But I Like It Because It Is

A Very Little Boy Stood Upon A Heap Of Gravel For The Honour Of Rum Alley. He Was Throwing Stones At Howling Urchins From Devil's Row, Who Were Circling Madly About The Heap And Pelting Him. His Infantile Countenance Was Livid With The Fury Of Battle. His Small Body Was Writhing In The Delivery Of Oaths.

Half Of Tradition Is A Lie.

And It Was As If Fate Had Betrayed The Soldier. In Death It Exposed To His Enemies That Poverty Which In Life He Had Perhaps Concealed From His Friends.

There Were Many Who Went In Huddled Procession,they Knew Not Wither,but, At Any Rate, Success Or Calamitywould Attend All In Equality.there Was One Who Sought A New Road,he Went Into Direful Thickets,and Ultimately He Died Thus, Alone;but They Said He Had Courage.

Tradition, Thou Art For Suckling Children, Thou Art The Enlivening Milk For Babes, But No Meat For Men Is In Thee.