, and the
blaze of his blue eye. A murmur ran through the room. Some of the men
laughed excitedly. Darwin sprang up again.

"You keep the perlice off us, an' gie us the cuttin' up o' their
bloomin' parks an' we'll do it fast enough," he cried.

"Much good that'll do you, just at present," said Wharton,
contemptuously. "Now, you just listen to me."

And, leaning forward over the desk again, his finger pointed at the
room, he went through the regular Socialist programme as it affects the
country districts--the transference of authority within the villages
from the few to the many, the landlords taxed more and more heavily
during the transition time for the provision of house room, water,
light, education and amusement for the labourer; and ultimately land and
capital at the free disposal of the State, to be supplied to the worker
on demand at the most moderate terms, while the annexed rent and
interest of the capitalist class relieves him of taxes, and the
disappearance of squire, State parson, and plutocrat leaves him master
in his own house, the slave of no man, the equal of all. And, as a first
step to this new Jerusalem--_organisation_!--self-sacrifice enough to
form and maintain a union, to vote for Radical and Socialist candidates
in the teeth of the people who have coals and blankets to give away.

"Then I suppose you think you'd be turned out of your cottages,
dismissed your work, made to smart for it somehow. Just you try! There
are people all over the country ready to back you, if you'd only back
yourselves. But you _won't_. You won't fight--that's the worst of you;
that's what makes all of us _sick_ when we come down to talk to you. You
won't spare twopence halfpenny a week from boozing--not you!--to
subscribe to a union, and take the first little step towards filling
your stomachs and holding your heads up as free men. What's the good of
your grumbling? I suppose you'll go on like that--grumbling and starving
and cringing--and talking big of the things you could do if you
would:--and all the time not one honest effort--not one!--to better
yourselves, to pull the yoke off your necks! By the Lord! I tell you
it's a _damned_ sort of business talking to fellows like you!"

Marcella started as he flung the words out with a bitter, nay, a brutal,
emphasis. The smooth-faced minister coughed loudly with a sudden
movement, half got up to remonstrate, and then thought better of it.
Mrs. Boyce for the first time sho