SOCIAL DREAMS 
BEING AN ADDRESS GIVEN TO THE MEDICAL STUDENTS OF 
UNIVERSITY COLLEGE LIVERPOOL, BY THE REV. S. A. 
THOMPSON YATES, M.A., ON THE OPENING 
OF THE SESSION 1899-1900 
When the Medical Faculty of University College did me the honour to suggest that I 
should give away the prizes and address you to-day, I asked your Dean, before accepting the duty, 
upon what subject I should be expected to discourse. He replied to my question, ' You may 
talk upon any subject you like.' Evidently, then, some limitation was necessary ; so I allowed 
the book which I was at the moment reading, and which had very mucli interested me, to guide 
my thoughts and to provide the limitation. The book to which I allude was the Life of William 
Morris, by J. W. Mackail. It is an account of the thoughts and works of a remarkable man, 
who has done much to educate the eye and the taste and to make life brigliter and more beautiful 
for us all. It is, perhaps, true that as a thinker he was not distinguished, and the expensive works 
of art which he produced seem to afford a practical contradiction to some of the doctrines which 
he held. It has, indeed, been written of Morris in a clever magazine article, a review of the 
book, that he, ' for forty years talked paradox, and it was his fate for fort)' years to li\'e it also.' 
You may, perhaps, think that from such a life it would be paradoxical to expect much 
advantage. It seemed to me, however, while reading it, that it contained a great deal to make 
one think ; and as I am quite sure that you would not wish me to speak on your own subjects, 
of which you know so much more than I do, I take the thoughts suggested by Mr. Morris' life 
as my guide. 
Mr. Morris was a first-rate artistic handicraftsman, and I think excelled in most of the 
works he attempted. Only a few weeks ago I visited the Cathedral at Salisbury, and there among 
the general level of modern painted glass which made one sad, two brilliant windows shone out 
from the rest. They were by Morris. He was also a very considerable poet, and delighted to 
live in any age or condition except those to which he had been fated. He thought his own time 
very evidently out of joint, and, like Hamlet, he was of opinion that he was born to set it right. 
So he wrote for us that which he lived in the hope of materially creating, Thr Earthlx Pt/nulisr. 
Take that charming book with you some day on your bicycle and read it under a shady tree, or by 
the side of a murmuring stream, and you may learn how difficult it is to define the word 'Reality.' 
You may learn how real are the creations of Genius ; that t/if\i are possibly the ' Reality,' the 
passing world the 'Illusion.' I remember once this feeling coming upon me very strongly when 
passing a morning at Elsinore with my sister. There, you know, stands the famous Castle 
immortalized by the Immortal, in other words, used in his drama by William Shakespeare. We 
