Transcribed from the 1887 Office of “The Commonweal” edition by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk

THE TABLES TURNED;
or,
Nupkins Awakened

[ ]

A Socialist Interlude
by
WILLIAM MORRIS
Author of ‘The Earthly Paradise.’

As for the first time played at the Hall of the Socialist League on Saturday October 15, 1887

LONDON:
OFFICE OF “THE COMMONWEAL”
13 FARRINGDON ROAD, E.C.
1887

All Rights Reserved.

ORIGINAL CAST.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ—PART I.

Mr. La-di-da (found guilty of swindling) . . . H. Bartlett.

Mr. Justice Nupkins . . . W. Blundell.

Mr. Hungary, Q.C. (Counsel for the Prosecution) . . . W. H. Utley.

Sergeant Sticktoit (Witness for Prosecution) . . . James Allman.

Constable Potlegoff (Witness for Prosecution) . . . H. B. Tarleton.

Constable Strongithoath (Witness for Prosecution) . . . J. Flockton.

Mary Pinch (a labourer’s wife, accused of theft) . . . May Morris.

Foreman of Jury . . . T. Cantwell.

Jack Freeman (a Socialist, accused of conspiracy, sedition, and obstruction of the highway) . . . H. H. Sparling.

Archbishop of Canterbury (Witness for Defence) . . . W. Morris.

Lord Tennyson (Witness for Defence) . . . A. Brookes.

Professor Tyndall (Witness for Defence) . . . H. Bartlett.

William Joyce (a Socialist Ensign) . . . H. A. Barker.

Usher . . . J. Lane.

Clerk of the Court . . . J. Turner.

Jurymen, Interrupters, Revolutionists, etc., etc.

* * * * *

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.—PART II.

Citizen Nupkins (late Justice) . . . W. Blundell,

Mary Pinch . . . May Morris.

William Joyce (late Socialist Ensign) . . . H. A. Barker.

Jack Freeman . . . H. H. Sparling.

1st Neighbour . . . H. B. Tarleton.

2nd Neighbour . . . J. Lane.

3rd Neighbour . . . H. Graham.

Robert Pinch, and other Neighbours, Men and Women.

PART I.

SCENE.—A Court of Justice.

Usher, Clerk of the Court, Mr. Hungary, Q.C., and others. Mr. La-di-da, the prisoner, not in the dock, but seated in a chair before it. [Enter Mr. Justice Nupkins.

Usher. Silence!—silence!

Mr. Justice Nupkins. Prisoner at the bar, you have been found guilty by a jury, after a very long and careful consideration of your remarkable and strange case, of a very serious offence; an offence which squeamish moralists are apt to call robbing the widow and orphan; a cant phrase also, with which I hesitate to soil my lips, designates this offence as swindling. You will permit me to remark that the very fact that such nauseous and improper words can be used about the conduct of a gentleman shows how far you have been led astray from the path traced out for the feet of a respectable member of society. Mr. La-di-da, if you were less self-restrained, less respectful, less refined, less of a gentleman, in short, I might point out to you with more or less severity the disastrous consequences of your conduct; but I cannot doubt, from the manner in which you have borne yourself during the whole of this trial, that you are fully impressed with the seriousness of the occasion. I shall say no more then, but perform the painful duty which devolves on me of passing sentence on you. I am compelled in doing so to award you a term of imprisonment; but I shall take care that you shall not be degraded by contamination with thieves and rioters, and other coarse persons, or share the diet and treatment which

is no punishment to persons used to hard living: that would be to inflict a punishment on you not intended by the law, and would cast a stain on your character not easily wiped away. I wish you to return to that society of which you have up to this untoward event formed an ornament without any such stain. You will, therefore, be imprisoned as a first-class misdemeanant for the space of one calendar month; and I trust that during the retirement thus enforced upon you, which to a person of your resources should not be very irksome, you will reflect on the rashness, the incaution, the impropriety, in one word, of your conduct, and that you will never be discovered again appropriating to your personal use money which has been entrusted to your care by your friends and relatives.

Mr. La-di-da. I thank you, my lord, for your kindness and consideration. May I be allowed to ask you to add to your kindness by permitting me to return to my home and make some necessary arrangements before submitting myself to the well-merited chastisement which my imprudence has brought upon me?

Mr. J. N. Certainly. I repeat I do not wish to make your sentence any heavier by forcing a hard construction upon it. I give you a week to make all arrangements necessary for your peace of mind and your bodily comfort.

