had three clear days in which to mature my proposals, and I insisted on being left absolutely alone. I knew what a momentous decision I was about to make. Several times, I will admit, I felt inclined to throw up my hands and let the men have their own way in everything. For it was utterly clear to me that they meant fight, and savage fight, on any other contingency. Might not these latest Socialistic conclusions of mine be wrong, and my old practical theory of letting the unions practically administer things in their own fashion be right? It was a long and severe struggle, and it might have ended either way. But a new event decided it beyond all question. A threatening deputation broke in on me. This was too much. I came down to the great meeting with my proposals, based absolutely on the new and not on the old conclusions. I had often spoken before in public during the last year in London, but this was obviously something quite beyond all that, and I was prepared for violence. Yet I felt strangely dreamy and lethargic. I suppose I was tired out with the storm and stress of the work. The silence when I rose was acute—almost painful. I could see nobody. It was not till I was well on in my speech, and the tempest was gathering, that I rapidly regained my self-mastery, and all the faces came out as clearly as in the noontide sun. I began by taking the abuses
