THE DEAR OLD FLAG.
I saw numbers of Americans, during the great excitement of that memorable day, pass and repass the sacred symbol of their country just for the sake of lifting their hats to the dear old flag. Blood is thicker than water—even if it was only a boat race. One young fellow who had been for four years studying his profession at Halle, in Germany, and had not seen the Gridiron during that time, doffed his hat twice and was cheered from the balcony in return; and when he came to me and spoke, his eyelashes were humid, and, when I asked him what was the matter, he answered in a polyglot of Deutsch and English:
"Ach Gott! I've been having a blamed good cry at the sight of the Stars and Stripes."
And thus the day passed, and the sun declined in force and fell in strips of silver and gold and purple on Putney church and steeple, and on all that mad, roaring, shouting, gambling, eating, and drinking multitude, that lined both banks of the river from Putney to Mortlake—a million human beings in all—to witness ten lads struggle for less than half an hour in two frail boats.
STRUGGLE AND VICTORY.