But, as the reader has been already reminded, it is the stoppages which are so wasteful of time on a suburban railway: and they are also wasteful of force. Now in all respects the new age will be economical. One thing that will have to be perfected is the art of getting up speed. Look, as you go home to-night, at the way your train gathers speed on leaving a station. Observe what a long time it is before it can attain its full velocity. A large part of the total time you require in order to reach the suburbs is consumed in this manner. A hundred years hence trains will almost jump to full speed, somewhat as a motor-car jumps to-day. In collecting passengers at suburban stations, the train, a hundred years hence, will perhaps not stop at all. It will only slacken speed a little; but the platform will begin to move as the train approaches, and will run along beside it, at the same speed as the train itself, so that passengers can get in and out as if the train were standing still. When all are aboard, the doors will be closed all together by the guard, and the platform will reverse its motion, and return to its original position ready for the next train.
With trains travelling at quite 200 miles an hour—and certainly nothing less will satisfy the remoter suburbanites of next century—frightful accidents would occur if precautions were not taken. The moment two trains are in the same section of line they will be automatically cut off from the source of power, and their brakes will at the same time bring them to a standstill. A passenger who put his head out of the window of a train travelling at this speed would be blinded and suffocated; so the windows will be glazed, the oxygenators and carbon-dioxide absorbers in each carriage keeping the air sweet, and other suitable appliances adjusting its temperature. There will be no such thing as level crossings; wherever the road crosses the line there will be bridges, provided with an endless moving track (like the automatic staircase at the Crystal Palace), to carry passengers and vehicles across. Of course horses will long since have vanished from the land, except as instruments of the pleasure of a few cranks who affect the manners of that effete period, the year 1900.
And the omnipresence of high-speed vehicles will in itself have eliminated much danger of accident. It is not to be supposed that the unresting march of mechanical improvement will have failed to have its effect on the people. Man himself will have progressed. He will be cleverer in avoiding accidents. Cities will be provided with moving street-ways, always in action at two or more speeds; and we shall have learned to hop on and off the lowest speed from the stationary pavement, and from the lower speeds to the higher, without danger. When streets cross, one rolling roadway will rise in a curve over the other. There will be no vehicular traffic at all in cities of any size; all the transportation will be done by the roads’ own motion. In smaller towns, and for getting from one town to another, automatic motor-cars will exist, coin-worked. A man who wishes to travel will step into a motor-car, drop into a slot-machine the coin which represents the hire of the car for the distance he wants to travel, and assume control. Here again the progress of man will come into play. Everyone will know how to drive a motor-car safely. If you doubt it, consider for a moment the position of a man of 1800 suddenly transported into a street of modern London. He would never be able to cross it; the rush of omnibuses, motors and bicycles would confuse and frighten him. Imagine the same man trying to use the underground railways of to-day, or to get up to town from a busy suburb in the morning. He would either be killed out of hand or left behind altogether from sheer inability to enter the train.
We may safely suppose that the ocean ships of a hundred years hence will be driven by energy of some kind transmitted from the shores on either side. It is absolutely unquestionable that no marine engine in the least resembling what we know to-day can meet the requirements of the new age. The expense of driving a steamship increases in such a ratio to its size and speed that the economic limits of steam propulsion are foreseen. Probably the ships of A.D. 2000 will differ entirely in appearance from those we know. Just as road friction is the bugbear of the railway engineer, so water-resistance is the bugbear of the marine engineer. The ships of a hundred years hence will not lie in the water. They will tower above the surface, merely skimming it with their keels, and the only engines they will carry will be those which receive and utilise the energy transmitted to them from the power-houses ashore—perhaps worked by the force of the very tides of the conquered ocean itself.
The housing problem is so intimately and visibly connected in our minds with the growth of population that the more vital entanglement of the latter with the food question is hardly perceptible except to economic experts. The ordinary newspaper reader is not in a position to trace the intimate significance of prices; indeed, he often regards it as rather a good thing that wheat should fetch a good price per quarter, forgetting that low prices for commodities mean increased purchasing power for money, and a better standard of life for the people. When such elementary implications as this are overlooked, it is hardly remarkable that the more obscure connection of population with prices is never thought of. Yet it is obvious that unless the sources of supply increase more rapidly than the consuming population, prices must rise—in other words, the purchasing power of money must diminish. Wages, to some extent, will no doubt rise also, but as competition seriously affects the markets for manufactured goods and machinery, and the increase of population not only tends to raise prices of commodities, but also restricts the rise of wages, relief will have to be found in economies of various sorts. The standard of comfort in working families must improve considerably; partly because the demand for improvement, taking the shape of industrial combination and trade-unionism developed to a high degree, will be more and more clamorous; partly because of public feeling. What is currently called the growth of sentimentalism in modern life is really the development of modern conscience. No doubt the abolition of judicial torture was at one time regarded as a mark of absurd sentimentality; and the opinion has already been expressed that a vast amelioration of public morality is in store for the new age. A great element in the conflict between comfort on the one hand and competition on the other will be economy of means. That is why the new age will, among other things, be an age of economy.
