A race exactly qualified for the conditions to which we so freely submit it in prison.

And above those conditions that race will have no aspirations.

So give them play, glorious play, manly strife; let their hearts beat, and their chests expand that they may breathe from their bottom lungs, that their limbs may be supple and strong, for it will pay the nation to give Tom, Dick and Harry healthy play.
And they long for it, do Tom, Dick and Harry! Did you ever see hundreds of them on a Sunday morning coming up from their lairs in Hoxton, Shoreditch, Spitalfields and Bethnal Green, to find a field or open space in the suburbs where they might kick a football?
I have seen it scores of times.

A miserable but hopeful sight it is; hopeful because it bears testimony to the ingrained desire that English lads have for active healthy play.

Miserable because of their appearance, and because of the fact that no matter what piece of open ground or fields they may select, they are trespassers, and may be ejected, or remain on sufferance only.
Happy are they if they can find a piece of land marked for sale, where the jerry-builder has not yet commenced a suburban slum.