Mr. L. I thank your lordship. [Exit.

[The case of Mary Pinch called.]

Mr. Hungary, Q.C. I am for the prosecution, my lord, instructed by the Secretary of State for the Home Department. (Judge bites his pen and nods.) My lord, and gentlemen of the Jury, although this case may seem to some ill-judging persons a trivial one, I think you will be able to see before it is over that it is really important in its bearing on the welfare of society, the welfare of the public; that is, of the respectable public,—of the respectable public, gentlemen. For in these days, when the spirit of discontent is so widespread, all illegal actions have, so to say, a political bearing, my lord, and all illegal actions are wicked, gentlemen of the Jury, since they tend towards the insecurity of society, or in other words, are definitely aimed at the very basis of all morality and religion. Therefore, my lord, I have received instructions from the Home Secretary to prosecute this woman, who, as I shall be able to prove to you, gentlemen of the Jury, by the testimony of three witnesses occupying responsible official positions, has been guilty of a breach at once of the laws of the country and the dictates of morality, and has thereby seriously inconvenienced a very respectable tradesman, nay (looking at his brief) three respectable tradesmen. I shall be able to show,

gentlemen, that this woman has stolen three loaves of bread: (impressively) not one, gentlemen, but three.

A Voice. She’s got three children, you palavering blackguard!

[Confusion.

Mr. Justice N. (who has made an elaborate show of composing himself to slumber since the counsel began, here wakes up and cries out) Arrest that man, officer; I will commit him, and give him the heaviest punishment that the law allows of.

[The Usher dives among the audience amidst great confusion, but comes back empty-handed.

J. N. A most dangerous disturbance! A most dangerous disturbance!

Mr. H. Gentlemen of the Jury, in confirmation of my remarks on the spirit that is abroad, I call your attention to the riot which has just taken place, endangering, I doubt not, the life of his lordship, and your own lives, gentlemen, so valuable to—to—to—in short, to yourselves. Need I point out to you at any length, then, the danger of allowing criminals, offenders against the sacred rights of property, to go at large? This incident speaks for me, and I have now nothing to do but let the witnesses speak for themselves. Gentlemen of the Jury, I do not ask you to convict on insufficient evidence; but I do ask you not to be swayed by any false sentiment bearing reference to the so-called smallness of the offence, or the poverty of the offender. The law is made for the poor as well as for the rich, for the rich as well as for the poor. The poor man has no more right to shelter himself behind his poverty, than the rich man behind his riches. In short, gentlemen of the Jury, what I ask you in all confidence to do, is to do justice and fear not.—I call Sergeant Sticktoit.

[Sergeant Sticktoit sworn.

Mr. H. Well, sergeant, you saw this woman steal the loaves?

Sticktoit. Yes, sir.

Mr. H. All of them?

St. Yes, all.

Mr. H. From different shops, or from one?

St. From three different shops.

Mr. H. Yes, just so. (Aside: Then why the devil did he say from one shop when his evidence was taken before?) (To St.) You were an eye-witness of that? You noticed her take all three loaves?

St. (Aside: He wants me to say from three different shops; I’m sure I don’t know why. Anyhow, I’ll say it—and swear it.)

(To the Court) Yes, I was an eye-witness of the deed; (pompously) I followed her, and then I took her.

Mr. H. Yes, then you took her. Please tell the Court how.

St. (Aside: Let’s see, what did we agree was the likeliest way?) (To Court) I saw her take the first loaf and hide it in her shawl; and then the second one; and the second one tumbled down into the mud; and she picked it up again and wiped it with her shawl; and then she took the third; and when she tried to put that with the two others they all three tumbled down; and as she stooped down to pick them up it seemed the best time to take her, as the two constables had come up; so I took her.

Mr. N. Yes; you took her.

St. And she cried.

Mr. H. Ah, she cried. Well, sergeant, that will do; you may go. (Aside: The sooner he goes the better. Wouldn’t I like to have the cross-examining of him if he was called on the other side!) Constable Potlegoff.

[Potlegoff sworn.

Mr. H. Well, constable, did you see the woman take the loaves?

Potlegoff. Yes, sir.

Mr. H. How did she take them?

Pot. Off the counter, sir.

Mr. H. Did she go into the shop to take them?

Pot. Yes, sir. (Aside: I thought I was to say into three shops.)

Mr. H. One after another?

Pot. Yes, out of one shop one after another. (Aside: Now it’s right, I hope.)

