Possibly they are not to be blamed. The life of a London workingman or woman is not a pleasant one; their pay is very small, and beer is very cheap, and for the time they are happy.
But the next morning! Dickens and all other English writers, have given most charming descriptions of the delights of a night’s drinking, but why, oh why, have none of them ever described the repentance of the next morning? That would have done the world some good.
And so we rode on through masses of people, two-thirds of them at that stage of intoxication where the idea of enjoyment is noise and horse-play, shouting, cheering, singing, yelling, waving handkerchiefs, and all without the faintest idea of the object of either, till we struck the lights of the city. Then the masses separated, and we finally reached our homes, tired, half-pleased and half-disgusted. The Derby was over.
No American, unless he be a sporting man, ever goes to the Derby twice. It is necessary to go once to see it, but once is quite enough. It is a sight to see three hundred thousand people in one mass, but it is not a pleasant thing to realize the fact that two-thirds or more of the number are under the influence of liquor, and that they did it deliberately, and went there with no other idea. It rather lessens one’s confidence in the future of the race, and leads one to the increasing of his donations to the home missionary societies. But it has always been so in England, and probably always will be. And then if the English workingman didn’t get drunk at the Derby he doubtless would find some other place for it, and as he gets a day’s pure air and sunshine, it is perhaps, as well. If any good can be drawn from it, let us hunt it persistently.
EGYPTIAN ROOM, BRITISH MUSEUM