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ONE PENNY.
JOHN E. WILLIAMS,
AND THE EARLY HISTORY OF THE
Social - Democratic Federation ;
With his own Account of the Month's Imprisonment he
SUFFERED FOR SPEAKING IN
DoD STREET, LlMEHOUSE.
1886.
Published at the Modern Press, 13, Paternoster Row, London.
ORN 27 years ago within a short distance of the spot where he
has been so
imprisoned and
John
BWilliams has unjustlyhis earliest years shamefully maltreated,the world
from
had to battle with
as an unskilled labourer. Left as an orphan when a mere child,
the education he possesses he owes almost entirely to his own
industry and self-denial. Out of his slender wages, earned by
work which has often lasted for sixteen and seventeen hours a
day, he has always spent far more than he could really spare
on books and journals.
Returning to his ill-furnished single room
�2
on Saturday night, weary and worn, he has devoted his leisure
time either to earnestly putting forward his opinions in working
men’s clubs, or to getting up the facts for his next day’s open-air
addresses. This has gone on for nearly twelve years; and neither
poverty nor sickness nor persecution has ever checked him in his
persistent endeavours to improve the lot of his fellow men, to stir them
from the apathy into which they have been sunk, and to lay before them
those truths of Socialism which now, in great part owing to his courage
and tenacity, are making way in every quarter of England.
It is true that John Williams does not speak with mincing accent and
delicate pronunciation ; true also that he does not always use his words
in their right meaning, or stop to weigh the full force of his phrases.
But his rough and homely diction, his vigorous illustrations drawn
from facts which have been only too real for him, go right home to the
hearts of his audience, and have roused feelings among the workers
which may yet have their outcome in deeds. A man who has been
driven to fight at the dock-gates for a job at starvation wages, who has
known what it is to be homeless and workless for weeks together, and
yet has never lost his independence or self-respect, is surely worthy of all
the honour that can be paid to him, not only by his fellow-Socialists,
but by every man and woman who can appreciate honesty and un
swerving fidelity to the cause of the people.
Since he became one of the founders of the Social-Democratic
Federation in January, 1881, John Williams has seen an advance in
the cause of Social Democracy, such as he could barely have hoped to
witness in his life-time. As an active worker in the Anti-Coercion and
Anti-Crimes Act movement, as a persistent organiser and agitator with
every association that strove for the nationalisation of land and capital,
as well as for the most advanced political measures, John Williams is
known to every working-men’s club in London, and in many provincial
towns. Even during the four weeks during which he has been in gaol,
he has the satisfaction of knowing that he has done more than all his
comrades to bring our great cause before the workers of England and
Europe.
Though for many years John Williams had been working both
independently and with the most thorough-going political bodies then in
existence, his first connection with an avowedly Socialist organisation
was in 1879, when a few London working men, with the aid of some of
those who had been forced to take refuge in England from the tyranny
of their own governments, had established the International Club in Rose
Street, Soho.
In 1880 the outlook was dark and dreary for all who had the welfare
of the workers at heart. A Liberal Government had been returned
to power with an overwhelming majority, which was to be the
“great instrument” for fulfilling the high-sounding promises of the
Midlothian speeches. Those who took the name while abandoning the
ideas of Cobbett and Lovatt, so far forgot the old meaning of the word
Radical as to pledge themselves to the infallibility of a party leader who
had only a few months before himself denounced the claim of any human
being to infallibility. In London there were a small body of working
men who were not tied to party but devoted to principle, not blinded by
the adoration of any man, but earnest in forcing on their fellows the
discussion of genuine measures for the real of material and moral
improvement of the people. Few in numbers, and scantily provided
with money, they were unable to effect much by themselves, and appealed
in vain to the Radical Workmen’s Clubs, who had completely forgotten
�3
|he teachings of the noble men of the last generation who had gone down
to unremembered graves, broken and disheartened by the failure of the
great revolutionary movement of 1848. The few who were mindful of
the lessons of the past, and determined to be no longer the tools of the
tricksters of the two political factions of the great party of Privilege,
which was still the only one represented even in the new House of
Commons—these few hailed with surprise and joy the offer of aid from a
few middle-class men for the formation of a new organisation and the
commencement of a vigorous campaign in favour of genuine Demo
cratic principles. A memorable meeting indeed was the first at which
were met men who had battled with enthusiasm for the victory of the
Liberal party in the delusive hope that thus would the workers come by
their own again; others who with truer instinct had seen the wolf
through his sheep’s clothing, amongst them some older men who had
worked and fought side by side with Ernest Jones and Frost, William
Lovett and Bronterre O’Brien and once again dared to hope that the
workers might achieve their own emancipation. At the first meeting at
the Westminster Palace Hotel, Joseph Cowen was in the chair and there
Professor E. S. Beesly in vain poured cold water on the movement, by
urging that the time had not come for starting a working class move
ment independent of the Liberal Party. In spite of this the Democratic
Federation was founded on the most advanced grounds on which
common agreement could be obtained. Work began in earnest, and
the whole world soon knew that after a generation of apathy the workers
of Great Britain were earnest in the determination to obtain control of
their country, in the interest of the labouring classes alone. That the
ruling classes appreciated the full significance of the fact was shown by
the persistent vilification heaped on the movement, and its originators,
by the Liberal press. The kindest word said for it was that a knot of
mad men had joined together to be scattered again in a week. If the
wishes of the prophets could have secured the fulfilment of their pro
phecies the Democratic Federation would not have flurished as it has
done. In spite of the detraction of the press of all shades of opinion the,
work continued, and a representative conference was called to discuss
the programme, H. M Hyndman being in the chair. The more ad
vanced clauses were enthusiastically greeted by the many working men
present but proved too much for some of the middle-class men. No
sooner had a majority of the delegates present voted in favour of in
cluding “ Legislative Independence for Ireland ” than Professor Beesly,
the ardent supporter of the workers in the evil days of Trade Unions,
moved a resolution declaring the time not ripe for an independent
working-class party. He failed, and the meeting carried the programme
which was unanimously adopted at crowded meetings in nearly every
large town in England, and, dissolved, pledged to earnest endeavour to
overthrow middle-class rule in these islands.
