, Esq., 
 15 CHfford's Inn, London, and implored him to write 
 to me if he could ever find means of getting a letter 
 over the range as far as the shepherd's hut. At this he 
 shook his head, but he promised to write if he could. 
 I also told him that I had Vv^ritten a full account of my 
 father's second visit to Erewhon, but that it should 
 never be published till I heard from him — at which 
 he again shook his head, but added, ''And yet who can 
 tell? For the King may have the country opened up 
 to foreigners some day after all." 
 
 Then he thanked me a thousand times over, shoul- 
 dered the knapsack, embraced me as he had my father, 
 and caressed the dog, embraced me again, and made 
 no attempt to hide the tears that ran down his cheeks. 
 
 "There," he said ; "I shall wait here till you are out 
 of sight." 
 
 I turned away, and did not look back till I reached 
 the place at which I knew that I should lose the statues. 
 I then turned round, waved my hand — as also did 
 George, and went down the mountain side, full of sad 
 thoughts, but thankful that my task had been so hap- 
 
298 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 pily accomplished, and aware that my Hfe hencefor- 
 ward had been enriched by something that I could 
 never lose. 
 
 For I had never seen, and felt as though I never 
 could see, George's equal. His absolute unconscious- 
 ness of self, the unhesitating way in which he took me 
 to his heart, his fearless frankness, the happy genial 
 expression that played on his face, and the extreme 
 sweetness of his smile — these were the things that 
 made me say to myself that the ''blazon of beauty*s 
 best" could tell me nothing better than what I had 
 found and lost within the last three hours. How 
 small, too, I felt by comparison! If for no other 
 cause, yet for this, that I, who had wept so bitterly 
 over my own disappointment the day before, could 
 meet this dear fellow's tears with no tear of my own. 
 
 But let this pass. I got back to Harris's hut without 
 adventure. When there, in the course of the evening, 
 I told Harris that I had a fancy for the rug he had 
 found on the river-bed, and that if he would let me 
 have it, I would give him my red one and ten shillings 
 to boot. The exchange was so obviously to his ad- 
 vantage that he made no demur, and next morning I 
 strapped Yram's rug on to my horse, and took it 
 gladly home to England, where I keep it on my own 
 bed next to the counterpane, so that with care it may 
 last me out my life. I wanted him to take the dog and 
 make a home for him, but he had two collies already, 
 and said that a retriever would be of no use to him. 
 So I took the poor beast on with me to the port, where 
 I was glad to find that Mr. Baker liked him and ac- 
 cepted him from me, though he was not mine to give. 
 He had been such an unspeakable comfort to me when 
 
Postscript 299 
 
 I was alone, that he would have haunted me unless I 
 had been able to provide for him where I knew he 
 would be well cared for. As for Doctor, I was sorry 
 to leave him, but I knew he was in good hands. 
 
 *'I see you have not brought your knapsack back, 
 sir,'' said Mr. Baker. 
 
 *'No," said I, "and very thankful was I when I had 
 handed it over to those for whom it was intended." 
 
 *'I have no doubt you were, sir, for I could see it 
 was a desperate heavy load for you." 
 
 ^'Indeed it was." But at this point I brought the 
 discussion to a close. 
 
 Two days later I sailed, and reached home early in' 
 February 1892. I was married three weeks later, and 
 when the honeymoon was over, set about making the 
 necessary, and some, I fear, unnecessary additions to 
 this book — by far the greater part of which had been 
 written, as I have already said, many months earlier. 
 I now leave it, at any rate for the present, April 22, 
 1892. 
 
 Postscript. — On the last day of November 1900, I 
 received a letter addressed in Mr. Alfred Cathie's fa- 
 miliar handwriting, and on opening it found that it 
 contained another, addressed to me in my own, and 
 unstamped. For the moment I was puzzled, but im- 
 mediately knew that it must be from George. I tore 
 it open, and found eight closely written pages, which 
 I devoured as I have seldom indeed devoured so long 
 a letter. It was dated XXIX. vii. i, and, as nearly as 
 I can translate it, was as follows : — 
 
 'Twice, my dearest brother, have I written to you, 
 and twice in successive days in successive years, have 
 
300 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 I been up to the statues on the chance that you could 
 meet me, as I proposed in my letters. Do not think 
 I went all the way back to Sunch'ston — there is a 
 ranger's shelter now only an hour and a half below 
 the statues, and here I passed the night. I knew you 
 had got neither of my letters, for if you had got them 
 and could not come yourself, you would have sent some 
 one whom you could trust with a letter. I know you 
 would, though I do not know how you would have 
 contrived to do it. 
 
 "I sent both letters through Bishop Kahabuka (or, 
 as his inferior clergy call him, 'Chowbok'), head of 
 the Christian Mission to Erewhemos, which, as your 
 father has doubtless told you, is the country ad- 
 joining Erewhon, but inhabited by a coloured race 
 having no affinity with our own. Bishop Kahabuka 
 has penetrated at times into Erewhon, and the King, 
 wishing to be on good terms with his neighbours, has 
 permitted him to establish two or three mission 
 stations in the western part of Erewhon. Among the 
 missionaries are some few of your own countrymen. 
 None of us like them, but one of them is teaching me 
 English, which I find quite easy. 
 
