Ceredo advance. [volume], July 20, 1904, Image 6

About Ceredo advance. [volume] (Ceredo, W. Va.) 1885-1939

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THE FOOT-HILLS.
Under thr cloudk &* blue they he.
Golden !J«is in the *£•>' lyi\ sun;
Up tr. th» mountains high,
^ down where the river* run.
Smooth and bright as a beaten strand.
Fresh and strange as an unsailed ua,
Billowing out on either hand.
Sweet -.rlth a iua.vrU.il witchery
Up to the spring* of youth they lead.
Under the edge of the purple pines;
Ways untainted by toll or greed,
I’aths where peace in its fullness shines;
Winds of healing above them pass.
Free and fresh In their stainless might;
Golden ripples the mountain grass.
Golden stretches the boundless light.
Oh. to b< where the foot-hills rise.
Far away from the homes of men!
Oh. for an hour to lift mine eyes
I p to their glorious slopes again!
All day long rny feet must fare
Over the paths by tollers trod.
But oh. to kneel on that altar-stair
Lifted tip by the bills of God!
— Mabel TCn'Ie, in South’s Comjvmlon.
The Hermit
A Story of the Wilderness
By CHARLES CLARK MUNN
Author of "Pocket Island.” ‘ Uncle Terry"
and " Rcckhaven.'
(Copyright, l«ai, by lair and Shepard.)
CHAPTER I.
FIRST LOVE
1 lie ramp flip had burned lo»v; tlir
little zone of light barely outlined the
open tent, the two canoes, bottom up,
under which Levi anti Jean were shel
tered, and the narrow opening in the
L.rest where Martin Friable anti his
boyhood friend, Dr. Sol, had camped
tor the night. In front of this a placio
lakelet reflected the stars, while ali
■ bout was a pathless wilderness, som
bre and silent. For an hour these two
who had been village schoolmates, be
came reminiscent as they lounged be
side the fire and smoked.
“And so Angie isn't married?” que
ried Martin, reaching forward to poke
the embers together “That's strange.
As 1 recall her at the close of our school
days, she was a more than usually
pretty girl of a quiet common-sense
sort, one who would naturally become
a home-maker. She still lives with
Aunt Comiort, I suppose?"
“Yes," answered the doctor, “and
keeps the Soutli End school and has
for ten years.” Then, as’ if a new
thought hail come to him, he added
“Maybe she is waiting for you. Martin.
I remember you used to be sweet on
her in the old days.”
Martin slowly blew a smoke ring
aloft, for he, like every youth, had
passed safely through the brief delir
ium of first love, which the bright eyes
and red lips of Angie Curtis had occa
sioned.
"Yes. 1 must admit I was." he re
sponded, “and do you know, doctor,
row that you mention my callow spell
I wish I could go back to it and be ju3r
as big and happy a fool as I was then.”
The doctor laughed.
“Better come up and tell her so.” he
responded, glancing at Martin’s up
raised face; lor all you know she
tuight be glad to listen, and as for being
a fool over again—well, from what l
hear, you can afford it now."
And Martin could, for lie bad madp
good os. of the years since he and Dr.
Sol were boys together, and had
Teached the goal of moderate wealth
•while yei in the prime of manhood.
“I'd like to see Angle,’’ Martin added
musingly after a long pause, ' and have
a good visit and laugh over our youth
ful silliness; but maybe she wouldn’t
speak to me now, if we met.”
“Oh. pshaw that's nonsense,” re
turned the doctor, promptly, “and you
know It. Angie isn’t so silly as to re
tain a grudge against a boy admirer so
long. Why do you imagine she would?
Does your conscience smite you?”
"Nn-o-o," came the drawling answer,
and yet I think I didn’t treat her just
right, after leaving Greonvale. I was
too busy malting money."
\nd that night when the chat had
come to an end. and Martin had crept
into the tent and lay listening to the
crackle of the dying fire, once more he
Iived over those fond and foolish days
of his youth.