There was hard work before them. When Mr. Gladstone came into
power in May, 1880, famine was abroad in Ireland and had it not been
for the relief afforded by the Mansion House Committee supplemented
by the Land League of which Michael Davitt was the founder, the trap
coffin of 1847 would have been at work again. Mr. Gladstone’s govern
ment made provision for famine according to the well established pre
cedent of English political parties. The leaders of the Irish people
were to be prosecuted for daring to assert that the Land was the
People’s; Mr. Parnell and others to be tried for sedition, and a Govern
ment prosecution to fail for the first time in Irish history.1 On January
6th, 1881, Parliament opened an Irish session—Coercion first and Land
�4
Reform afterwards. The Democratic Federation strove hard against
the suppression of constitutional government in the sister isle. Night
after night meetings were held and John Williams with the rest returned
to his work in the morning, only to come out again in the evening at the
street corner or in a public hall to protest against Coercion for the
unhappy country that had struggled in vain against tyranny for centuries.
The London Workmen’s Club (with the exception of the Patriotic
Club) were silent, and the Coercion Bill of 1881 was passed after such a
dogged struggle as Parliament had never before witnessed without a
word of protest from the English Radicals, the very men who are
still posturing as the friends of freedom.
Besides their struggle against Whig tyranny in Ireland, the members
of the Democratic Federation were not behind in advocating the
interests of the working classes of England and all other countries. A
large and enthusiastic meeting was held in London in favour of the
Abolition of the House of Lords soon after the formation of the organisa
tion. In 1882 H. M. Hyndman reprinted the lecture delivered in 1797
by Thomas Spence, of Newcastle, entitled “ A plea for the Nationalisa
tion of the Land,” and in 1882, after the meeting of the Trade Union
Congress in London, a large audience thronged St. Andrew’s Hall in
Newman-street to hear (for the first time since the days ofthe Chartists)
the right of the people to collective ownership of the soil of their country,
championed by the same men who were constantly being held up to
execration as Tories in disguise by the Liberal and Radical press.
When the Russian despot met a richly merited fate at the hands of
the noble band of men and women who only asked for freedom of speech
and press, the Liberal Government, conscious that Alexander’s crimes
against his subjects were not blacker than their own against the liberties
of the Irish nation, seized the German revolutionary paper Freiheit, and
arrested its editor, Johann Most, on account of the publication of an
article applauding the Nihilists for the execution of the Czar. Some of
the Englishmen at the Rose-street Club, headed by Frank Kitz, brought
out several issues of an English Freiheit. The first contained a transla
tion of the article which was made the pretext of Most’s imprisonment.
It was, of course, “boycotted” by the newsagents, but John Williams
stood outside the Old Bailey and sold large numbers of the paper while
Most was being tried within the Court for the same offence. No notice
was taken of this daring challenge to the Liberal Government, which
was evidently afraid to deal out the same injustice to an Englishman as
to a foreign refugee. Public meetings in defence of Most were also
organised by the same men. At one of these, on Peckham Rye, the
Radicals combined with Tories, opposed the speakers, and were only
prevented by force from seizing the platform and thus aiding thenmasters to suppress freedom of speech.
In the autumn of 1881 a bye election took place at Tyrone, and the
Rev. Harold Rylett, a Nonconformist minister, who strongly sympathised
with the Irish people, was put forward as a candidate against a
Liberal hack. The handbill issued by the Democratic Federation or
this occasion denounced the tyranny and treachery of the Liberal
Government in so uncomprosing a fashion that many of the so-called
Radicals who had hitherto accorded the Federation a half-hearted sup
port now withdrew, and have never since ceased to protest that a body
of men who could speak so plainly of despotism when adopted by Mr.
Gladstone must be working in the Conservative interest.
In 1881, also a deputation from the Democratic Federation crossed
St. George's‘Channel with the object of letting their countrymen at
�5
home know the true state of affairs in Ireland—among them H. M.
Hyndman and many others. After three weeks’ stay they returned
and addressed enormous audiences throughout London and the
provinces, besides issuing thousands of pamphlets descriptive of their
experiences and horrible sufferings of the Irish peasantry. Lectures
were being given throughout these months at the workingmen’s clubs
in the Metropolis by H. M. Hyndman, Herbert Burrows, John Williams,
James F. Murray, and many others, and the truths of Socialism being
expounded, and the frauds and fallacies of the different political reformers
vigorously exposed. Indeed, the meat offered was too strong for the
weak stomach of certain Radical clubs from which the lecturers were
religiously excluded. Newcastle, Liverpool, and other provincial towns
were visited and branches formed.
The energies of the Federation were, however, destined to be turned
for a time into another channel. The failure of the Liberal policy in
Ireland was too obvious for concealment. The Land League had
become all-powerful. No rent could be obtained by the landlords, and
the land which was cleared by wholesale evictions was left on their
hands owing to the strength of the popular organisation. Mr. Forster’s
“ village ruffians and midnight marauders ” increased in numbersand
determination in spite of the fact that in every week of his administra
tion scores of men of upright character and stainless lives were thrown
into gaol on mere suspicion, without accusation, investigation, evidence
or proof. The unheeded warnings of the men and women
of the Federation were amply fulfilled. The Coercion policy was
an absolute failure. Suddenly a change was announced. The prison
doors were to be unbarred, the Land Act was to be completed, and
“ Buckshot ” Forster recalled in disgrace. But one Sunday morning
London awoke to learn that on the previous evening (6th May, 1882) the
new Chief Secretary for Ireland, Lord Frederick Cavendish, with Mr.
F. H. Burke, had been stabbed on the high road through Phoenix Park.
The horror of the public knew no bounds. Everywhere employers of
labour began to discharge their Irish hands. Almost every Englishman
denounced the whole Irish nation, forgetting that the responsibility for
this, as for every one of the grossly exaggerated outrages which were
reported in the English press, lay with the Government, which had
wrested from Ireland all hope of redress for the wrongs of her people by
peaceful means. The popular revulsion against the Irish enabled the
Government to introduce into Parliament a measure of Coercion frankly
declared to be unparallelled even in the long and bloody annals of the
despotic repression exercised for generations by the English garrison in
Ireland. Nor were the liberties of the Irish alone suppressed, but the
extension of the Alien Act for England and Scotland placed the freedom
of Britons as well as foreigners at the mercy of policemen and magis
trates, and abolished the right of asylum, which had placed our country
in the proud position of being the refuge sought by Mazzini, Kossuth,
and the hosts of indomitable rebels who had sought on our shores
security from the brutal tyranny of continental despotisms. Such was
the rancour expressed against the Irish by all sections of English opinion
that it required immense courage and devotion for a handtul of enthu
siasts to stand by the principles of freedom after the Phoenix Park
tragedy. But the men of the Democratic Federation had not lightly
pledged themselves to work for the emancipation of the workers of the
world. Nothing daunted, they threw themselves with determination
into the tremendous task of rousing London to a sense of the enormities
about to be perpetrated by the Liberal Government, which had already
I
’■■
■
% 'A-.,.-
-• -TAkC*
�6
shown that it was ready, when in office, to betray every principle on
which they had traded for popularity two short years before. It was
determined to call a monster meeting in Hyde Park on Sunday, nth
J une, 1882. The offices of the Federation were thronged from morning
till night with the members, preparing banners, making up rosettes
drawing up handbills. The following was issued in thousands :_ Fellow. Citizens,
Once more the Liberal Government, backed up by Tory reactionists has been tike
to every principle of freedom. Another Coercion Bill is being forced through Parliament
SLX7inytoenpChmn anihevT
T Uttedy failed- The Public horror at the
£ tn
h £h rXi P^rk haS been used to establish a despotism worse than any
thing known m these Islands since the days of the infamous Star Chamber.
