all was dark and wild without, we were bright and merry within.
Morris was evidently pleased to find himself in a smaller company, and especially, so I thought, on discovering that those present belonged to the working class. He seemed, curiously enough, as I then and on many other occasions noted, when in the company of strangers, to feel more at home and freer in his manner when among working men than when among men of his own class. He chatted in a chummy way with those around him, asking about their employment, and surprising us all by his acquaintance with the practical skill and usages of their crafts. He told amusing stories of his experiences in speaking at meetings in workmen's clubs in London—'sometimes to less than a dozen listeners after travelling right across London, and spending a whole evening on the job.'
'But now,' he said, 'you asked me this morning why I became a Socialist; suppose I in turn ask some of you chaps to tell me what brought you to Socialism? I confess I cannot help wondering, when I find myself in a group of comrades, why they particularly have heard the word gladly while the mass of their fellows have turned from it with deaf ears.'
Rather shyly one or two of us recounted, as best we could, the circumstances that had led us to leave the accustomed paths of politics. Our replies seemed almost as though we were each reciting the same story by rote. We had all, it appeared, from our boyhood days felt, without knowing why, the injustice of the existing system of leisure and riches on the one hand, and hard toil and poverty on the other. Our reading—and in most instances Burns and Shelley, Carlyle and Ruskin were among the authors mentioned—had further aroused our minds on the subject. Then had come the Highland Crofters' revolt, and Henry George's 'Progress and Poverty' and 'Land for the People' agitation. Lord Beaconsfield's 'Sybil,' Kingsley's 'Alton Locke,' Mrs Lynn Linton's 'Joshua Davidson,' and Victor
