The ready rough may always regard a third-class carriage, or indeed, any carriage he can make his way into with or without a ticket, on the Underground Railway as a sort of travelling Alsatia, where brutal blackguardism finds "sanctuary."

The one duty of a guard—as of a watch—is to "keep time." He is not expected to keep anything else, except tips. For instance he is not bound to keep his temper, or to keep on the look out for roughs.

No one has a legal right to get into a carriage which is full, but then a third-class carriage never is full so long as one more brawny brute can violently force his way into it.

When bent upon enjoying the exceptional privileges and immunities reserved for blackguardism by the Underground Gallios, it is only necessary for a few hulking ruffians, big of course, and half drunk by preference, to thrust themselves violently in some compartment containing no less than twice its legal complement. In doing this they will, of course, rudely trample the toes of weak women, and insolently dislodge the hats of inoffensive men; thus paving the way pleasantly for future operations.

Having squeezed themselves in somehow, they can then further indulge in the lesser amenities of travel by puffing rank tobacco smoke in the faces of their fellow-passengers, expectorating at large with not too nice a reference to direction, and indulging in howling, chaff, and horse-play of the most offensive character.

The addition of blasphemy, especially if there should be women and children present, may probably provoke a mild remonstrance from some one, and then the rough's opportunity has arrived at last.

To particularise the rough's rules for dealing with such an objector and his sympathisers—if any—would be as tedious as superfluous; but the combined arts of the low pugilist, the intoxicated wife-beater, and the Lancashire "purler," may be called into play, with much enjoyment and perfect safety, until the object of his wrath is beaten into unconsciousness or kicked into convulsions. On reaching a station, the frightened passengers may perhaps dare to appeal to the guard! That autocratic official will of course, with much angry hustling and holloaing, declare that he can't stop to interfere, his business being, not to stay actual violence or prevent possible homicide, but to "keep time," and the ruffianly scoundrels go off shouting and singing "Rule Britannia" and telling their pals "what a bloomin' lark they've had in the Hunderground."