*
Freedom
Every
Freedom of the Press is at an End
of the Person is at the Mercy of the Paid
Informer
The Right of Public Meeting is Suppressed,
Trial by Jury is Replaced ‘by a Nominee Court,
Honest Man who is Out after Dusk may be Thrown into
Prison by the Police.
These powers, given for three whole years, may, within that period be in the hands of
the present Opposition. As it is, they are to be used by a nobleman, best known to Ito
own countrymen by his crafty seizure of the common land of the people. All this is
done, we are told, to put down secret societies and to check outrage.
> Fellow Citizens, tyranny as surely breeds secret societies as unjust evictions and class
greed engender outrage. Suppress open agitation, and desperate secret conspiracies
always follow. Not one of the great military powers of Europe, Germany, Russia,
Austria, trance, but has tried stringent measures without success. The cordial aid of
the mass of the people can alone help to restore peace and prosperity in Ireland. Do
you think the suppression of all freedom will bind the two peoples together now or will
stren then your own liberties in the future ? In view, therefore, of the shameful con
tinued action of the governing classes, we call upon the workers of London to show bv
meeting in thousands in Hyde Park, on Sunday, the nth June, that they have neither
part nor lot in this tyranny, and that they are now, as in the past, opposed to the
injustice which is being done in their name,
In addition to this it now also became necessary to reach
the people by open-air meetings at the corners of the street, a method
of propaganda which has since been utilised by the Federation with a
persistence and success that has extorted the admiration of its bitterest
opponents. It was arranged that the procession should assemble at
Trafalgar Square, at 3.30 p.m. Long before that hour crowds had
assembled, in spite of the heavy rain, and it was estimated by the hostile
papers that not less than 80,000 persons were present when the pro
cession moved off, headed by bands and interspersed with banners
inscribed with such mottoes as “ Force is no Remedy,” “Labour makes
Capital, Capital robs it, and others showing the number of evictions
that had taken place during the year. The fact that comparatively few
Irishmen were present showed that the Federation had roused the mass
of the working men of London in spite of the apathy of the Liberal
clubs. The vast concourse streamed into Hyde Park where it was
addressed from six platforms, every speaker being greeted with enthusi
astic applause. Before the resolution, denouncing the action of the
Government, was put, amendments were asked for but in no instance
wrete the supporters of Coercion daring enough to proclaim themselves,
and the resolutions were carried by acclamation. Thus ended one of
the largest demonstrations held in our generation m London and one
that was thoroughly genuine in its character, very little money being
expended.
Shortly after another meeting was held in Trafalgar-square to protest
against the abolition of the Right of Asylum. Both these protests were
unheeded by a Cabinet which trusted to the forgetfulness of the nation
to save it from the obloquy with which it will be regarded by future
generations.
�Comparatively few of the original founders of the Democratic Federa
tion had' remained faithful to the only organisation in Great Britain
which had through good and evil repute steadfastly held by the principles
which alone can destroy the system of wage-labour and class robbery
which causes our social ills. But if their numbers were reduced, the
faithful few now knew each other and started the work of education and
organisation with a will* Their rapid success fairly frightened the up
holders of class domination who have constantly striven to distract the
attention of the toiling millions from Socialist theories by advertising
various nostrums as a panacea for poverty. It has been the proud boast
of the Democratic Federation that they have met and defeated every
such attempt.
The first was made by Samuel Morley, M.P., who fathered a scheme
invented by the Rev. W. L. Blackley, for preventing pauperism by
fining the workers in early youth. In anticipation of one of their meet
ings the following handbill was issued by the Federation :—
Fellow Citizens,
A PUBLIC MEETING will be held in the HOLBORN TOWN HALL, on Tues
Next, December 19th, at Eight p.m., in favour of the Prevention of Pauperism by
Compulsory Insurance out of the insufficient wages of the Working Classes. We ask
you to be present on that occasion, and show the wealthy gentlemen who want to shift
on to your shoulders the cost of your maintenance when you have worked yourselves
into sickness and disease for their profit, what you think of this new scheme of parsons
and employers for the benefit of the rich.
“ The Prevention of Pauperism,” Fellow Citizens, which they now urge you to under
take, means the protection of their own pockets. If they really want to prevent
Pauperism, let these self-seekers give up trading upon your bitter competition for star
vation wages. There are hundreds of thousands in this rich England of ours living in
Squalor and misery to-day in order that landowners and capitalists may flourish in
In luxury and ease. All men and women who work for a master give back to their em
ployers the value of their wages in the first two or three hours of the day’s work. All
the rest of the production is taken for nothing by the classes who live in idleness on the
fruits of your toil. These classes now call upon you who labour to nullify the ancient
laws of this kingdom, which force the rich to provide a scanty pittance for the poor,
and to save their vast riches untouched while forcing from the poor a bit of their daily
bread.
Look, Fellow Citizens, how the produce of your toil is divided :—
Total annual production of United Kingdom .
.
. ^1,200,000,000
Taken by Landlords, Capitalists, and Middle Class
.
900,000,000
Left for the Producers
.......
300,000,000
Study these figures, and then adopt, if you can, proposals for further robbery.
Prevention of Pauperism ! Tell these wealthy hypocrites to give up their profitable
monopolies; tell those who spend on cigars more than you get in wages—tell them that
Compulsory Insurance must be carried out at their expense.
Fellow Citizens, there would be no pauperism, there would be no unemployed, if the
means of production were used for the benefit of all instead of being handled for the
the enrichment of a class.
day
Speakers from the Federation attended, and urged on a crowded
meeting an amendment declaring that the resumption by the workers of
the control of the means of production was the only preventive of
pauperism. This was carried by a large majority, and so hostile was
the temper of the meeting to the conveners, that these reverend and
worthy gentlemen have never since dared to call a public meeting in
London.