Mr. H. (Aside: Confound him, he’s contradicting the other!) (To Pot.) Yes, just so; one after the other. And did you see the second loaf tumble down?

Pot. Yes, sir.

Mr. H. When was that?

Pot. As she took it off the counter.

Mr. H. Yes, after she took it off the counter, in the street?

Pot. No, sir. (Catching the Sergeant’s eye.) I mean yes, sir, and she wiped the mud off them; the sergeant saw her—and I saw her.

A Voice. Off it, you liar! ’twas the second loaf, the single loaf, the other liar said!

[Confusion. The judge wakes up and splutters, and tries to say something; the Usher goes through the audience, but finds no one; Hungary spreads out his hands to the Jury, appealingly.

Mr. H. Yes, so it was in the street that you saw the loaves fall down?

Pot. Yes, sir; it was in the street that I saw it tumble down.

A Voice. You mean them, you fool! You haven’t got the story right yet!

[Confusion again. The Judge sits up and stares like a man awaked from a nightmare, then calls out Officer! Officer! very loud. The Usher goes his errand again, and comes back bootless.

Mr. H. (very blandly). It was in the street that you saw the three loaves fall down?

Pot. Yes, it was in the street that I saw the loaf fall down.

Mr. H. Yes, in the street; just so, in the street. You may go (Aside: for a damned fool!). Constable Strongithoath.

[Constable Strongithoath sworn,

Mr. H. Constable, did you see this robbery?

Strong. I saw it.

Mr. H. Tell us what you saw.

Strong, (very slowly and stolidly, and as if repeating a lesson). I saw her steal them all—all—all from one shop—from three shops—I followed her—I took her. When she took it up—she let it drop—in the shop—and wiped the street mud off it. Then she dropped them all three in the shop—and came out—and I took her—with the help—of the two constables—and she cried.

Mr. H. You may go (Aside: for a new-caught joskin and a fool!). I won’t ask him any questions.

J. N. (waking up, and languid). Do you call any other witnesses, Mr. Hungary?

Mr. H. No, my lord. (Aside: Not if I know it, considering the quality of the evidence. Not that it much matters; the Judge is going to get a conviction; the Jury will do as he tells them—always do.) (To the Court): My lord and gentlemen of the Jury, that’s my case.

J. N. Well, my good woman, what have you to say to this?

Mary Pinch. Say to it! What’s the use of saying anything to it? I’d do to it, if I could.

J. N. Woman! what do you mean? Violence will not do here. Have you witnesses to call?

M. P. Witnesses! how can I call witnesses to swear that I didn’t steal the loaves?

J. N. Well, do you wish to question the witnesses? You have a right to.

M. P. Much good that would be! Would you listen to me

if I did? I didn’t steal the loaves; but I wanted them, I can tell you that. But it’s all one; you are going to have it so, and I might as well have stolen a diamond necklace for all the justice I shall get here. What’s the odds? It’s of a piece with the rest of my life for the last three years. My husband was a handsome young countryman once, God help us! He could live on ten shillings a-week before he married me; let alone that he could pick up things here and there. Rabbits and hares some of them, as why should he not? And I could earn a little too; it was not so bad there. And then and for long the place was a pretty place, the little grey cottage among the trees, if the cupboard hadn’t been so bare; one can’t live on flowers and nightingale’s songs. Then the children came brisk, and the wages came slack; and the farmer got the new reaping-machine, and my binding came to an end; and topping turnips for a few days in the foggy November mornings don’t bring you in much, even when you havn’t just had a baby. And the skim milk was long ago gone, and the leasing, and the sack of tail-wheat, and the cheap cheeses almost for nothing, and the hedge-clippings, and it was just the bare ten shillings a-week. So at last, when we had heard enough of eighteen shillings a-week up in London, and we scarce knew what London meant, though we knew well enough what ten shillings a-week in the country meant, we said we’d go to London and try it there; and it had been a good harvest, quickly saved, which made it bad for us poor folk, as there was the less for us to do; and winter was creeping in on us. So up to London we came; for says Robert: “They’ll let us starve here, for aught I can see: they’ll do naught for us; let us do something for ourselves.” So up we came; and when all’s said, we had better have lain down and died in the grey cottage clean and empty. I dream of it yet at whiles: clean, but no longer empty; the crockery on the dresser, the flitch hanging from the rafters, the pot on the fire, the smell of new bread about; and the children fat and ruddy tumbling about in the sun; and my lad coming in at the door stooping his head a little; for our door is low, and he was a tall handsome chap in those days.—But what’s the use of talking? I’ve said enough: I didn’t steal the loaves—and if I had a done, where was the harm?

