Some Poetry by Charles Rann Kennedy, Barrister

The elder Charles Rann Kennedy, of whom you can read here wrote a lot of poetry which is hard to find now,  so here is a selection. It was intended to be read aloud, incidentally.

1. The Poet's Dream

1.
Of Poesy why grudge the praise?
Tis all a dream, the worldling says.
If dream it be, 'tis not of earth,
But in a higher sphere had birth.

It is no spectre of the night,
That fades at blush of morning-light;
No fantasy, that at the breath
Of waking Reason vanisheth.

It is a vision bright and clear,
Seen now and alway, far and near,
And ever to the earnest view
Unfolding revelations new.

Tis Truth array'd in Beauty's form,
And with her richest colours warm,
Imprest with Nature's mystic seal,
And shown to man for human weal.

2.
Alas for them, the would-be wise,
Who all they cannot feel despise,
To whom a universe is nought
Beyond their narrow range of thought.

The mole constructs his earthen cell,
And deems it a vast citadel,
And little thinks the eagle's eye
Is piercing to the mid-day sky.

The silver moon is bright above,
The starlit heaven all beams with love,
And countless worlds are rolling there;
Yet what doth plodding peasant care?

Home wendeth he with blithesome strains,
Nor starlight him nor moon detains;
The moonbeam lights him to his cot,
Yet otherwise he feels it not.

The boatman sees the tide go past,
Each following wave is like the last:
What wonder is there in that sea,
With all its dull monotony?

None he perceived: but I can feel
Its music o'er me gently steal;
And every passing wave to me
Is full of new variety.

3.
The turtle labours for her brood,
She watches long, she gathers food,
She warms them with her downy breast,
She spreads her wing to guard their rest;

And still she hovers round, as fear
None there could be, while she was near:
O love maternal! how I bless
Thy self-devoting tenderness!

Yet are there who unmoved and cold
That busy toil of love behold;
Versed in the schoolman's wordy lore,
They call it instinct, think no more:

As if 'twere not by Nature's plan
A lesson meant for selfish man!
Dearer the Poet's dreamto me
Than all their vain philosophy.

4.
I love the daisy of the green,
I love the snowdrop's pensive mien,
The honeysuckle's graceful twine,
The primrose coy, the eglantine.

Thou woodland sister of the rose!
The vale no sweeter blossom shows:
Thine opening bud is like the smile
Of infant joy, that knows no guile:

Thous lightest all the bramble rude,
Thou bloomest in the solitude,
Teaching that e'en the thorny shade
Was for delight and beauty made.

Yea, I should deem mine own heart dull,
Did I not think thee wonderful:
Yet thousands pass thee by, and see
Nought but a poor wild flower in thee.

5.
The meanest of created things
Kind Nature to perfection brings;
And nothing is so poor or small,
But yet is great, as part of all.

The leafage dropping to the ground
Hath meaning in the faintest sound;
And thoughts with busy purpose rife
Are call'd by shadows into life.

The worlding with incessant gaze
Himself in ample pride surveys:
All else, as thro' a glass obscure,
Before him flits in miniature.

Intent upon his narrow self,
And crawling after earthly pelf,
He grasps the dust, calls that his own,
Life, wealth, enjoyment, that alone.

Cling, reptile, cling to thy vile dust;
Mingle with it full soon thou must.
Dearer the Poet's dream to me
Than thy misnamed reality.

6.
For what is real? Knowest thou,
Vain-glorious mortal? Tell me how.
The laws of Nature he must learn,
Who false and real would discern.

Behold, with generous hand profuse
She scatters plenty for thy use,
She biddeth thee the essence cull
Of all the sweet and beautiful.

The flower, the fruit, are all ready for thee,
If thou wert like the honey-bee,
Tasteful and wise: but oh, beware!
The fruit has gall, the flower a snare.

Is thine a prudence, thine a power
To treasure stores for winter's hour?
Or wastest thou the season's prime,
Borne thoughtless down the stream of time?