And how clear and distinctly fh<*y ,
alt ram* hark, now that the pa Hr a |>e- 1
Kan to turn! First the school days,!
wlion Angie. in her lift to checked «in«
"ham pinafore, had chosen him as her I
rescuer in a game of "Stand in the
Well,” thru the first spelling srhoo?
and fh .* walk homo with her in the
early autumn, when th • Mlzzy looked
like a stream of rippling silver, and
•he moon east mottled shadows along
♦he maple-shaded lane which they fol
lowed Anl w'laf a delight it was to
fee| h. r small, soft hand on his Jacket, i
sleevt and how scared he wa when
Annt Comfort'a was reached, and he
felt impelled to l isa Angie Then the
next winter, and that ncver-tt»-|>e-for.
gotten sleigh-ride to Riverton, and the
horn* 'dning w hen the hells jingled so
merrily, and the sleigh runners creaked
in th< frostv snow when the hors*
walked, and how his arm nearly froze
holding he robe around Angie' All
he long winter evenings in Aunt t om
fort s licst room.” with Its haircloth
furniture open fire, and shiny bra* -
flre-dogs r air >■ hack, with the popping
of torn the tin pan of scek-no-furthet
apples, and howl of tra' l e<i walnuts as
side feat tire of minor interest. '
Ther» ,w i, other and ecjuall.v charming
occasion, moonlit evenings on Aunt
Conifer' porch when the lilacs were
Moom and the fireflies twinkled ove»
the rmadow. long walks to a brldgo
across the Mlzzy, where sweet flag
grew, with many stolen kisses fragrant
with flagroot, gathered as well, and
dozen* of other aod anally delightful '
hours, with Angie as the one sole and
supreme inspiration. But beyond these
boyhood delights, and woven into his '
feelings like fine tendrils, was the m‘*rn- '
ory of a dozen or more old-time Sab
bath-school melodies she used to sing
rr her own accompaniment played upon
a little droning melodeon. They were
all from a collection railed “Fresh
Laurels,” and that, with two more, one
labelled “Songs of Zion" and the other
"The (llee Club,” composed her musi
cal library. The first was her favorite,
and the songs she usually entertained
1 iui with were “Give, Said the Little
Stream,” "The Golden Rule,” “Shall
We Gather at the River,” “All thn
\\ ay,' and “Sweet Hour of Prayer.”
For two years he had lived in a new
and glorified world, building air castles
with her and for her. us young Romeos
ever have and ever will, and then came
a sweet yet painful parting, prolific of
fond promise, but alas, lil.e most, to
fade into thin air.
For one year more they had ex
changed tender missives, first weekly,
then monthly, then irregularly; and
then ceasing entirely, as Martin, ambi
tious and hard-working in his new life,
neglected them, and so the dream
ended.
r ive years later he relumed to spend
j * Thanksgiving with his mother, and.
though he met Angie at church and re
i ''’Cited a bow and a smile, he impolitely
1 neglected to call. And then caine the
closing of hi- home, when his mother
left the village to live with his only
dster, now married and dwelling in
lllverton, and Angie and Greenvale be
came hut milestones on the highway
of memory.
I here is latent in every man's heart
a long-cherished belief that shp who
was his early sweetheart must ever feel
somewhat of the same tender interest
in him. She inav have married—be
come a mother, possibly a grand
mother: he may have neglected her ut
terly and for long years, and yet. in
his conceit, it matters not. she must
and certainly does retain his face in
her memory, and deep down in her
heart, a little of the old first love.
Martin was no different from other
nion. He had lived the sweet illusion
with Angie a - its star: then the great.
II K PAUSED
city tli*1 fight for a livelihood then
u competence, and all the selfish cyn
icism instilled by contact with grasping
greed, hnd leveled the beauteous air
castles and left Angie and all those
fond and foolish ways m-'r • incidents of
the long ago.
Beyond that, he had escaped any
more mature and dangerous entangle
ment. had grown sceptical of all things,
and was a free-hearted, all-around
good fellow, yet conscious of success;
and the only soft spot in his nature
was a love for wood life. He had met
Hr. “Sol' Finch, an old schoolmate,
l.y chance in the city, and under the
spur of this sportsman’s instinct and
desire to share its been pleasures, had
invited his boyhood friend to join in
them.