J. N. Enough, woman? Yes, and far more than enough. You are an undefended prisoner. You have not the advantage of counsel, or I would not have allowed you to go on so long. You would have done yourself more good by trying to refute the very serious accusation brought against you, than by rambling into a long statement of your wrongs against society. We all

have our troubles to bear, and you must bear your share of them without offending against the laws of your country—the equal laws that are made for rich and poor alike.

A Voice. You can bear her troubles well enough, can’t you, old fat guts?

J. N. (scarcely articulate with rage). Officer! officer! arrest that man, or I will arrest you!

[Usher again makes a vain attempt to get hold of some one.

J. N. (puffing and blowing with offended dignity). Woman, woman, have you anything more to say?

M. P. Not a word. Do what you will with me. I don’t care.

J. N. (impressively). Gentlemen of Jury, simple as this case seems, it is a most important one under the present condition of discontent which afflicts this country, and of which we have had such grievous manifestations in this Court to-day. This is not a common theft, gentlemen—if indeed a theft has been committed—it is a revolutionary theft, based on the claim on the part of those who happen unfortunately to be starving, to help themselves at the expense of their more fortunate, and probably—I may say certainly—more meritorious countrymen. I do not indeed go so far as to say that this woman is in collusion with those ferocious ruffians who have made these sacred precincts of justice ring with their ribald and threatening scoff’s. But the persistence of these riotous interruptions, and the ease with which their perpetrators have evaded arrest, have produced a strange impression in my mind. (Very impressively.) However, gentlemen, that impression I do not ask you to share; on the contrary, I warn you against it, just as I warn you against being moved by the false sentiment uttered by this woman, tinged as it was by the most revolutionary—nay, the most bloodthirsty feeling. Dismiss all these non-essentials from your minds, gentlemen, and consider the evidence only; and show this mistaken woman the true majesty of English Law by acquitting her—if you are not satisfied with the abundant, clear, and obviously unbiassed evidence, put before you with that terseness and simplicity of diction which distinguishes our noble civil force. The case is so free from intricacy, gentlemen, that I need not call your attention to any of the details of that evidence. You must either accept it as a whole and bring in a verdict of guilty, or your verdict must be one which would be tantamount to accusing the sergeant and constables of wilful and corrupt perjury; and I may add, wanton perjury; as there could be no possible reason for these officers departing from the strict line of truth. Gentlemen I leave you to your deliberations.

Foreman of Jury. My lord, we have already made up our minds. Your lordship need not leave the Court: we find the woman guilty.

J. N. (gravely nodding his head). It now remains for me to give sentence. Prisoner at the bar, you have been convicted by a jury of your countrymen—

A Voice. That’s a lie! You convicted her: you were judge and jury both.

J. N. (in a fury). Officer, you are a disgrace to your coat! Arrest that man, I say. I would have had the Court cleared long ago, but that I hoped that you would have arrested the ruffian if I gave him a chance of repeating his—his crime.

[The Usher makes his usual promenade.

J. N. You have been convicted by a jury of your countrymen of stealing three loaves of bread; and I do not see how in the face of the evidence they could have come to any other verdict. Convicted of such a serious offence, this is not the time and place to reproach you with other misconduct; and yet I could almost regret that it is not possible to put you once more in the dock, and try you for conspiracy and incitement to riot; as in my own mind I have no doubt that you are in collusion with the ruffianly revolutionists, who, judging from their accent, are foreigners of a low type, and who, while this case has been proceeding, have been stimulating their bloodstained souls to further horrors by the most indecent verbal violence. And I must here take the opportunity of remarking that such occurrences could not now be occurring, but for the ill-judged leniency of even a Tory Government in permitting that pest of society the unrespectable foreigner to congregate in this metropolis.

A Voice. What do they do with you, you blooming old idiot, when you goes abroad and waddles through the Loover?

J. N. Another of them! another of those scarcely articulate foreigners! This is a most dangerous plot! Officer, arrest everybody present except the officials. I will make an example of everybody: I will commit them all.

Mr. H. (leaning over to Judge). I don’t see how it can be done, my lord. Let it alone: there’s a Socialist prisoner coming next; you can make him pay for all.