In the matter of food, chiefly, a great saving can be effected. Nothing is more painfully ludicrous—I use the incongruous collocution advisedly—than the spectacle every winter of money being laboriously accumulated for the provision of free meals for the poor, and spent, to a great extent, so wastefully as on meat soups and white bread. The crass ignorance of the poor, who will not touch wholemeal bread, and indeed regard the offer of it as something in the nature of an insult; and who cannot be induced to believe that meat is one of the least satisfactory and most expensive forms of nourishment, is of course responsible in great part for this error. If we would get our nitrogen from pulses, nuts, and use vegetable fats derived from nuts, and bread made from entire wheat-kernels finely ground (instead of being only half ground as in most “brown breads”)[2] our “free dinner” charities would be able to feed at least twice or three times as many people for every pound collected as they do at present. But the proposal would probably excite an outcry and we should hear that the poor were being treated as animals and that we fain would fill their bellies with the husks that the swine do eat. But all kinds of influences will tend to eliminate flesh from the dietary of the new age. “Growing sentimentalism,” already in arms against the use of animals for highly necessary scientific investigations, will, as it develops, be revolted by the idea of killing for food; and the refinement of the future will come to regard the eating of dead bodies as very little better than cannibalism. Moreover, the constantly increasing demand of the new age upon bodily and nervous energies will call for nourishment suited to their supply. This, and the wastefulness of second-hand food, will banish all flesh from the bill of fare. Fish will be eaten longer than meat. But more than anything else, the need for economy will reform our dinner-tables, and eventually all food will have to be obtained directly from the soil, if we are to have food enough to nourish our overgrown population at all. We shall not be able to afford to waste the ground on pasturage. We must use it to produce cereals, nuts and fruits, which are not only a much more remunerative crop, but will also use up in their assimilation far less nervous and peptic energy—energy which we shall need to make the most of. The cereal foods—products of wheat, barley, maize, and perhaps still (to a certain extent) oats—which will form the staple of our diet, will be partially cooked at the granaries by dry heat; they will need very little treatment at home. Vegetables, cooked, not in the wasteful manner now in vogue, but by conservative methods which will preserve their valuable saline constituents, will have to be prepared in our own kitchens; but pulse in various forms (as pease, lentil flour, etc.) will be supplied to us almost wholly cooked. A cheap, nourishing and delicious dietary will thus be made available.
Finally, the reader will not be unprepared for the opinion that alcohol, as a beverage, must inevitably disappear. Not only because the price of intoxicants is an unproductive expenditure (and we shall have to be more and more thrifty as time goes on) but because the nerves of the new age would never stand them, must all alcoholic beverages be regarded as destined to obsolescence: and the legislative aspect of this question must presently be touched upon. Already a considerable part of the people, in no way influenced by the illogical idea that the abuse of a commodity by one class calls for the abstention from it of another, refrains from alcohol simply because its use inflicts too great a strain on the system. A good many people even now find it necessary to abstain from tea or from coffee for precisely similar reasons; while the highly-organised nervous systems of others find in the latter a stimulant capable of all the advantages of alcohol (and they are many) and not without some of its penalties. I think it quite likely that when alcohol is gone, the nerves of the future may find it necessary to place the sale of tea and of coffee under restrictions similar to those at present inflicted upon the trade in alcohol: and it is quite certain that morphia, cocaine, chloral, perhaps ether, and similar products, will have to be very jealously safeguarded within the next few years.
Differing from many writers, I do not regard this development of the nervous system as a mark of degeneration. On the contrary, it is a part of the great and rapid adaptation which is bound to take place in the constitution of man himself[3] to the rapidly-changing conditions of his environment, his life, and the duties he will have to fulfil. To overlook the certainty of such adaptations is to be blind to all history, and especially to all recent history. The men and women of the new age will differ from ourselves in much the same sort of way as we differ from our great-grandfathers. They will differ more only because the progress of the century which we have lately begun will be so much more rapid and various than those of the century before—itself the period of enormously the greatest changes since the world began to be civilised.
[1] Drains, it might be supposed, would disappear altogether from the scheme of things in favour of some kind of destructors. For reasons connected with a more enlightened view than we have yet reached of certain aspects of terrestrial economy, however, I think they will, with modifications, still exist. [↑]