Thy joys, thy pleasures, what are they?
With golden promise bright to-day:
But ere the morrow's dawn hath shone,
Like wither'd blossoms, they are gone.

VII.
A carved monumental stone
To passing strangers maketh known,
That in yon grave doth one abide,
Who pious lived, lamented died.

Tis false! his truth, his faith he sold,
His peace, his slumber, all for gold;
He walk'd with purpose dark and blind;
He shut his heart 'gainst all mankind:

He sought to frame 'gainst earthly want
A buckler strong as adamant;
In vain: by avarice enslaved,
For more and more he ever craved:

He would not drink from Nature's well,
Yet burn'd with thirst unquenchable;
His heart was arid as the sand
That gleams on Libya's desert-strand:

He died, and none lamented him,
While many a scowl of pleasure grim
Told that the very slaves he fed
Rejoiced to see their tyrant dead.

Did he then aught of real gain
With all his care, his toil, his pain?
No: in a dream his life he spent,
To gain that worthless monument.

VIII.
Nor wiser, who devote to sense
The life-sustaining elements,
The precious seed of heavenly flame
That animates this mortal frame.

Press from the grape the blushing wine!
Tis full of sunny juice divine!
See, see; those bubbling streams invite
To bathe the soul in soft delight!

Hold! there is poison in the cup!
The madman breathless drinks it up;
With riot laughter swells his eye,
It rolls, it swims in ecstasy:

Aerial shapes before him stand,
And seem to move at his command:
Yes; imps of hell! they dance for glee,
To see that frantic revelry!

Soon prostrate on the ground will lie,
Who now is soaring to the sky:
From earth, not heaven, those raptures come;
The drunkard's wild delirium.

IX.
And thou, who feel'st the subtle charm,
The tender thrill, the soft alarm,
And all that fancy e'er combined
To make the love of womankind:

Oh, whence those trembling fond desires?
It is a Goddess who inspires!
Mark ye the splendour of that face,
Her every motion full of grace!

And in her form such majesty,
And in her look such witchery!
It were a taste for Gods to sip
The bloom from off that rosy lip!

Thou hangest on her siren tongue;
Its note is soft as fairy-song,
More sweet than murmur in the glade
By gently falling waters made.

A few brief years, and thou no more
Shalt find a Goddess to adore;
Parch'd will that lip and pale have grown,
Tuneless and harsh that silver tone:

That winning smile, the snowy brow,
The blushes that enchant thee now,
All with thy love will disappear,
Or linger in remembrance drear.

Yet why the name of Love profane?
Love tempts not mortals to their bane:
Tis not celestial Love supplies
Thy wanton thoughts and burning sighs:

Oh self-deceived! Tis carnal heat
That makes thy pulse so wildly beat:
Base earthly passions in thee stir:
Awake, though idol-worshipper!

X.
And what is fame? A thing of air,
Sought far and wide, and found nowhere:
More flitting than a shade.  Who knows
From whence it came, or whither goes?

The Statesman plans, he giveth laws,
While listening senates peal applause;
The people bless their happy lot,
And hail him for a patriot;

Their gratulations echoing pour,
Like ocean waves from shore to shore;
Then silence; and they die away,
Like tones of some forgotten lay.

Soon other sounds are on the gale;
They tell a new, a different tale;
The people mourn; and he the cause;
They curse the man, revile his laws;

The storm frowns, gathers, bursts at length :
Yet courage! he hath inward strength
To bear him up! Ah no! he shrinks
Before the cruel blow; he sinks,

Hopeless, heartsmitten; as an oak,
When riven by the lightning-stroke,
Sapless and bare and honour-shorn,
Stands on the blasted heath forlorn.

