"We seem to have been carried rather a long way from Meccanian Economics," I remarked, turning to Professor Sauer by way of apology for having carried on the conversation for so long with Professor Slimey. "Not at all," he answered. "Meccanian Ethics and Meccanian Economics cannot be separated." "It must make the science of Economics much more difficult in one sense; but, on the other hand, what a relief it must be to have got rid of all those old troublesome theories of value!" I observed. "We have not got rid of theories of value," answered Sauer; "they too have only been developed. The basis of our theory of value is to be found in Meccanian Ethics." "In other words," I said, laughing, "the value of a pair of boots in Meccania is determined by the theologians!" "How do you mean?" asked Sauer. "I mean that the remuneration of an artisan in the Fifth Class will purchase so many pairs of boots; and the remuneration of the artisan is determined by what the State thinks good for him; and what the State thinks good for him is determined by Meccanian Ethics; and I suppose the theologians determine the system of Meccanian Ethics." At that point our conversation was interrupted by an announcement that the toast of the evening would be drunk. This was the signal for the party to break up. We drank to the success of the Meccanian Empire and the confounding of all its enemies, and I went home to the hotel to find a message from Kwang asking me to see him the following day. I spent the morning as usual with Lickrod, who was initiating me into the method of using the catalogues in the Great Library of Mecco. It was indeed a marvel of 'librarianship.' There was a bibliography upon every conceivable subject. There was a complete catalogue of every book according to author, and another according to subject. There was a complete catalogue of the books issued in each separate year for the last twenty-five years. There were courses of study with brief notes upon all the books. Lickrod was in his element. As we came away, about lunch-time, I said to him, "Suppose I want to take back with me, when I leave the country, a dozen books to read for pure pleasure, what would you recommend me to take?" "Upon what subject?" he asked. "Upon anything, no matter what. What I am thinking of are books which are just works of art in themselves, pieces of pure literature either in poetry or prose." "A book must be about something," he said; "it must fall into some category or other." "Is there no imaginative literature?" I asked. "Oh, certainly, we have scores of treatises on the imagination." "But I mean books that are the work of the imagination." "I see. You want them for your children, perhaps: they would be found in the juvenile departments; fables and parables, and that sort of thing." "No, I mean books without any serious purpose, but for grown-up people. I seem to remember such works in the old Meccanian literature."