Early in the year 1883 a series of conferences were arranged at the
offices of the Federation, in which the various points of a thorough
Socialist programme were discussed and agreed on. After the annual
conference and the strengthening of the Executive by the election of
IT. H. Champion, J. L. Joynes, James Macdonald and William Morris,
a manifesto entitled “ Socialism made plain ” was issued, and over
50,000 copies circulated in a very short time. A recent re-issue of this
�8'
trenchant pamphlet shows that it has lost none of its power, and it will
become a historical document as the first declaration by a body of
working men in England—the very lair of capitalism—of their determina
tion to form an international combination for the overthrow of the system
•of class robbery. It called forth the invectives of the press as usual,
and was discussed at great length in the Quarterly Review.
Meanwhile throughout the summer months a band of trained speakers
had taken up positions in the parks and open spaces round London
every Sunday, and carried on the work of education by explaining the
truths of Socialism on an open platform. Thus occurred the first con
flict with the authorities, who endeavoured to suppress the right of public
meeting on Peckham Rye and Southwark Park. In spite of threats
and summonses H. M. Hyndman, John Williams, H. H. Champion,
H. Quelch, and others spoke Sunday after Sunday on the debate
able ground, and forced the Metropolitan Board of Works to give way
by sheer persistence. During the autumn, open-air meetings were held
regularly in the miserable streets of East London, and the enthusiastic
reception Socialism everywhere received roused the middle classes to
the fact that the apathy of the starving millions was due not to content,
but to despair, was but the heavy silence which might be followed by
the roaring hurricane. They resorted to the tactics which had served
them so well in the past. Peers and philanthropists hastened with
suspicious zeal to advocate state-aided emigration, as men wish to
remove barrels of gunpowder from a magazine in which sparks of fire
were blowing about. The following resolution was passed by the Execu
tive Council on August 7th, 1883 :—
RESOLVED.—
That this Meeting of the Executive Council of the Democratic Federation is strongly
opposed to State-Aided Emigration as unnecessary and harmful, and pledges the
Federation to agitate against the measure for the following reasons:—
1 — That the vast extent of uncultivated and waste Land in Great Britain and Ireland
should first be colonised and developed with the funds that would be spent on emigration.
2.—That Nationalisation of the Land should precede State-Aided Emigration, seeing
that in the opinion of the highest Agricultural authorities, Sir John Lawes, Sir James
Caird, and Lord Leicester, at least twice the amount of labour might be employed pro
fitably, even upon the Land now in cultivation, and twice the present quantity of Food
raised from it but for the restrictions imposed by landlord-made law.
3-—That the present production of wealth in Great Britain and Ireland is quite
enough to enable all to live in comfort or moderate luxury, though little more than onefourth of the people are actually engaged in useful work, if the fruits of labour were
justly divided and exchanged among the inhabitants.
4. —That State-aided Emigration would lead to the removal from our country of the
strongest and most vigorous of our people, leaving behind the weakly, the sickly, and
the very poor, whom the United States and our own Colonies have already refused to
receive.
5. —That State-aided Emigration, if tried at all, should begin with the useless class of
landlords, capitalists, and their hangers-on, who produce nothing whatever; but devour
the fruits of the labour of their industrious countrymen.
At a meeting held at the Mansion House to advocate this new method
■of punishing poverty by transportation for life, John Williams obtained
entrance, and plainly telling the assembled bishops and capitalists that
their scheme was abhorred by the workers, challenged them to argue
the matter before a working-class audience. For very shame the chal
lenge was accepted. The following handbill was issued :—
This Emigration of the poor is the old cry of the classes who get rich ont of other
men’s labour, and turn the workers adrift to starve or go to the workhouse when no
further profit can be made by employing them. Millions of Englishmen and Irishmen
have emigrated during the last five-and-thirty years. Still we are told that there are too
many workers; though three-fourths of the population live upon the labour of the one-
�fourth who are engaged in useful work. Even as it is, if none toiled more than eight
hours a day, there would not be a single unemployed man or woman in the country.
Fellow Citizens, there are too many idlers, not too many workers in this England of
ours. Whilst your comrades stand idle, because the landlords and capitalists will not
give employment save at a profit to themselves, thousands of acres of good land lie un
tilled around us, and hundreds of thousands of people want the bread, the clothes, the
houseroom which their labour properly organised would readily supply. Such is the
social anarchy which our “ governing classes ” call order. Worse than this : while men
and women eager to work are starving, a mere handful of lazy people, or 220,000
families who never work at all, own SIX THOUSAND MILLIONS STERLING on
which they take their yearly profit out of labour. Each of these families of wealthy
idlers own no less than twenty-six thousand pounds sterling—think of that ye who toil
and suffer—whilst men fight daily at the dock-gates, like wolves, for the privilege of
earning a few pence.
There is land enough, machinery enough, capital enough, in these islands to give
plenty to all. But greedy land-grabbers and greedier capitalists monopolise our whole
country for their own gain.
There is no need for emigration, Fellow-Citizens. These hypocrites themselves do
not propose that any of you should leave until the Spring. How then will the workless
and the poor pass through the winter ? Never since 1834 were the Poor Laws—that
miserable pittance of justice forced from the rich by fear—never were the Poor Laws so
stupidly, brutally, and cruelly administered as they are to-day. The unemployed are
treated as if wilfully idle : the homeless are criminals in the eyes of the luxurious and
the overfed.
Demand then justice, not charity, here and at once, from those who never cease to rob
you when you labour, and are eager to transport you when you are out of work. Tell
the Sham-Republican Baronet who promises you a “ Commission of Enquiry,” whilst
the wives and children of your brethren are crying for bread, that you will no longer be
put off with fine phrases or be deluded by courtly tricks. If none were overworked,
even in the State Service, there would not be enough idle “ hands ” in East London to
fill the places. Claim then Home Colonisation and State Employment and Short Hours
of Labour in England. Demand that the wealth which you alone produce shall be used
to employ your brethren before you and they are crushed down into hopeless misery.
They lie to you who tell you there is work for all in the Colonies and America.
Depression reigns there as well as here. There as well as here landlords and capitalists
are robbing and enslaving and starving their fellow-men. Even now State-Aided
labourers are forced to return home hopeless. Better then, surely, demand and obtain
your rights before you start. Show in force 1 Act together ! Let employed and un
employed ask plainly for the fruits of their own labour, and proclaim the right of all to
work for a. fair return, at home.
At Stepney Hall and the Haggerston Workmens’ Club, Williams,
Macdonald, Hyndman and James Murray, by the force of their eloquence
and logic, carried amendments against emigration by such majorities
that the “ National Association for the State-aided Emigration of
Labour ” has never since dared to hold an open meeting in any
quarter of London.
