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?