As the suffering deepened with the darkening months, the meetings of the unemployed grew in number, and the murmurs of discontent became louder.  The Social Democratic Federation carried on an outdoor agitation, not without making blunders, being composed of human beings, but with abundant courage and self-sacrifice.  The policy of breaking up Socialist meetings went on while other meetings were winked at, and John Williams, a fiery speaker, but a man with a record of pathetic struggle and patient heroism, was imprisoned for two months for speaking in the open air, and so nearly starved in gaol that he came out with his health broken for life.

1887 dawned, the year that was to close so stormily, and Socialists everywhere were busying themselves on behalf of the unemployed, urging vestries to provide remunerative work for those applying for relief, assailing the Local Government Board with practicable proposals for utilising the productive energies of the unemployed, circulating suggestions to municipalities and other local representative bodies, urging remedial measures.  A four days’ oral debate with Mr. Foote, and a written debate with Mr. Bradlaugh, occupied some of my energies, and helped in the process of education to which public opinion was being subjected.  Both these debates were largely circulated as pamphlets.  A series of afternoon debates between representative speakers was organised at South Place Institute, and Mr. Corrie Grant and myself had a lively discussion, I affirming “That the existence of classes who live upon unearned incomes is detrimental to the welfare of the community, and ought to be put an end to by legislation.”  Another debate—­in this very quarrelsome spring of 1887—­was a written one in the National Reformer between the Rev. G.F.  Handel Rowe and myself on the proposition, “Is Atheism logically tenable, and is there a satisfactory Atheistic System for the guidance of Human Conduct.”  And so the months went on, and the menace of misery grew louder and louder, till in September I find myself writing:  “This one thing is clear—­Society must deal with the unemployed, or the unemployed will deal with Society.  Stormier and stormier becomes the social outlook, and they at least are not the worst enemies of Society who seek to find some way through the breakers by which the ship of the Commonwealth may pass into quiet waters.”

Some amusement turned up in the shape of a Charing Cross Parliament, in which we debated with much vigour the “burning questions” of the day.  We organised a compact Socialist party, defeated a Liberal Government, took the reins of office, and—­after a Queen’s Speech in which her Majesty addressed her loyal Commons with a plainness of speech never before (or since) heard from the throne—­we brought in several Bills of a decidedly heroic character.  G. Bernard Shaw, as President of the Local Government Board, and I, as Home Secretary, came in for a good deal of criticism in connection with various drastic