Wdth the commencement of the year 1884, the weekly journal Justin
was established. A reference to its pages shows the immense progress
which has been made since the early spring of that year, when Charles
Bradlaugh came out in debate against the delegate of the Federation.
The importance the movement has assumed has also forced the daily
press to bring before the notice of all the more stirring incidents of the
struggle which has now resulted in the formation of an active and
enthusiastic Social-Democratic party in this country.
JOHN WILLIAMS IN HOLLOWAY GAOL.
(Reprinted with additions from the Pall Mall Gazette.)
He arrives at Holloway, is stripped and weighed.
I think it was about four o’clock in the afternoon that I arrived at the gates of
Holloway Gaol in “ Black Maria ” with some others. We were taken into the Receiv-
�IO
ing Department, fifteen of us, and set in single file with our faces towards the wall and
our hands crossed, the right over the left. Here any money or “ valuables ” which we '
might happen to have on us were taken away and put into little bags. I was then
taken into a room in which was a warder. He bade me strip, and he examined me all
over, looking closely for any marks on my body. He then weighed me. From the
warder I was taken to the prison bath. There are seven iron baths in the room, each
seven feet long, with dirty sides, stained with marks of soapsuds. The baths are in a ,
row, and divided from one another by a wooden partition. I shivered, and my teeth
chattered as my feet felt the touch of the stone flooring; but there was the bath and the
nine inches of water, and there was the warder, and stripping myself of my clothe®,
which I put outside the door, I got into the bitter cold water and took my first bath,
and my only one during my sojourn at Holloway. There was soap and a moist, dirtylooking towel, with which I dried myself as well as I could. Looking up I heard the ’
noise as of something thrown down at the bath-room door.
The Blue Shirt and the Bellying Moleskins.
It was my prison clothes, a shirt and a pair of moleskin trousers. The shirt was like **
a dishcloth which had been washed in greasy slop water, the blue pattern having almost
faded by much usage. The moleskin trousers were twice too big, bellying out before
and behind, and one had constantly to hold them up, for no braces or belt is allowed,
only a strap. In my dirty blue shirt and my bellying moleskins, with teeth chattering
with the cold, and fingers numbed, I was taken to the prison doctor. (My own clothes
were bundled up and shoved into a net, from which a ticket hung, with “ Williams—one
month,” on it.) “Let down your trousers till they fall on your feet, pull your; shirt
over your head, and stand still, man,” said the doctor. And I did as I was told. Then ,
he sounded me and looked for marks, asked me questions, -and then told me had done ■?
with me. And I pulled up my trousers, tucked in my shirt, and was taken out of his ■»»
sight. I was then told to take a pair of socks from a bundle. I could find no pairs,
all were odd ones, and most of those full of holes. And if they aren’t full of holes
they are darned, but with the bad darning you might as well walk with peas in your j
shoes.
What happened to me happened to the rest of us. We were attended i
by prisoners who had earned a stripe, and were told off for such duties. Then
I got a coat and waistcoat given me, and my hair was cut (though it was only four
days before that I had been to the barber); and I’ll warrant you something more than
hair was cut, for the prison barber has not a professional touch.
C I 38 is introduced to the Cook and the Cell.
There we stood with right hand on left, and listened to the prison regulations being
read to us. “ If you have any complaints to make about your meals or your treatment,
make them to the warder. Frequent complaints are punished as an offence.” Ah !
thought I, that is a hint that you must not complain at all. The names were then
called over, and we filed past the warder; our identity henceforth sunk in numbers.
I was C I 38. We marched along, our footsteps echoing along the cold corridors,
until we came to the prison cook, who was waiting
To each of us he said, “What
have you got ? ” If you answered, “A month,” you got served out to you an eight
ounceloaf. If you said, “Two months,” you got a six-ounce loaf and a pint of gruel.
The longer you are in for the more you get. Then we marched on to the chief warder’s
office and were made to halt with our faces to the wall—seventeen of us. Here two
sheets apiece were served, soap, a Bible, and a prayer-book. Then further, and into a
narrow passage running past the cells. I walked on not noticing the numbers, but a
gruff voice cried, “Now then you, where are you a-goin’to ? Don’t you see your
number ? You didn’t know ! I’ll soon let you know. Why, you’ve been here afore,
ain’t you ? Not bin in afore? Well, now, you turn round.and look at that. What’s
that ? Your number—C I 38, and don’t forget it! ” And in a minute the iron door had
closed in on me, and I saw a prison cell for the first time.
Seventy-six ^Screws and Thirty-six Rivets, a Plank, and a Three
Legged Stool.
I shan’t forget the inside view of that door. It was held together by seventy-six
screws and thirty-six rivets. My cell was about twelve foot long by seven wide, and
thirty-six whitewashed bricks high. The furniture was a three-legged stool, a plank in
a corner, a tin dustpan and washing bowl, a pannikin for the water, and a table let in
the wall. It must have been six or seven o’clock by this time, anyhow it was dark
enough, but a jet of gas burned outside in the passage, and threw a dim light into th©
cell through a thick piece of rough glass. There was another window above the table,
with twenty-seven panes of glass, four-inch ones, but thick too like the other, and not
letting too much daylight in. I had forgotten there was a mattress too. But presentlj
came a knock at the door, and some one shouted, “ How long ? ’ “A month.
Then
bring out that mattress.” And I had to give up the mattress.
X
�Musings on the Three-legged Stool.
I sighed, sat down again on my three-legged stool, and wondered what was the !next
move would be, and I thought of my luckless lot. Here was I, a poor labouring man,
shut up in this cold cell like a common felon, like a burglar or garroter, for what seemed
to me no offence. I thought of the stripping, and of the search for marks, and the icy
water, the stone floors, and then looked round on the cold, whitewashed walls and the
plank reared up in the corner, and I though how the rich made the poor build them
prisons to live in. I thought of the powers of an organized officialdom instanced by
what I had just seen—the grim warder, the obedience to orders, the rigid system, and
thought what a lesson it should convey to my own class. How could they hipe to
wrestle with such an organisation until they organized themselves ? Mere preaching and
talk can do nothing of themselves. Here were men many of whom, one could see, has
had a hard struggle for existence. Their ages varied from fourteen to old men of seventyfive, and in the face of the latter, were unmistakeable traces of starvation. Next door
to me was an old man. who, when j was called in to show him how to scrub out his cell,
told me that he had failed to get employment, in search of which he was walking from
Birmingham to London. In want of food he picked up some old iron lying beside a
ditch, and before he had an opportunity of offering it for sale, was taken before a magis
trate and sentenced to one month’s hard labour. Society looks upon such a man as a
felon. Broken down by years of hard toil, too old for the capitalist class to make a
profit out of him, his choice lay between stealing or begging—and being imprisoned as
a rogue and vagabond. The cell on the other side of mine was occupied by a lad of
fifteen, who had been sentenced to three months for “loitering.” His father had for
months been out of work ; he could get none himself. Society refused him shelter and
food, denied him access to the means of useful work, and made a felon of him for stand
ing about the street and having no visible means of subsistence. As I looked at him I
thought of others, riding in Rotten Row, or idling the live-long day in mansions in
Belgravia, or the clubs in Pall Mall, and trusted the day might soon come when such
persons who have “ no visible means of existence,” except the labour of others, shall come
under the Rogue and Vagabond Act, instead of such lads as this.
