social convulsion.  Some gushing persons talk about the good humour and orderliness of the British crowd.  Well, I allow that the better class of holiday-makers exhibit a kind of rough good nature; but, whenever “sport” is in question, we find that a certain class come to the front—­a class who are not genial or merry, but purely lawless.  While the huge carnival is in progress during one delirious day, we have a chance of seeing in a mild form what would happen if a complete national disaster caused society to become fundamentally disordered.  The beasts of prey come forth from their lairs, the most elementary rules of conduct are forgotten or bluntly disregarded, and the law-abiding citizen may see robbery and violence carried on in broad daylight.  In some cases it happens that organized bands of thieves rob one man after another with a brutal effrontery which quite shames the minor abilities of Macedonian or Calabrian brigands.  Forty or fifty consummate scoundrels work in concert; and it often happens that even the betting-men are seized, raised from the ground, and shaken until their money falls and is scrambled for by eager rascaldom.  Wherever there Is sport the predatory animals flock together; and I thought, when last I saw the crew, “If a foreign army were in movement against England and a panic arose, there would be little mercy for quiet citizens.”  On a hasty computation, I should say that an ordinary Derby Day brings together an army of wastrels and criminals strong enough to sack London if once the initial impetus were given; and who can say what blind chance may supply that impetus even in our day?  There is not so much sheer foulness nowadays as there used to be; the Yahoo element—­male and female—­is not obtrusive; and it is even possible for a lady to remain in certain quarters of the mighty Downs without being offended in any way.  Our grandfathers—­and our fathers, for that matter—­had a somewhat acrid conception of humour, and the offscourings of the city ministered to this peculiar humorous sense in a singular way.  But a leaven of propriety has now crept in, and the evil beings who were wont to pollute the sweet air preserve some moderate measure of seemliness.  I am willing to welcome every sign of improving manners; and yet I must say that the great British Festival is a sorry and even horrible spectacle.  What is the net result or purpose of the whole display?  Cheery scribes babble about “Isthmian games” and the glorious air of the Surrey hills, and they try to put on a sort of jollity and semblance of well-being; but the sham is a poor one, and the laughing hypocrites know in their hearts that the vast gathering of people means merely waste, idleness, thievery, villainy, vice of all kinds—­and there is next to no compensation for the horrors which are crowded together.  I would fain pick out anything good from the whole wild spectacle; but I cannot, and so give up the attempt with a sort of sick despair.  There is something