XI.
The victor's praise loud clarions tell,
While nations ring the funeral knell.
O madness! One there lived, whose death:

He seemed on earth a demi-god;
On throne and altar fierce he trod;
He moved and found no resting-place;
Shook the broad hills his thunder-pace:

His war-denouncing trumpet blew,
And thousand thousands round him flew,
For him to fight, for him to bleed,
His name their watchword and their creed:

He march'd to Winter's icy field
And sternly bade the Monarch yield;
But Winter call'd her vassal train,
Famine and frost and hurricane:

She came, and blew so dread a blast,
Shriek'd vale and mountain as she pass'd;
With wrath more deadly than the sword
Upon the foe for her tempests pour'd:

There under waves of sweeping snow
The mighty men of war lay low,
The blood was frozen in their veins,
Their bones were scattered on the plains.

Twas not for this the gallant band
March'd proudly from their fatherland:
Of fields, of glory dreamt the brave,
Of conquest or a soldier's grave.

And dreamt not he, the soul of pride,
Who scorn'd the earth and heaven defied?
I wis not what his visions were ;
But his awaking was despair.

XII.
The poet's aim is pure and high ;
The poet's love can never die:
He pants for gales that ever blow,
He thirsts for streams that ever flow;

His eye is soft as Luna's ray,
Yet dazzling as the orb of day,
Light as the silver-shining rill,
Yet, as the ocean, deep and still.

Now loves he in the shade to lie,
Now sparkles like the butterfly,
Now like a swallow skims the stream,
Now basks him in the sunny beam.

He softly breathes on Nature's lute;
To hear his lay, the winds are mute,
And air and heaven and earth and sea
Swell with deep love and sympathy.

He soars where never bird hath flown,
O'er regions vast, to man unknown;
He comes, and tells where he hath been,
He comes, and tells what he hath seen;

And few believe; yet still he sings
Of his unearthly wanderings,
And whispers into kindred ears
A music tuned for happier spheres.

In great and small his heart hath place,
Of love divine he finds the trace,
In woman more than beauty sees,
In life unnumber'd mysteries:

Dreams, if thou wilt! so let it be:
Fresh glories ever weaveth he;
Truthful and bright and spirit-free
He dreams of immortality.

2. Woman.
-
Lovely Woman, honour to thee!
  All our joys from thee begin :
Tis our sweetest task to woo thee,
  Tis our dearest hope to win.

Man in Eden wander'd lonely;
  All was bright in earth and sky;
All rejoiced; his bosom only
  Heav'd with pain, he knew not why:

Woman came; with new-born feeling
  Thrill'd through all his frame was he,
As when waters uncongealing
  Dance in light and liberty :

Warmer life his soul dilated,
  All he had desired was there,
Gift of Heaven, for him created,
  Love to wake, and bliss to share.

II.
As the zephyr lightly roving
  Sports with every flower that blows,
Tasting sweets, but none approving,
  Till he finds the summer rose;

Then the happy moment seizes,
  And the flower he loves the best
Courts with all his softest breezes,
  Lingers on her balmy breast:

Man a thousand joys are luring,
  But alone with rosy chain
In a bower of bliss enduring
  Woman can his heart detain.

III.
Man is like the owl benighted
  In his dismal dream-like moods;
Thinks himself the clearest-sighted,
  When o'er darkest thought he broods ;

As when clouds and darkness vanish
  At the break of morning-tide,
Melancholy dreams to banish,
  Cometh woman to his side ;

From his eyes the mist is shaken;
  In the light of beauty free
He beholds himself awaken
  To a blest reality.

IV.
Man with stormy passion rages,
  Dark and wild his spirits flow;
With his neighbour war he wages
  Of his brother makes a foe :

As when storms in fierce commotion
  Rouse the billows of the deep,
Mermaids rising o'er the ocean
  Sing the troubled waves to sleep;

Thus let man his heart surrender
  Unto woman's gentle sway,
She shall breathe a charm so tender,
  All his rage shall melt away.