J. N. Oh! there is, is there? All right—all right. I’ll go and get a bit of lunch (offering to rise).

Clerk. Beg pardon, my lord, but you haven’t sentenced the prisoner.

J. N. Oh, ah! Yes. Oh, eighteen months’ hard labour.

M. P. Six months for each loaf that I didn’t steal! Well,

God help the poor in a free country! Won’t you save all further trouble by hanging me, my lord? Or if you won’t hang me, at least hang my children: they’ll live to be a nuisance to you else.

J. N. Remove the woman. Call the next case. (Aside: And look sharp: I want to get away.)

[Case of John or Jack Freeman called.]

Mr. H. I am for the prosecution, my lord.

J. N. Is the prisoner defended?

Jack Freeman. Not I.

J. N. Hold your tongue, sir! I did not ask you. Now, brother Hungary.

Mr. H. Once more, my lord and gentlemen of the Jury, I rise to address you; and, gentlemen, I must congratulate you on having the honour of assisting on two State trials on one day; for again I am instructed by the Secretary of State for the Home Department to prosecute the prisoner. He is charged with sedition and incitement to riot and murder, and also with obstructing the Queen’s Highway. I shall bring forward overwhelming evidence to prove the latter offence—which is, indeed, the easiest of all offences to be proved, since the wisdom of the law has ordained that it can be committed without obstructing anything or anybody. As for the other, and what we may excusably consider the more serious offence, the evidence will, I feel sure, leave no doubt in your minds concerning the guilt of the prisoner. I must now give you a few facts in explanation of this case. You may not know, gentlemen of the Jury, that in the midst of the profound peace which this glorious empire now enjoys; in spite of the liberty which is the proud possession of every Briton, whatever his rank or fortune; in spite of the eager competition and steadily and swiftly rising wages for the services of the workmen of all grades, so that such a thing as want of employment is unheard of amongst us; in spite of the fact that the sick, the infirm, the old, the unfortunate, are well clothed and generously fed and housed in noble buildings, miscalled, I am free to confess, workhouses, since the affectionate assiduity of our noble Poor Law takes every care that if the inmates are of no use to themselves they shall at least be of no use to any one else,—in spite of all these and many kindred blessings of civilisation, there are, as you may not know, a set of wicked persons in the country, mostly, it is true, belonging to that class of non-respectable foreigners of whom my lord spoke with such feeling, taste, and judgment, who are plotting, rather with insolent effrontery than crawling secrecy, to overturn the sacred edifice of property, the foundation of our hearths, our

homes, and our altars. Gentlemen of the Jury, it might be thought that such madmen might well be left to themselves, that no one would listen to their ravings, and that the glorious machinery of Justice need no more be used against them than a crusader’s glittering battle-axe need be brought forward to exterminate the nocturnal pest of our couches. This indeed has been, I must say unfortunately, the view taken by our rulers till quite recently. But times have changed, gentlemen; for need I tell you, who in your character of shrewd and successful men of business understand human nature so well, that in this imperfect world we must not reckon on the wisdom, the good sense of those around us. Therefore you will scarcely be surprised to hear that these monstrous, wicked, and disreputable doctrines are becoming popular; that murder and rapine are eagerly looked forward to under such names as Socialism, revolution, co-operation, profit-sharing, and the like; and that the leaders of the sect are dangerous to the last degree. Such a leader you now see before you. Now I must tell you that these Socialist or Co-operationist incendiaries are banded together into three principal societies, and that the prisoner at the bar belongs to one if not two of these, and is striving, hitherto in vain, for admittance into the third and most dangerous. The Federationist League and the International Federation, to one or both of which this man belongs, are dangerous and malevolent associations; but they do not apply so strict a test of membership as the third body, the Fabian Democratic Parliamentary League, which exacts from every applicant a proof of some special deed of ferocity before admission, the most guilty of their champions veiling their crimes under the specious pretexts of vegetarianism, the scientific investigation of supernatural phenomena, vulgarly called ghost-catching, political economy, and other occult and dull studies. But though not yet admitted a neophyte of this body, the prisoner has taken one necessary step towards initiation, in learning the special language spoken at all the meetings of these incendiaries: for this body differs from the other two in using a sort of cant language or thieves’ Latin, so as to prevent their deliberations from becoming known outside their unholy brotherhood. Examples of this will be given you by the witnesses, which I will ask you to note carefully as indications of the dangerous and widespread nature of the conspiracy. I call Constable Potlegoff.