And now the doetor was fast asleep,
while Martin. lying on a bed fit' fir
twigs, with the dying fire faintly glow
ing in front of the tent, the low ripple
of the near-by lake murmuring along
the sandy shore, was onre more listen
ing to the old songs of Sabbath-school
da>s. sung by his boyhood sweetheart,
and living over tho e dreams of young
love.
ror a Ion? hour, so keen w is the
spell, ho wan do rod about that list ant
village, in fanny, anti dwelt among by
gones. and tbon suddenly he became
conscious that sonto creature was
stealthily crawling through the thick
undergrowth back of the font. Only
the faintest sounds betrayed its pres
ence—the mish of a spruce bough
brushed aside and returning to place,
the breaking of a dead tvrlg. the rustle
of a dry b*af and yet. so perfect was
the utter silence of that June night,
'uuh trivial aound reached him.
!■ f>r a moment he listened, breathless
to this appioa< hing prowler, then rose
| to a sitting posture, reached for his
rifle, ami softly drawing the tent flap
aside, [*•< ped out. Whatever the crea
ture was. itv acute hearing had revived
warning, for now no sound issue,j from
the surrounding thicket. For a seem
ingly long five minute, Martin peered
out. glancing from side t • side of the
little opening anti to the ratio* < be
neath which lay the guide, and list
ened. He could hear the)r measured
breathing, and faint ripple along the
lake shorr near by, and that was all
Then one,, more the creeping, crawling,
stealthy movement in the tangle jus*
back of the ten began again, this
time slowly receding until ft ceased.
\ danger w»* can measure does not
appnl .is. but th" invisible mmia<* of
'■••ome animal creeping close toone's r.*nt
at. night in the wilderness n another
matter. It may tie a harmless porcti
p n* but we are ,nre to imagine |* to
be ft bear [anther, or wildcat at |.
Martin did but after a half-hour more
of listening without result. «xcepf to
tet chilled. h*» gave |» up an,j ,-rept
under his blanket again.
“Id I letter not »ell the doctor.” he
baid to him self, and then fell aaloep.
CHAPTER fl.
A CURIOUS FOOTPRINT.
The morning concert of sons birds,
always heard in the wilderness in Msy
and June, was in full force when Mar
tin crept out of the tent next morning.
The sun was Just peeping through the
spruce tops, a film of thin Kray foK cov- !
* red the placid lake, and Eevl had just j
started a fire. Then came the usual
wash in clear, cold water, the Katherine
around the bright Are to watch tho
guides cookiug, the keen appetite for
the simple breakfast of fried trout,
ham, »*kkk. and coffee, eaten while sit
ting cross-legged on a moss-covered
log. the packing of their belongings,
the launching and loading of ranoeg,
and so the day began.
“We have an easy day ahead of us,"
observed Martin, when they were ready
to start, "a good twenty miles up the
Moosehorn, which enters this lake close
by. with no quirk water or carries.
We ran reach the North Branch in
ample time to make ramp to-night and
catch some trout there for supper.” It
was an attractive programme, almost
unvarying for all such days In the wil
derness, and so pleasant that the im
press of the previous night’s caller,
creeping close to the tent, had almost
\anlshcd from Martin’s mind. But It
was soon recalled In an unexpected
way. for Levi, always last to leave each
camping spot, was about to enter his
< anoe ami push off, when he paused,
and stepping to one side of tho bit of
beach, stooped over, looking at some
thing.
'What Is It?" queried Martin, from
the canoe.
* dunno; you bpfter come and see,”
answered Levi.
Martin stepped out of the canoe and
to where his guide stood, to tin as much
astonished, for there in the hard damp
sand, elose to the bank, was a queer
footprint. It was no longer than one
made by a human foot, with the deeply
indented claw marks of a panther.
Only those showed distinctly, for the
heel mark was scarcely visible. It
looked as if the creature making it had
c omo out of the water and up on to the
harder hank, where no track would
show.
“Well." said Martin again, after a
long examination, “what is it?"
“It's more’n I can tell." replied Levi,
slinking his head anil measuring the
claw prints with a twig. “If he's a pan
ther, he had longer claws’n I ever saw,
’n’ l never knew one to have a heel
mark like that, or step in the water it
he could help it. If beats me."
