A halo of enthusiasm glows round his memory among the little groups of Socialist League members who still survive, such as rarely clings to the memory of any public man. I cannot think of any modern movement which inherits a more inspiring tradition of apostleship in this respect.
I have to go back to the lives (remote as they be in category as in time) of George Fox and William Tyndale, and to the legends of the great Celtic teachers, St. Columba, St. Cuthbert, St. Aidan (of Lindisfarne), and the Venerable Bede to find a like instance of a teacher or leader enshrining himself so perfectly in the affections and imagination of his friends and disciples. Indeed, I have often when recalling my own memories of Morris' visits, such as those described in the chapters 'A Red-Letter Day' and 'A Propaganda Outing,' and when listening to the recollections of some of our older comrades in Hammersmith, Norwich, Bristol, Leicester, Manchester, Edinburgh, and other towns, found the words in the story of the walk to Emmaus repeat themselves in my mind: 'Did not our heart burn within us, while he talked with us by the way, and while he opened to us the scriptures?'