[Constable Potlegoff sworn.

Mr. H. Have you seen the prisoner before?

Pot. Yes.

Mr. H. Where?

Pot. At Beadon Road, Hammersmith.

Mr. H. What was he doing there?

Pot. He was standing on a stool surrounded by a dense crowd.

Mr. H. What else?

Pot. He was speaking to them in a loud tone of voice.

Mr. H. You say it was a dense crowd: how dense? Would it have been easy for any one to pass through the crowd?

Pot. It would have been impossible. I could not have got anywhere near him without using my truncheon—which I have a right to do.

Mr. H. Is Beadon Road a frequented thoroughfare?

Pot. Very much so, especially on a Sunday morning.

Mr. H. Could you hear what he said?

Pot. I could and I did. I made notes of what he said.

Mr. H. Can you repeat anything he said?

Pot. I can. He urged the crowd to disembowel all the inhabitants of London. (Sensation.)

Mr. H. Can you remember the exact words he used?

Pot. I can. He said, “Those of this capital should have no bowels. You workers must see to having this done.”

J. N. Stop a little; it is important that I should get an accurate note of this (writing). Those who live in this metropolis must have their bowels drawn out—is that right?

Pot. This capital, he said, my lord.

J. N. (writing). This capital. Well, well, well! I cannot guess why the prisoner should be so infuriated against this metropolis. Go on, Mr. Hungary.

Mr. H. (to witness). Can you remember any other words he said?

Pot. Yes; later on he said, “I hope to see the last Londoner hung in the guts of the last member of Parliament.”

J. N. Londoner, eh?

Pot. Yes, my lord; that is, he meant Londoner.

J. N. You mustn’t say what he meant, you must say what you heard him say.

Pot. Capital, my lord.

J. N. I see; (writing). The last dweller in the metropolis.

Pot. Capital, my lord.

J. N. Yes, exactly; that’s just what I’ve written—this metropolis.

Pot. He said capital, my lord.

Mr. H. Capital, the witness says, my lord.

J. N. Well, doesn’t that mean the same thing? I tell you I’ve got it down accurately.

J. F. (who has been looking from one to the other with an amused

smile, now says as if he were thinking aloud:) Well, I am damned! what a set of fools!

J. N. What is that you said, sir? Have you no sense of decency, sir? Are you pleading, or are you not pleading? I have a great mind to have you removed.

J. F. (laughing). Oh, by all means remove me! I didn’t ask to be here. Only look here, I could set you right in three minutes if you only let me.

J. N. Do you want to ask the witness anything? If not, sir, hold your tongue, sir. No, sir; don’t speak, sir. I can see that you are meditating bullying me; let me advise you, sir, not to try it.

Mr. H. (to Pot.) Was that the only occasion on which you heard him speaking?

Pot. No; I have heard him speaking in Hyde Park and saying much the same thing, and calling Mr. Justice Nupkins a damned old fool!

J. N. (writing). “A damned old fool!” Anything else?

Pot. A blasted old cheat!

J. N. (writing). “A blasted old cheat!” (Cheerfully) Go on.

Pot. Another time he was talking in a public-house with two men whom I understood to be members of the Fabian League. He was having words with them, and one of them said, “Ah, but you forget the rent of ability”; and he said, “Damn the rent of ability, I will smash their rents of abilities.”

Mr. H. Did you know what that meant?

Pot. No; not then.

Mr. H. But you do now?

Pot. Yes; for I got into conversation with one of them, who told me that it meant the brain, the skull.

J. N. (writing). “The rent of ability is a cant phrase in use among these people signifying the head.”

Mr. H. Well?

Pot. Well, then they laughed and said, Well, as far as he is concerned, smash it when you can catch it.

Mr. H. Did you gather whose head it was that they were speaking of?

Pot. Yes; his lordship’s.

Mr. H. (impressively and plaintively). And why?

Pot. Because they said he had jugged their comrades like a damned old smoutch!

J. N. Jugged?

Pot. Put them in prison, my lord.

J. N. (Aside: That Norwich affair.) Wait! I must write my self down a smoutch—smoutch? no doubt a foreign word.

Mr. H. What else have you heard the prisoner say.

Pot. I have heard him threaten to make her Majesty the Queen take in washing.

J. N. Plain washing?

Pot. Yes, my lord.

J. N. Not fancy work?

Pot. No, my lord.

A Juryman. Have you heard him suggest any means of doing all this?

