The worst form of oppression, however, to which the railway man is exposed is one very difficult to prove and very easy to deny: “blacklisting.” A railway servant, on leaving the employ of one company, (whether at the company’s instance or at his own) receives no written character, nor can he refer any intending employer to the report of his immediate superior. Enquiry must be made at headquarters; and it seldom happens that a man who, for whatever cause, has left the service of one company, succeeds in getting taken on by another. The men are convinced that a deliberate understanding exists, and this conviction leads many of them, unwillingly subservient, to endure the ills they have, rather than face loss of employment and of pay. Any trade that is in the hands—as the railway industry of course is—of comparatively few and very powerful employers is especially liable to develop the tyranny of “blacklisting.” The existence of the practice is almost invariably denied, and can, in the nature of things, very seldom be substantiated; but it is possible to remark that, as a matter of experience, one company does not engage the man who has previously worked for another. The men know, experimentally, that to leave their present employers means, in the great majority of cases, leaving the industry altogether. How much such knowledge must sap a man’s independence, how much it must try his nerves and his temper, it is, surely, unnecessary to insist. The railway workers have, in the course of years, conquered the immense difficulties that beset the organising of men whose hours are long and varying, and whose work brings them rather apart than together. Other workers, whose employment is closely akin to theirs, are still involved in those early struggles which seem to the men engaged in them almost hopeless. Comparing their position with that of the railway men, we shall see, once again, how great are the benefits which organisation can bestow, and how powerless are even skilled and licensed workmen unless backed by a strong union. The omnibus men of London form a group of workers familiar to all London’s citizens. The most tedious of “blocks” has been enlivened for us by their “chaff”; the blackest of fogs and the most scorching of dog-days have failed to destroy their patience and their good temper. With the advent of the motor omnibus, however, a change has become apparent which fills observant Londoners with foreboding. The motor man is, to put it plainly, snappish; he hustles his passengers in and out; he not infrequently turns a blind eye to the breathless pursuer; and he is apt to be caustic in remarks upon the slowness of the aged or the unwieldy traveller. To this impatience the jarring motion and irritating jangle of the car may perhaps contribute; but the main reason of it may, I believe, be found in the conditions under which the drivers and conductors of motor omnibuses mostly work.