The Bed and the BeddingI was soon disturbed by some one at the door. The iron disc which covers the small
circular glass window let into the door was lifted up and the warder (you can’t hear
them come along, for they wear slippers) cried, “Now then, don’t you know it’s bed
time? Be quick, I want to turn out the light.” I said, “All right, but where’s the
bed ?” “There up in the corner, don’t you see? You’re trying it on.’- And I looked
up in the corner at the plank ! And now I will tell you what the bed is like, and how
comfortable it was likely to be, even to a poor chap like me who had never slept on
feathers. There were three pieces of board about a quarter of an inch apart, and the
three together about 20 inches wide by 6 feet. It might have been a good “plank”
when it was new, but now the two outside ones are higher than the middle So that it
just caught one in the small of the back. For a pillow another piece of wood was
nailed on at the head. However, I took the bed down, and being green, I goes to work
and strips off my clothes, laid a sheet on the plank, and then Jrolled myself up in the
blanket and quilt. It was bitter cold, and I got no sleep that night, and when the first
bell rang in the morning I was right joyful, though my bones were that sore I could
scarcely walk, and I am not telling a word of a lie when I say [that I never got more
than two or three hours sleep on one night during the time I was in prison, except once,
and I often used to get up in the middle of the night to walk about and stamp my feet
and shake myself, but it was no go. It was not until another prisoner had put me up
to the wrinkle in chapel that I could get even two or three hours’ sleep. “ Fold your
coat up, put it under your hips, fold your trousers under your shoulder blades, and make
your waiscoat and cap into a pillow.”
The Three Rags, the Bag, and the Whitening.
Well. The first bell sounded at a quarter to six, and the warder came past to see
if I had turned out. I had a wash in my tin basin and putting my slops outside waited
forevents. The door unlocked and the warder looked in and said : “ Now then, why
ain’t them bedclothes rolled up ? And d’you see them three rags in that bag and that
whitening? well, just you scour yer pannikin and yer basin.” Then he turned to the
bedclothes again and said, “ Get them things rolled up—d’you mean to say you don’t
know how to do it ? ” I began to roll them up awkwardly enough perhaps, but he
stopped me: “ Now you do that properly.” I said I didn’t know how to do it. “You
don’t know what? We’ll soon show you how.” Then he called a prisoner in to show
me how to do the job in a regulation manner. Ycu take your sheets, quilt, and blanket
and roll ’em up roly-poly fashion, that’s how I call it. They left me then, and I swept
out my cell and inspected the three rags and the bag and the whitening. It wasn’t a
nice idea to brighten the pannikin I drank from, the bowl I washed in, and a urinal tin
�12
with the rags from the same bag, But I had to do it. The time passed on, and two
more bells sounded, and at a quarter to eight the warder came round with the
breakfast.
Bread and Water for Breakfast.
I didn’t know it was breakfast, and took no notice, but the door opened and an 8 oz.
loaf was slung in on to the floor. I picked it up and put it on the cupboard by the side
of the one I had given to me for supper, for I had not yet got my appetite; indeed, I
may say, from Monday night till Thursday only a few morsels passed my lips. I hadn't
the heart to eat. At a quarter to ten the bell rang for exercise, and every door was
again unlocked, and every prisoner stood outside his cell. When we were all out the
warder cried, “ Left turn! ” and we marched into the yard for the hour’s exercise which
one has every day, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon. This was
recreation. And now I will tell you what it was like.
The Four Circles and the Oakum.
There are four large rings in the yard at some distance from each other, bricked inside
and outside, I should think some ninety men were there—boys and men from fifteen to
eighty. These were divided into four gangs, each one to a ring ; and we marched slowly
round the circles at a distance of about three or four feet from each other; for I needn’t
tell you that this is one of the principles of the silent system. But the silence is broken,
nevertheless, and notwithstanding the band of warders who take their stand on a rise in
the ground and keep their eyes and ears open for wagging tongues. I had walked round
once or twice when the man in front of me (a regular old gaol bird) put his hand to his
mouth as if to pull his heard or moustache, and in something between a half whisper
and a half mutter I heard him say, “ You’re a green ’un. I can see that. How long
have you got, matey ? A month ? Why didn’t ye get six months, you fool ? they'll
starve yer.” Even out of the hour the warders contrive to steal a few minutes. The
men know this well enough, and when the time was up, and the warder gave the signal
for return they used to take a sweep round to catch a glimpse of the clock if they could
to see how many minutes of fresh air they had been deprived of. Then they gave me
2^ lb. of oakum to pick. (You know oakum is old ropes.) Now it was rather strange
that I should have had to do this kind of labour considering that when my friends of the
Social-Democratic Federation issued a hancbbill, stating that I was being treated as a
felon, Mr. Saunders, the magistrate who sentenced me at Thames Police-court, declared
my friends ought to be ashamed of themselves for making such a statement. Surely to
have less food than the garrotter or burglar, and have to perform the same kind of work,
was being treated as a felon. I leave it to the public to judge. Well, they had to show
me how to pick this oakum, and on I went till twelve o’clock.
Stirabout and no Bread for Dinner.
Then the warder came round again, and I opened the door. He carried a tray, and I
was glad to see potatoes and rice on it. I thought these were for me, but I was mis
taken. My dinner was a pint and a half of stirabout. What’s stirabout ? Three
ounces of Indian meal and three ounces of oatmeal, and that was my dinner; but I
sickened at the sight of it. Then I put the stirabout with the two loaves on the cup
board. The old birds know well enough that the “ last joined ” don't often have sharp
appetites, and try every wrinkle to get hold of the rejected food. You’ll hear one say
at exercise with his hand to his mouth, “ I say, old ’un, have you ate your bread ? Put
it in your trousers and bring it into chapel.’’ You talk about food ? Now if I had had
two months I should have had for breakfast one pint of oatmeal gruel and 6 oz. of bread ;
for dinner I should have had 8 oz. of bread and half a pint of peasoup, and for supper a
pint of gruel and 6 oz. of bread. Had it been four months’ imprisonment, I should have
had 8 oz. of bread and one pint of gruel for breakfast, 8 oz. of bread, 8 oz. of potatoes,
and 3 oz. of meat for dinner, and a pint of gruel and 8 oz. of bread for supper. Then I
can tell you the tin dishes and pannikins in which the rations were served are filthy,
with the greasy finger marks of their last users.