Pot. Yes, sir; for I have attended meetings of his association in disguise, when they were plotting means of exciting the populace.

Mr. H. In which he took part?

Pot. In which he took part.

Mr. H. You heard him arranging with others for a rising of the lower orders?

Pot. Yes, sir; and on the occasion, when I met him in the public house, I got into conversation with him, and he told me that his society numbered upwards of two millions. (J. F. grins.)

The Juryman (anxiously). Armed?

Pot. He said there were arms in readiness for them.

Mr. H. Did you find out where?

Pot. Yes; at the premises of the Federationist League, 13 Farringdon Road.

Mr. H. Did you search for them there?

Pot. Yes.

Mr. H. Did you find them?

Pot. No; we found nothing but printing-stock and some very shabby furniture, and the office-boy, and three compositors.

Mr. H. Did you arrest them?

Pot. No; we thought it better not to do so.

Mr. H. Did they oppose your search?

Pot. No.

Mr. H. What did they do?

Pot. Well, they took grinders at me and said, “Sold!”

Mr. H. Meaning, doubtless, that they had had an inkling of your search and had sold the arms?

Pot. So we gathered.

J. N. (writing). “They did not find the arms because they had been sold.”

Mr. H. Well, Constable, that will do.

J. N. Prisoner, do you wish to ask the Constable any questions?

J. F. Well, I don’t know. I strongly suspect that you have made up your mind which way the jury shall make up their

minds, so it isn’t much use. However, I will ask him three questions. Constable Potlegoff, at how many do you estimate the dense crowd at Beadon Road, when I obstructed?

Pot. Upwards of a thousand.

J. F. H’m; a good meeting! How many were present at that meeting of the Socialist League where we were plotting to make the Queen take in washing?

Pot. Upwards of two hundred.

J. F. Lastly, when I told you in the public-house that we were two millions strong, were you drunk or sober?

Pot. Sober.

J. F. H’m! It’s a matter of opinion perhaps as to when a man is drunk. Was I sober?

Pot. No; drunk.

J. F. H’m! So I should think. That’ll do, Mr. Potlegoff; I won’t muddle your “Rent-of-Ability” any more. Good bye.

[Sergeant Sticktoit called.

Mr. H. Have you heard the prisoner speaking?

St. Yes.

Mr. H. Where?

St. At Beadon Road amongst other places: that’s where I took him.

Mr. H. What was he doing?

St. Standing on a stool, speaking

Mr. H. Yes; speaking: to how many people?

St. About a thousand.

Mr. H. Could you get near him?

St. Nowhere near.

Mr. H. Well, can you tell me what he was saying?

St. Well, he said that all the rich people and all the shopkeepers (glancing at the Jury) should be disemboweled and flayed alive, and that all arrangements had been made for doing it, if only the workingmen would combine. He then went into details as to where various detachments were to meet in order to take the Bank of England and capture the Queen. He also threatened to smash Mr. Justice Nupkins’ “Rent-of-Ability,” by which I understood him to mean his skull.

J. N. His—my brains, you mean!

St. No, my lord; for he said that you—that he—hadn’t any brains.

Mr. H. Did you find any documents or papers on him when he was arrested?

St. Yes; he had a bundle of papers with him.

Mr. H. Like this? (showing a number of “Commonweal”)

St. Yes.

J. F. (Aside: Two quires that I couldn’t sell, damn it!)

Mr. H. We put this paper in, my lord. Your lordship will notice the vileness of the incendiarism contained in it. I specially draw your attention to this article by one Bax, who as you will see, is familiar with the use of dynamite to a fearful extent. (J. N. reads, muttering “Curse of Civilisation.”) Gentlemen of the Jury that is our case.

J. N. (looking up from “Commonweal”). Prisoner at the bar, what have you to say? Do you call witnesses?

J. F. Yes, I call witnesses, but I haven’t much to say. I am accused of obstruction, but I shan’t argue that point, as I know that I should do myself no good by proving that I had not obstructed. I am accused of being a Socialist and a revolutionist. Well, if you, my lord, and you, gentlemen of the Jury, and the classes to which you belong, knew what Socialism means—and I fear you take some pains not to—you would also know what the condition of things is now, and how necessary revolution is. So if it is a crime to be a Socialist and a revolutionist, I have committed that crime; but the charge against me is that I am a criminal fool, which I am not. And my witnesses will show you, gentlemen of the Jury, that the evidence brought against me is a mass of lies of the silliest concoction. That is, they will show it you if you are sensible men and understand your position as jurymen, which I almost fear you do not. Well, it will not be the first time that the judge has usurped the function of the jury, and I would go to prison cheerfully enough if I could hope it would be the last.

