it lies direct behind
us. So reverse engines. Reverse engines, and away, away to our city,
where the sterilized milk is delivered by noiseless aeroplanes, _at
the very precise minute when our great doctors of the Fatherland have
diagnosed that it is good for you_: where the teeth are not only so
painlessly planted that they grow like living rock, but where their
composition is such that the friction of eating stimulates the cells
of the jaw-bone and develops the _superman strength of will which
makes us gods_: and where not only is twilight sleep serene, but into
the sleeper are inculcated the most useful and instructive dreams,
calculated to perfect the character of the young citizen at this
crucial period, and to enlighten permanently the mind of the happy
mother, with regard to her new duties towards her child and towards
our great Fatherland--"

Here you see we are, on the railway, with New Jerusalem ahead, and New
Jerusalem away behind us. But of course it was very wrong of the
Germans to reverse their engines, and cause one long collision all
along the line. Why should we go _their_ way to the New Jerusalem,
when of course they might so easily have kept on going our way. And
now there's wreckage all along the line! But clear the way is our
motto--or make the Germans clear it. Because get on we will.

Meanwhile we sit rather in the cold, waiting for the train to get a
start. People keep on signaling with green lights and red lights. And
it's all very bewildering.

As for me, I'm off. I'm damned if I'll be shunted along any more. And
I'm thrice damned if I'll go another yard towards that sterilized New
Jerusalem, either forwards or backwards. New Jerusalem may rot, if it
waits for me. I'm not going.

So good-by! There we leave humanity, encamped in an appalling mess
beside the railway-smash of love, sitting down, however, and having
not a bad time, some of 'em, feeding themselves fat on the plunder:
others, further down the line, with mouths green from eating grass.
But all grossly, stupidly, automatically gabbling about getting the
love-service running again, the trains booked for the New Jerusalem
well on the way once more. And occasionally a good engine gives a
screech of love, and something seems to be about to happen. And
sometimes there is enough steam to set the indignation-whistles
whistling. But never any more will there be enough love-steam to get
the system properly running. It is done.

Good-by,