We were both booked to lecture at Kelmscott House, myself on the first Sunday of our visit, and my wife on the following Sunday. Though it was midsummer, and indoor meetings were hardly inviting, there was a crowded audience to hear my wife speak for the first time in the famous little hall. Morris himself postponed his going away to his country house at Kelmscott expressly to preside at the meeting, and made some warm-hearted remarks when introducing her to the gathering, congratulating both the movement and ourselves on our 'apostolic wedding.'
A rather droll incident occurred during the lecture. Among those seated with Morris on the platform was the venerable E.T. Craig, famous as one of the pioneers of the Co-operative Movement, and as the founder of the remarkable Ralahine Co-operative Colony in Ireland, which after a few years of extraordinary success came to grief owing to the bankruptcy and ruin of the proprietor of the land.
Mr. Craig was now over ninety years of age, and though frail in body was extraordinarily alert in mind, and full of enthusiasm for the new Socialist movement. His queer little cramped-up figure as he sat on the platform with a grey Scottish shepherd's plaid round his shoulders, contrasted drolly with the burly form of Morris, who, despite several warning turns of illness, still looked in the height of health and energy.
Unfortunately, Craig was exceedingly deaf, and had to make use of a huge ear-trumpet. The better to hear my wife he planted his chair close by her on the right, and held the unwieldy-looking instrument almost up to her face when she was speaking, much to her embarrassment. My wife, who has always claimed for herself considerable freedom of action on the platform, was obliged therefore severely to restrain her customary gestures, as no one present could fail to observe. Imagine, therefore, the amusement of the meeting when at the conclusion of her address, the quaint old veteran sprang to his feet and while compli-