[He pauses as if to listen. Confused noises and the sound of the “Marseillaise” a long way off. (Aside: What is it, I wonder?—No; it’s nothing.)

J. N. Prisoner, what is the matter with you? You seem to be intoxicated; and indeed I hope you are, for nothing else could excuse the brutality of your language.

J. F. Oh, don’t put yourself out, my lord. You’ve got the whip-hand of me, you know. I thought I heard an echo; that’s all. Well, I will say no more, but call the Archbishop of Canterbury.

[Enter the Archbishop, who is received with much reverence and attention. He is sworn.

J. F. Your Grace, were you present at the meeting at Beadon Road where I was arrested?

Arch. Yes—yes, I was there. Strange to say, it was on a Sunday morning. I needed some little refreshment from the toils of ecclesiastical office. So I took a cab, I admit under the

pretext of paying a visit to my brother of London; and having heard the fame of these Socialist meetings, I betook me to one of them for my instruction and profit: for I hold that in these days even those that are highest in the Church should interest themselves in social matters.

J. F. Well, my lord, were you pleased with what you saw and heard?

Arch. I confess, sir, that I was disappointed.

J. F. Why, my lord?

Arch. Because of the extreme paucity of the audience.

J. F. Were there a thousand persons present?

Arch. (severely). I must ask you not to jest with me in the sacredly respectable precincts of a Court of Justice. To the best of my remembrance, there were present at the commencement of your discourse but three persons exclusive of yourself. That fact is impressed on my mind from the rude and coarse words which you said when you mounted your stool or rostrum to the friend who accompanied you and had under his arm a bundle of a very reprehensible and ribald print called the Commonweal, one of which he, I may say, forced me to purchase.

J. F. Well, what did I say?

Arch. You said, “I say, Bill! damned hard lines to have to speak to a lamp-post, a kid, and an old buffer”—by the latter vulgarity indicating myself, as I understand.

J. F. Yes, my lord, so it is. Now let me ask you, if that matters, is Beadon Road a thronged thoroughfare?

Arch. On the contrary; at least on the morning on which I was there, there was a kind of Sabbath rest about it, scarcely broken by the harangue of yourself, sir.

J. F. You heard what I said, my lord?

Arch. I did, and was much shocked at it.

J. F. Well, did I say anything about bowels?

Arch. I regret to say that you did.

J. F. Do you remember the words I used?

Arch. Only too well. You said, but at great length, and with much embroidery of language more than questionable, that capital had no bowels for the worker, nor owners of capital either; and that since no one else would be kind to them, the workers must be kind to themselves and take the matter into their own hands.

J. N. (making notes). Owners of the capital; workman must take the matter—take the matter—into their own hands.

J. F. Well, I have no more questions to ask your Grace.

Mr. H. With many excuses, your Grace, I will ask you a question.

Arch. Certainly, Mr Hungary.

Mr. H. You say that the audience was very small; that was at first; but did it not increase as time went on?

Arch. Yes; an itinerant vendor of ices drew up his stall there, and two policemen—these gentlemen—strolled in, and some ten or more others stood round us before the orator had finished.

Mr. H. (Aside: H’m! old beggar will be so very specific. Let’s try him as to the sedition.) (To Arch.) My lord, you said that you were shocked at what the prisoner said: what was the nature of his discourse?

Arch. I regret to have to say that it was a mass of the most frightful incendiarism, delivered with an occasional air of jocularity and dry humour that made my flesh creep. Amidst the persistent attacks on property he did not spare other sacred things. He even made an attack on my position, stating (wrongly) the amount of my moderate stipend. Indeed, I think he recognised me, although I was partially disguised.

J. F. (Aside: True for you, old Benson, or else how could I have subpœnaed you?)

Mr. H. I thank your Grace: that will do.

J. F. I now call Lord Tennyson.

[Lord Tennyson sworn.

J. F. My lord, have you been present, in disguise, at a meeting of the Socialist League in 13 Farringdon Road?

Lord T. What’s that to you? What do you want to know for? Yes, I have, if it comes to that.

J. F. Who brought you there?

Lord T. A policeman: one Potlegoff. I thought he was a Russian by his name, but it seems he is an Englishman—and a liar. He said it would be exciting: so I went.