My son went down after his death. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. “I suppose you’re like the rest of them. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him. “I think you are getting to understand me better. What does it matter? It is here, and it is here to stay.
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