The Records of a Tin Platter.
They had, however, one consolation, for they afforded me some very pleasant reading,
fit seems to be the habit of every prisoner, for prisoners are all alike, be they Baron
Trenck or Monte Cristo, to leave some record of their names, their expectations, and
their aspirations, even if it is only on a tin platter or a battered pannikin.) If I did not
eat my bread or drink my gruel, I examined with much curiosity these interesting
memoirs of prison life. I can remember a few if you like to hear them : “ Arry Bennett
in for 6 moons.” ’Arry had calculated how many chapels he would have to attend in
that time, at the rate of four times a week, and calculated the hours of exercise. “ Bill
Ford, 2 months for nicking a drop of soup out of old Tollemache’s at Stratford; ”
“ George Smith, from Shadwell, nine moons, out February, 1885.” “ Lord Mansfield,
from Holloway, six moons, Oh, what a glorious feed of beefsteak and onions I will
�Ste when I get out! ” This was scratched under a drawing of two cross pipes and a
pot of beer. “ Cheer up, the time will come for all.” “ Abandon not hope, all ye who
enter here.” Some draughtsman had drawn a likeness of one of the warders, and had
written under it, “ Now, move on there,” and added, ‘-Pity the poor prisoner.” “ One
month up for George Talbot, I wish it was two, for I m starving.
The Chaplain preaches on Social Democracy.
I need not go over all the days I spent at Holloway, for one day was much like
another. On the morning of the second day I should tell you that I was detained fronj
exercise to see the chaplain, who called upon me. “ What are you . ” said he, “ and
what’s your name ? ” I told him. He said, “ Oh, you’re Williams, are you ? I ve been
reading about you, and wishing you’d be sent here,” " Oh,” I replied, “ it s very kind o
you as a Christian minister.” “ You’re in for obstructing the street—what are you .
“ A labourer,” I replied, “ and a speaker for the Social-Democratic Federation.
“ Why
don’t you attend to your business instead of meddling with such a society ? You must
be mad or a lunatic or out of your senses.” “ I am perfectly sane,” I replied. “ Social
Democracy,” he said; “ well, you’re going headlong to perdition. How long are you
here for ?' ’ "A month.” “ Well, I wish it had been two.” “ You’re very kind, sir
“ Well, now, what is Democracy ? ” “lam not here to debate the question, sir, and I
decline to answer.” However, he repeated the question, and as he seemed so curious I
determined to give him the root of the matter, and to satisfy him. “ One thing it teaches,
sir, is the right of people to govern themselves.” “Theright of people to govern them
selves,” he replied, “ there are far too many voices already in the government of the
land;’their power should be taken away, not increased. Can you read?” _ “Yes.
“Then take that tract off there and read a sentence.’.’ “ I don’t wish to read, sir
“1
want to see if you can read. ’ I read him a paragraph to please him. He then said “Do.
vou ever go to a place of worship ? ” “I sometimes go and hear them preach.
“ Whom
have you heard ? ” “Stopford Brooke, Dr. Parker, and Stewart Headlam, and any who
are worth listening to." “Do you ever read your Bible?” "Yes, I do.”' “Do you
believe in the soul ? ” “ It dosen’t trouble me just now, sir.” He then called the warder
in and said, “ Warder, I am going to visit this prisoner three times a week. I see I can
learn something from him.” “ Oh, you’re past learning, sir, I can see.” “ Warder put
him down for me to visit.”
“ Oh you need not trouble yourself, ’ replied I. He took
the hint, for he never called upon me till the day I left.
Sunday Chapel-—One Good from an Established Chnrch.
On Sunday I went to chapel with the rest of the Church of England prisoners. We
sat on forms and were some distance from each other, for we were silent even m
chapel though the old birds used to get a word in edgeways, with their hands up to
their mouths. It fairly made me laugh to hear them give the answers to the Litany .
“ Spare us, good Lord,” “ Good Lord, deliver us—out of here.” I am not a member of
the Church of England, or of any other Church, holding the belief that neither
Atheists nor Churchman do any good by talking. They should spend their strength on
social questions. I say this to explain why I said I was Church of England when they
asked me “ You’ll get out of your cell four times a week and once of a Sunday it you
say you’re Church of Englaud.” One Sunday it was very cold and I had gone to
chapel, my hands numb, and shivering all over; and we were all shivering, and tried
to keep ourselves warm by rubbing of our hands and moving our feet for the day was
bitter I suppose the extra noise attracted the chaplain’s sharp ear, for he singled out
a few of us, add spoke from the pulpit about us, and prayed that when we went back
to our cells God would soften our hearts and drive the sin of obstruction from us, tor
“never in all my experience have I heard such unseemly noise in chapel.’ I was no
worse than the others, but a warder came into my cell afterwards and said, “ Now,
then what do you mean by making a row like that?” and the next day I was taken
before the governor. “Were you not making signs to another pnsouer ? asked the
governor. “No.” “Now, tell the truth. Were you not talking?” “No. I was
doing nothing, only rubbing my hands, it was that cold,” and after more questioning
was let off.
The Sermons.
The Chaplain seemed to take a delight in telling the prisoners time after time in
chapel what wicked people they were, how every man of them had had a splendid
chance in life, how they had missed grand opportunities; how, through not obeying
their superiors, they found themselves in this miserable condition, impressing upon
them to take no notice of the vanities of this world or of riches, that it was better to be
poor than rich—though by the look of him, he evidently did not practice what he
preached. He generally preached a sermon that he thought would strike terra
into the hearts of his brethren. In ending his sermon on the first Sunday after
I arrived there he impressed upon the prisoners to take. no notice ot the ques
tions of this world ; as sure as they bothered about Social questions they would
�come to grief.
On the second he dwelt upon that passage in the Bible that
relates to the handwriting on the wall.
He implored of the prisoners to
remember the handwriting on the wall, and told them it meant their time was come.
