p me, to serve me, to do
my bidding, to give me enjoyment and pleasure. Society will take me to
Ober-Ammergau, will provide for all my wants on the way, and, when I am
there, will show me the Passion Play, which she has arranged and
rehearsed and will play for my instruction; will bring me back any way I
like to come, explaining, by means of her guide-books and histories,
everything upon the way that she thinks can interest me; will, while I am
absent, carry my messages to those I have left behind me in England, and
will bring me theirs in return; will look after me and take care of me
and protect me like a mother--as no mother ever could.

All that she asks in return is, that I shall do the work she has given me
to do. As a man works, so Society deals by him.

To me Society says: "You sit at your desk and write, that is all I want
you to do. You are not good for much, but you can spin out yards of what
you and your friends, I suppose, call literature; and some people seem to
enjoy reading it. Very well: you sit there and write this literature, or
whatever it is, and keep your mind fixed on that. I will see to
everything else for you. I will provide you with writing materials, and
books of wit and humour, and paste and scissors, and everything else that
may be necessary to you in your trade; and I will feed you and clothe you
and lodge you, and I will take you about to places that you wish to go
to; and I will see that you have plenty of tobacco and all other things
practicable that you may desire--provided that you work well. The more
work you do, and the better work you do, the better I shall look after
you. You write--that is all I want you to do."

"But," I say to Society, "I don't like work; I don't want to work. Why
should I be a slave and work?"

"All right," answers Society, "don't work. I'm not forcing you. All I
say is, that if you don't work for me, I shall not work for you. No work
from you, no dinner from me--no holidays, no tobacco."

And I decide to be a slave, and work.

Society has no notion of paying all men equally. Her great object is to
encourage brain. The man who merely works by his muscles she regards as
very little superior to the horse or the ox, and provides for him just a
little better. But the moment he begins to use his head, and from the
labourer rises to the artisan, she begins to raise his wages.

Of course hers is a very imperfect method of encouraging thought. She