V.
Oft when man forlorn and dreary
  On the bed of sickness pines,
When the wretch with anguish weary
  To despair his heart reigns,

Angel-bright approaching near him,
  Woman sheds her rainbow smile,
Speaks the word of hope to cheer him
  And the painful hour beguile.

When the hand of death is o'er us,
  Such the voice we hope to hear,
Such the light to shine before us
  Streaming from a happier sphere.

Lovely Woman, honour to thee!
  All our joys from thee begin :
Tis our sweetest task to woo thee,
  Tis our dearest hope to win.

3. MORNING.

-

Whom do I in the East descry,

  Nearer now and nearer;

Silver-bright in a robe of light,

  Clearer now and cleaner?

All in space she floats with grace,

  Radiant are her glances:

Twilight fades, and distant shades

  Melt as she advances.

Flaxen-fair the stream of hair

  Waving doen her shoulder:

Clouds with fringe of saffron tinge

  Like a scarf enfold her:

Deeper hues her cheek suffuse,

  Like the bloom of roses;

Like the flush of a maiden's blush,

  That her love discloses.

Who are they that throng in play?

  Spirits young and airy,

From their sleep in the misty deep

  Rise to greet the fairy.

All the band, as she waves her hand,

  Gaily flock around her,

Fluttering and frolicking,

  Happy to have found her.

And the glee of their harmony

  In mine ear is ringing:

Oh that I had wings to fly!

  There would I be singing!

She the while her beamy smile

  Sheds benignly o'er them;

Yet she will be mounting still

  In the clouds before them.

Lo, her brow is kindling now

  Into sunny splendours:

Who can tell to what holy spell

  She her soul surrrenders?

Trustfully she looks on high,

  As when one believing

Mysteries unearthly sees

  Past the mind's conceiving:

And the stream of her golden beam

  Faster falls and stronger;

And those eyn so dazzling shine,

  I can gaze no longer:

I would fain (but all in vain

  Is my mortal yearning)

Drink the rays, till in their blaze

  Were my bosom burning.

Is she gone? There is not one

  Of those forms remaining,

In the clear blue atmosphere

  Silent beauty reigning:

All above is joy and love,

  Mountains fall asunder,

Hills arise and kiss the skies;

  Lost am I in wonder!

4. THE STREAM OF LIFE
-
Ever onward rushing
  Waters pour along;
Rill from mountain gushing
  Cheers the earth with song;
Rivers full of gladness
  Kiss the meadows fair;
Cataracts in madness
  Plunge they reck not where.

River, rills, and fountains,
  Wherefore do ye flow?
O'er the meads and mountains
  Whither do ye go?
Gliding, leaping, springing,
  Endless waterfall,
Murmuring, roaring, singing,
  Sea receives you all.

Life is moving ever
  In a varied stream;
Manhood's brisk endeavour
  Follows youthful dream;
Infants with their prattle
  Make the moments fly;
Soldiers in the battle
  Strive they know not why.

Wherefore without leisure
  Do we toil and play?
Busy hours and pleasure
  Whither lead us they?
All in restless motion
  Ever hurrying fast,
In a boundless ocean
  Death receives at last.

5. HUMANITY
-
Oh, why is Nature soft and mild?
  Why do the moonbeams play
O'er rippling waters, like a child
  Upon a holiday?

The zephyr woos the aspen-tree,
  And bids it gently move;
Birds wake their tuneful melody,
  And fill the air with love.

Charm is there in the modest flower
  That from the greenwood peeps,
In verdure glistening after shower
  Like beauty when it weeps.

The very storms are merciful,
  Their anger passes by;
And lovely is the tempest's lull,
  And sweet is the rainbow sky.

Therefore is Nature soft and mild,
  That human hearts may learn
To tame the savage and the wild,
  To soothe the proud and stern.

Relax thy frown, thou lord of earth,
  Unbend thy haughty brow:
Twas gentle woman gave thee birth,
  And once a child was thou;

And thou wert made for happiness,
  And thou wert born for woe:
Then welcome joy, that comes to bless,
  And check not the pity's flow.