Ah, thought I, as I looked at him, there is a hand-writing on the wall to-day, and day
by day gets plainer and plainer. The interpretation of the writing means the utter
downfall of the system you uphold, and ere long the class that I belong to shall speak
with no unmistakeable voice. It would be well for you and the class you represent, if
you will try to interpret the hand-writing on the wall, which is as plain as plain can be
and really means that the robbery of labour shall no longer go on ; that such men as the
prisoners, who are now befcre you, shall for the first time have a fair chance of obtaining
a honest livelihood ; and that the prisons, built by their hands, shall be no longer used
to imprison those who are willing to labour, but shall be used for those only who rob
and plunder the labour of others.
C I 38 becomes Mr. Williams.
The day before my time was up I was shifted to another cell, with a stone floor. This
was a change for the better. My gas was inside instead of out, and I boiled my bread
over the flame. Then they gave me an extra blanket, and I had my only good night’s
rest in the month. I had then got to be that hungry that I pounced upon even a crumb.
The next day the parson came and told me to “turn over a new leaf’’ and give up
Social Democracy. I got my net full of clothes, damp and wrinkled ; they asked me if
I didn’t want some money to pay my railway fare to Bayswater, and packed me off
three-quarters of an hour before my time, as they thought there would be a demonstra
tion. And it was “ Good-bye, Mr. Williams,’’ from the warder. Some other poor devil
is C I 38 now; I am Mr, Williams ;• and as I stepped ovsr the threshold of the Prison
Gates I turned my head and muttered my last words there, “ Don’t forget the Hand
writing on the Wall.”
THE
SOCIAL-DEMOCRAIIC-FEDERATION.
OBJECT.
The Establishment of a Free Condition of Society based on the prin
ciple of Political Equality, with Equal Social Rights for all and the
complete Emancipation of Labour.
PROGRAMME.
1. All Officers or Administrators to be elected by Equal Direct Adult
Suffrage, and to be paid by the Community.
2. Legislation by the People, in such wise that no project of Law
shall become legally binding till accepted by the Majority of the People.
3. The Abolition of a Standing Army, and the Establishment of a
National Citizen Force ; the People to decide on Peace or War.
4. All Education, higher no less than elementary, to be Free, Com
pulsory, Secular, and Industrial for all alike.
5. The Administration of Justice to be Free and Gratuitous for all
Members of Society.
6. The Land with all the Mines, Railways and other Means of Tran
sit, to be declared and treated as Collective or Common Property.
7. Ireland and all other parts of the Empire to have Legislative
Independence.
8. The Production of Wealth to be regulated by Society in the com
mon interest of all its Members.
9. The Means of Production, Distribution and Exchange to be
declared and treated as Collective or Common Property.
As measures called for to palliate the evils of our existing society the
Social-Democratic Federation urges for immediate adoption :—
The Compulsory Construction of healthy artizan’s and agricultural
labourers’ dwellings in proportion to the population, such dwellings
�be let at rents to cover the cost of construction and maintenance alone.
P Free Compulsory Education for all classes, together with the provision
of at least one wholesome meal a day in each school.
Eight Hours or less to be the normal working day in all trades.
Cumulative Taxation upon all incomes above a fixed minimum not
Exceeding ^300 a year.
State Appropriation of Railways, with or without compensation.
The establishment of National Banks, which shall absorb all private
institutions that derive a profit from operations in money or credit.
Rapid Extinction of the National Debt.
Nationalisation of the Land, and organisation of agricultural and
industrial armies under State control on Co-operative principles.
fl
1
As means for the peaceable attainment of these objects the SocialDemocratic. Federation advocates :
Adult Suffrage. Annual Parliaments. Proportional Represen
Payment of Members ; and Official Expenses of Election
out of the Rates.
Abolition of the House of Lords and all
Hereditary Authorities.
Disestablishment and Disendowment
of all State Churches.
tation.
Membership of Branches of the Federation is open to all who agree
with its objects, and subscribe One Penny per week.
Those read)' to form Branches should communicate with the Hon. Sec.
All who are interested, in these sub
jects should, read.
The Historical Basis of Socialism in England.
By H. M. Hyndman.
Paul, Trench, & Co.
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This is the only Book in the English Language which gives the Historical and
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7
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Socialism and the Worker.
By F.
Price id.
A.
Sorge.
An explanation in the simplest language of tne main idea of Socialism.
St .1
Socialism and Slavery. By H. M. Hyndman,
(in
reply Mr. Herbert Spencer’s article on the “ The Coming Slavery ”)
Crown 8-vo., in wrapper, price 6d.
Herbert Spencer on Socialism. By Frank Fairman.
16-pp. crown 8-vo., price id.
The Working Man’s Programme (Arbeiter Programm). By Ferdinand Lassalle. Translated from the German
by Edward Peters. Crown 8-vo., paper cover, price 6d.
The Robbery of the Poor.
By w. H. P. Campbell.
Demy 8-vo., paper cover, price is.
The Future of Marriage. By a Respectable Woman.
Crown 8-vo., paper cover, price 4d.
Socialism versus Smithism: An open letter from
H. M. Hyndman to Samuel Smith, M.P. for Liverpool.
8-vo. paper cover, price 2d.
The Appeal to the Young.
Crown
By Prince Peter
Kropotkin. Translated frcm the French by H. M. Hyndman and
reprinted from Justice. Royal 8-vo., 16-pp. Price one penny.
The most eloquent and noble appeal to the generous emotions ever penned by a
scientific man. Its author is now suffering five years imprisonment at the hands of the
French Republic for advocating the cause of the workers
Opening Address to the Trade Union Congress
at Southport, September, 1885. Delivered by T. R. Threlfall. Royal
8-vo., 16-pp. Price one penny.
An able address from a representative working man on political and social topics.
J
,
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Victorian Blogging
Description
An account of the resource
A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Conway Hall Library & Archives
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Conway Hall Ethical Society
Text
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
Pamphlet
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
John E. Williams and the early history of the Social-Democratic Federation: with his own account of the month's imprisonment he suffered for speaking in Dod Street, Limehouse
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Williams, John E.
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: London
Collation: 14, [2] p. : ill. (front. port.) ; 23 cm.
Notes: The Social Democratic Federation (SDF) was established as Britain's first organised socialist political party by H. M. Hyndman, and had its first meeting on 7 June 1881. Information on the Social Democratic Federation and publisher's list on unnumbered pages at the end.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Modern Press
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1886
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
G4983
Subject
The topic of the resource
Socialism
Freedom of speech
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (John E. Williams and the early history of the Social-Democratic Federation: with his own account of the month's imprisonment he suffered for speaking in Dod Street, Limehouse), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span>
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
application/pdf
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Language
A language of the resource
English
Freedom of Speech
Imprisonment
Social Democratic Federation
Socialism