 "As I wrote in the letters that have never reached 
 you, I am no longer Ranger. The King, after some 
 few years (in the course of which I told him of your 
 visit, and what you had brought me), declared that 
 I was the only one of his servants whom he could 
 trust, and found high office for me, which kept me in 
 close confidential communication with himself. 
 
 "About three years ago, on the death of his Prime 
 Minister, he appointed me to fill his place ; and it was 
 
Postscript 301 
 
 on this, that so many possibilities occurred to me con- 
 cerning which I dearly longed for your opinion, that 
 I wrote and asked you, if you could, to meet me per- 
 sonally or by proxy at the statues, which I could reach 
 on the occasion of my annual visit to my mother — yes 
 — and father — at Sunch'ston. 
 
 "I sent both letters by way of Erewhemos, con- 
 fiding them to Bishop Kahabuka, who is just such an- 
 other as St. Hanky. He tells me that our father was 
 a very old and dear friend of his — but of course I did 
 not say anything about his being my own father. I 
 only inquired about a Mr. Higgs, who was now wor- 
 shipped in Erewhon as a supernatural being. The 
 Bishop said it was, "Oh, so very dreadful," and he 
 felt it all the more keenly, for the reason that he had 
 himself been the means of my father's going to Ere- 
 whon, by giving him the information that enabled him 
 to find the pass over the range that bounded the coun- 
 try. 
 
 "I did not like the man, but I thought I could trust 
 him with a letter, which it now seems I could not do. 
 This third letter I have given him with a promise of 
 a hundred pounds in silver for his new Cathedral, to 
 be paid as soon as I get an answer from you. 
 
 ''We are all well at Sunch'ston; so are my wife and 
 eight children — ^five sons and three daughters — but the 
 country is at sixes and sevens. St. Panky is dead, but 
 his son Pocus is worse. Dr. Downie has become very 
 lethargic. I can do less against St. Hankyism than 
 when I was a private man. A little indiscretion on my 
 part would plunge the country in civil war. Our en- 
 gineers and so-called men of science are sturdily beg- 
 
302 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 ging for endowments, and steadily claiming to have a 
 hand in every pie that is baked from one end of the 
 country to the other. The missionaries are buying up 
 all our silver, and a change in the relative values of 
 gold and silver is in progress of which none of us 
 foresee the end. 
 
 'The King and I both think that annexation by 
 England, or a British Protectorate, would be the 
 saving of us, for we have no army worth the name, 
 and if you do not take us over some one else soon will. 
 The King has urged me to send for you. If you come 
 (do! do! do!) you had better come by way of Ere- 
 whemos, which is now in monthly communication 
 with Southampton. If you will write me that you are 
 coming I will meet you at the port, and bring you with 
 me to our own capital, where the King will be over- 
 joyed to see you." 
 
 The rest of the letter was filled with all sorts of 
 news which interested me, but would require chapters 
 of explanation before they could become interesting 
 to the reader. 
 
 The letter wound up : — 
 
 ^'You may publish now whatever you like, whenever 
 you like. 
 
 "Write to me by way of Erewhemos, care of the 
 Right Reverend the Lord Bishop, and say which way 
 you will come. If you prefer the old road, we are 
 bound to be in the neighbourhood of the statues by the 
 beginning of March. My next brother is now Ranger, 
 and could meet you at the statues with permit and 
 luncheon, and more of that white wine than ever you 
 
Postscript 303 
 
 will be able to drink. Only let me know what you 
 will do. 
 
 "I should tell you that the old railway which used 
 to run from Clearwater to the capital, and which, as 
 you know, was allowed to go to ruin, has been recon- 
 structed at an outlay far less than might have been 
 expected — for the bridges had been maintained for 
 ordinary carriage traffic. The journey, therefore, 
 from Sunch'ston to the capital can now be done in 
 less than forty hours. On the whole, however, I rec- 
 ommend you to come by way of Erewhemos. If you 
 start, as I think possible, without writing from Eng- 
 land, Bishop Kahabuka's palace is only eight miles 
 from the port, and he will give you every information 
 about your further journey — a distance of less than a 
 couple of hundred miles. But I should prefer to meet 
 you myself. 
 
 *'My dearest brother, I charge you by the memory 
 of our common father, and even more by that of those 
 three hours that linked you to me for ever, and which 
 I would fain hope linked me also to yourself — come 
 over, if by any means you can do so — come over and 
 help us. 
 
 * 'George Strong." 
 
 "My dear,*' said I to my wife who was at the other 
 end of the breakfast table, "I shall have to translate 
 this letter to you, and then you will have to help me 
 to begin packing; for I have none too much time. I 
 must see Alfred, and give him a power of attorney. 
 He will arrange with some publisher about my book, 
 and you can correct the press. Break the news gently 
 
304 Erewhon Revisited 
 
 to the children; and get along without me, my dear, 
 for six months as well as you can." 
 
 I write this at Southampton, from which port I sail 
 to-morrow — i.e. November 15, 1900 — for Erewhemos. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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