The fairest path is wearisome
  Without a smile to cheer,
And heavier would affliction come
  Unsoften'd by a tear.

6. THE PARTING LOOK

-

No braided hair, no chain of gold,

   No sparkling gem for me:

I need not, Love, such tokens hold,

  To make me think of thee.

I do not ask for magic spells

  To bring thee back to view;

Within my breast thine image dwells,

  My heart reflects it true.

For others let the canvas warm

  With mimic colours glow;

For others let the stately form

  From sculptur'd marble grow.

Oh, what are these?  Tho' Art can trace

  Each feature bright and rare,

Each line of loveliness and grace;

  The soul is wanting there.

Could I forget thy last fond look

  Upon the parting day?

The last and sad farewell we took

  When I was torn away?

The tear along thy cheek that stole

  Said more than tongue could tell:

I read the anguish of thy soul

  That choked the word Farewell.

Alas! twere past the artist's skill

  That moment to restore:

But love, fond love recalls it still

  To live for evermore.

William Rann Kennedy's Speech on Socialism

William Rann Kennedy, whom we already covered here in his candidacy for Birkenhead in 1885, continued to be involved in the politics the following year.

Mr W.R. Kennedy on Socialism

ADDRESS AT THE JUNIOR REFORM CLUB, Liverpool Daily Post Tuesday November 9th 1886

Last evening, Mr W. R. Kennedy, Q.C., delivered an address on "Socialism" at the Junior Reform Club, under the auspices of the Literary Society of that institution.  There was a large attendance of members and their friends, among whom there were a number of ladies.

Mr E. R. Powell, M.P. occupied the chair,  and in introducing Mr Kennedy said they were aware that that was the first of a series of lectures which the literary society of the Junior Reform Club hoped to give.  The second was likely to take place in December.  That evening they were to have a lecture from their friend Mr Kennedy, and they could not have a man better qualified to commence a course of able and instructive lectures on Liberal principles.  He had a letter from Mr George Atkin-who naturally took a great interest in Mr Kennedy as he was the chairman of the Liberal interest in Birkenhead - and he had expressed regret at being unable to be present that evening.  They all knew Mr Kennedy's qualities and abilities, and they were anxious to hear him upon this subject.  It was certainly a coincidence that it should be on Lord Mayor's Eve, when the subject of Socialism had temporarily been somewhat connected with the ordinary Ninth of November celebrations,  and there had been other occurrences lately which had given them special interest in the subject which however must always have an interest because the principles of Socialism would lie at the bottom of and must necessarily be connected with everything that worked for the the political well-being of the community (applause).

Mr Kennedy, who was received with great cordiality, at the outset said that one thing at least was agreed in the conflict of English politics- no responsible politician liked to be called a "Socialist" or to hear his policy denounced as socialistic.  It was felt and acknowledged on all sides that there was nothing disreputable or inconsistent with political or social respectability in being designated a Radical or Tory.  But if they called a politician a Socialist or his plans socialistic they would quickly discover that he resented the description as something offensive, and in the nature almost an imputation on his political sanity if not also on his morality.  This epithet was understood generally to cast a stigma upon the political person or scheme to which it was applied- something outside the pale of political respectability according to the standard of the day.  At the first when they considered the natural meaning of Socialism according to its etymology it would seem to be a strange and curious thing.  By derivation the term "Socialist" should mean one who advocated the good of the societas - the community at large,  one who tried to approach the exalted standard of Christian rule by preferring theinterest of his neighbour to self-interest.  Nevertheless the popular mistrust of Socialism was not he thought substantially unjust.  The best and worthiest of its public professors were amiable, emotional philanthropists genuinely possessed with sympathy for the misery which existed amongst us-men in whom the odour of charity seemed to have well-nigh burnt up and consumed the powers of patience and judgement.  The worst of them he should judge to be clever men hardened sometimes by discontent sometimes by class or personal ambition to the manufacture of anarchy and rapine out of the passions which were generated in the uneducated masses by the pressure of poverty and the gnawings of distress.

