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studied effort to weaken the presi
dent's policy by attempting to stir up
hatred of Great Britain and to create
the impression that John Bull is con
trolling Wilson and his policy. '
There would be no objection to any
legitimate argument any editor might
want to make against repeal of the
canal tolls exemption, but Hearst has
turned all his hired jackals of jour
nalism loose, a snarling pack, to bite
at the president's heels.
Of course, you can't blame the
cartoonists or the editors; they are
merely hired men, who have sold
their talent to the highest bidder, to
be made use of in any manner the
boss sees fit. '
When Powers with his pencil por
trays Wilson as the creature of Great
Britain,tthe tool of Carnegie and Root
or the arch enemy of American
patriotism, it is not Powers but
"ROSE PATHS STEEPED
" Ilcarst who is doing" the dirty wort.
And when Alfred Henry Lewis cuts
loose on Wilson with his pen, it is not
Lewis, it is Hearst. Lewis is merely
a kept writer and writes what his boss
Some journalists are like lawyers.
T-hey are for sale to the highest bid
der. And cartoonists, in most part,
are the same.
I think the entire tendency of the
Hearst newspapers is vile, suggestive,
indecent and vicious.
There are many who believe it was
this kind of journalism that inspired
the murder of McKinley.
It may inflame the imagination of
some mentally unbalanced creature
with the fancy that the president is
betraying his country, and the poor
maddened creature may think he has
an inspiration on -high to make an
other presidential martyr.
Tnsin" is the answer
BY JANE WHITAKER
"How could I know the road I chose and wandered in, lured by the
fragrance of a rose, was steeped in sin?"
Ashes of roses that is all of the story of two girls, today lifeless, self
slain because the, "path of roses" was steeped in sin.
One of them, Marjorie Chauncey, was just a little girl of seventeen, a
mere child who should still have been in the schoolroom her hair in a braid,
her mind intent on study; instead she blackened her hfe and then snuffed
it out in a moment of recklessness.
And the other, Mayme Connors, was an older girl, but perhaps the
"path of roses" was even more luring to her because her everyday life was
She lived in a small bedroom; she was a seasonal worker and there
fore idle muclr-of the time. Always she had to figure closely to provide her
self with life's bare necessities and its luxuries were beyond her wildest
And one day she grew weary of the life of denial and she found the
"path of roses" inviting, for it always lures with its promise of bright lights,
of the clink of glasses and the gay laughter of youth, of the speeding of a
nign-power auto tnrough the night,
like a comet, of forgetfulness of toil
ft is only a half-truth that girls
know they must pay in. sin fr these
pleasures. I do not believe that any
girl ever takes any pleasure life has
to offer in the initial time with a real
ization of the price she must pay.
True, there are. the bleached bones
of other girls along the "path of
roses,' but I have talked to many
girls whose lives were ashes, and
some of them have said that they
never dreamed they must pay for the
pleasures offered them by men who
had them to offer, and others have
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