Looking however at the times in which we lived he could not help thinking that Socialism in all its aspects deserved nay demanded close dispassionate consideration.  Liberals especially were bound to examine such a phenomenon.  A heresy did not make converts as Socialism had done at any rate on the Continent unless it had in it somewhere-distorted and disfigured though it might be and buried under a mass of repulsive error- a bit of truth a bit of what might be well worth the labour of digging for.  He believed that in the study of Socialism they would glean both a salutary warning and a useful lesson.  Socialism aimed at nothing less than the reconstruction of society through the industrial classes in whom undoubtedly our present franchise had placed the Parliamentary government.  And of the forces of Socialism we had had very recently only too manifest evidence.  Dating as an organisation only from 1848, Socialism had established throughout Europe and especially in the great labour centres of France and Germany, it had become a power.  In England the progress of Socialism as a definite creed had as yet been comparatively insignificant. It had certainly not won the confidence of the best or of the bulk of the artisan class, and he trusted for their own sake that as a creed it never would.  In this country the working classes as a body were too practical, as well as too sound morally to be led astray by the mirage of Continental Socialism.  The men who had so independently and in such sober and orderly fashion reared and maintained the fabric of Trades Unionism were not likely to become doctrinaire revolutionists.  Let us on our part deserve their sympathy and co-operation by zeal in mending our institutions where they were faulty and adding to them where they were wanting in the interests of the religious, moral, and material welfare of the greatest number, and so proving to the world that in England at any rate the problems which Socialism had propounded might be in the best interest of her people itself be well solved by far other means than by the dissolution of society which Socialism proclaimed.

He then gave a brief sketch of the outline of the movement which he said in this country might fairly be treated as beginning some thirty five years ago with the school of Christian Socialists amongst whom the late Charles Kingsley was the best known and most prominent writer.  No-one could question the nobility, purity, and sentiments which inspired this school, or suppose that Maurice, or Kingsley, or Ludlow would be parties to a conspiracy against law and order, or the rights of private property.  He could not doubt but that their efforts did good; and the good work that had during the last thirty years been done both by law and voluntary effort to ameliorate the condition of the poor, ought to be ascribed in no small degree to the influence of their teaching.  At the same time it must be confessed that the reasoning both as to the causes of the evils which they sought to alleviate, and as to the philanthropic remedies by which they proposed to remove those evils, was radically unsound.  Instead of ascribing the mischief to its true causes-to the disregard of natural laws and the science of political economy, bad land laws, to the neglect of thrift, of prudence, and of education-they ran a wild tilt at political economy.  We might rejoice that the movement did not at any rate preach violence and in form sympathised rather with the moderate social democratic section of the Continental Socialists.  But there, however, he was afraid our rejoicing must stop.  The Social Democratic Federation of England aimed at the creation of a state based upon labour.  Its own members however were not agreed as to whether the word "labour" should include thinkers and workers with the head or hand-labour only. Its programme spoke for itself, and he was content himself with quoting the summary of its merits which appeared in a published letter to Mr Hyndman from one of Liverpool's best citizens-a man as deeply respected for his wide and discerning philanthropy as for his commercial ability.  Mr Samuel Smith (applause) thus described it-"The programme you send me advocates the confiscation of nearly all the property of the country, including the savings of the multitudes of hard-working honest people, and the sole means of livelihood of thousands of widows and orphans.  I see no distinction between this wholesale robbery and the act of a thief or highwayman who robs an honest traveller, except that the crime you advocate is gigantic and the sufferers would be millions."

He (Mr Kennedy) did not think that the constructive idea of Socialism would take any deep hold upon the English workmen.  The danger of the movement lay not in the fascination of its ideal, but in the leavening influence of the spirit which permeated its teachings-the attenuation of individual responsibility, the relation both to himself and to the family the notion that want of itself constituted a claim which the State should enforce against the the savings of their thrift; that the possession of wealth was as regarded the poorer man, an injustice; that the willing labourer had a right to have work found for him and not sufficient for his wants only but enough to support as many children as he desired to bring into the world; that there was a hostility instead of a community between capital and labour.

He granted that there were things that could be done much better by the State than by voluntary co-operation; there was no definite, distinguishable line by which we could divide the region of wise from unwise State action. But he was sure of this, that there was no department of social life in which State action should be less likely invoked or when invoked should be more jealously guarded than in the department of productive industry.  Socialism in its professed anxiety to distribute wealth more,  evenly threatened an interference which would in the long run leave very little to distribute by drying up the sources of distributable wealth (applause).  But if Socialism had its dangers for society, its presence taught us lessons by which we ought to profit.  First was the need of education-not mere elementary, but higher education.  Besides educating by instruction, we ought also to educate by example.  We must get rid of unjust laws, of man-made inequalities, of class privileges, of every legal obstacle such as our land system which stood in the way of improvement of the condition of the people. Let us meet Socialism by trying to live up to the standard of Christianity which we professed.  The real truthwhich lay embedded in the Socialist insurrection against society was that society has disobeyed the Divine precept "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself".  We had enabled the English Socialist to argue for his revolution by pointing to the great gulf which our society presented-great wealth, great luxury, and idleness on the one side; great poverty and squalor and wretchedness on the other.  Let us have greater simplicity in our life, greater generosity, more genuine and zealous sympathy with those who are neither rich nor fortunate; let us prove our respect for labour by cordial co-operation with the labourer; let us substitute the cause of brotherhood for the self-complacecy of patronage.  Equality there could never be in this world whilst sin and folly continued to exist; but it was surely alike the sound policy as well as the religious duty of society as far as within it lay to make the rough places plain for hte poor, the helpless, and the weak.  If we thus disarmed Socialism we should never need to fight it (loud applause).

Mr G. R. Haywood afterwards moved and Mr J. K. Young seconded a cordial vote of thanks to Mr Kennedy for his able and instructive address.

The Chairman in supporting the motion said Mr Kennedy had made a careful study of the subject and evidently was acquainted with all its literature and personages, and in concluding he had brought them round to what he supposed everyone present would take to be a sound conclusion upon any such subject.  One fascination the subject had was its extreme complexity and the difficulty of getting as he might say ones knife into it and the feeling one had directly one began that it was no simple matter abd that you must follow it out by a very subtle train of reflection to arrive at a sound conclusion upon it.  Let them take one example of its difficulties. It was constantly said and with great truth that the real foundation of English poverty was the intemperate use of alcohol.  He believed that to be so and if they could by a magical stroke make everybody in this country sober that before a year was out the revolution in the condition of the people would be tremendous (hear, hear) If they could do anything to produce that would it be Socialism or Liberalism (laughter).  Here they came he was going to say head over heels into the very crater of this difficult subject.  Of late years the Liberal Party had arrived more he thought by a moral impulse than anything else at the conclusion that it was a part of Liberalism to lessen the temptation to drink and they had adopted that as part of their programme and they meant if they could to carry that out.  But that only illustrated what Mr Kennedy with so much truth had pointed out-that they could not draw exactly a line between what was Socialism and what was Liberal legislation and they must to a large extent make it a matter of experiment to see how far they could carry the two things (hear, hear).

A similar compliment having been passed to Mr Russell for presiding on the motion of Mr C.W. Willmen the proceedings terminated.

On the same night the Irish National League had met in Liverpool for a banquet at the City Hall.  Mr T. P. O'Connor eulogised on the great qualities of Mr Gladstone.  At that banquet a letter was read out by Mr E. R. Russell MP for not attending as he would be at the Junior Reform Club for Mr Kennedy's speech on Socialism.