"What have you found." called the
doctor from his canoe out in the lake.
'Oh. nothing," answered Martin;
only the track of an otter,” and he
stepped into his eanoe again and they
paddled away.
Then he told Levi about the night
visitor, creeping about the tent.
“I do not think it wise to tell the doe
tor or Jean, lie said in conclusion, “or
speak of this queer track. It's the doc
tor s first flip into the woods, and
such things will alarm him unduly and
spoil liis enjoyment." And so the sin
Kiitar footprint and its possible connec
tion with the creature who had eropt
up to their tent at midnight was left
behind.
r.sually two sportsmen in canoeing
upstream especially, will keep along
together, hut somehow that day it hap
pened that Hr. Sol and Jean were first
to reach the junction of the North
Hiandi with the broad and slow-run
mng Moosehorn. and the lowering sun
1-ad left its valley in shadow ore Jean
pushed his canoe ashore and the doctor
stepped out. It was as Mar*in had
stated a good camping spot, for the en
trance to an old tote-road furnished a
clear space, an endless procession of
foam flecks on tji< Hranch emerged
from the shadow of its overhang and
wheeled into the broader stream, while
the music of a little cascade just back
in the woods suggested trout.
"You may jis’ ho well go fish." said
.Jean, turning to the eanoc and taking
from it a small axe. ”zar be one ver’
nlee hole up ze stream few rod.” anu
be pointed where a bush-choked open
inR allowed that a tote-road had oner
been cut alonRside the Branch.
Br. Sol e>ed It suspiciously. “No
bears or panthers up there. Jean?” hi
queried.
If you see him. be see you fust, an’
you no see him.” came the paradox
ical answer,as Jean began cutting away
the undergrowth with his hunting
I nife, preparatorj to the erection of a
tent.
Dr. Sol reached for his rod, Jointed
it. still glancing furtively into the som
bre wilderness and then down the
stream again. ”f wish Friable would
keep up.” he said, half to himself. "I
want trout for supper, but I’m not just
anxious to go into the woods alone
after them.”
But the floating foam flecks, the rail
of the running wafrrs. and the love of
sport conquered the forbidding forest,
ayd with one more glance down the
Moosoborn he started up the almost in
visible path.
From the sound, the little cascade be
could hear must be scarce tep rods in j
but as he followed the old |„g roa,|
now close beside the stream, and then j
liendlng away, while h,. pushed aside
' ,h* undergrowth taller than himself
li seemed ever a little beyond. Just as
j ,,i: courage had nearly ebbed, the faint
path turned down lieslde the stream
| ' nee more, and here p* current, merely j
i fr< Med by a hidden ledge, was making '
the music that had lured film In l.lke'
a boy now, in his eagerness, he ad
j justed hi* tackle, and with a short east
i lightly threw the gaudy flies into the!
pool below, and let them float down, in
an Instant, came a leap anti spies). as
a pound irout took «he tempting rr.or
f-e!. anil the rport began fine at\or 1
■ another the little doctor reeled in. ob
livious now' to bears, panthers, or the
solemn stillness of the wilderness, and !
happy as only a true sportsman can be.
A dozen bad been tossed in rapid suc
cession behind a rotting stump, when,
torgettlng the trees back ot him, ho
booked one limb bard and fast. To
climb such a spruit, with branches so ^
thick a squirrel only could do It. was
impossible, and with a muttered impre
cation, the doctor pulled on his line
until the delicate leader broke, and then
sat down to repair damages. He had
Just done so and arisen, when the faint
sound of a breaking twig caught his
attention. With a quick glance across I
the stream, where a rocky and bush
hid hank faced him. he saw, in ths
darkening twilight, just above a brown. '
moss-covered boulder, u hideous, hairy, j
human face!
Only one instant he saw it, the next
It had vanished.
For a moment Dr. Sol, never a coura
geous man, stood still, while it seemed
that, icy water was leaping through
every vein; the next instant he turned
and ran down the bush-choked path as
if pursued by demons. Each moment,
as he dove under bending boughs or
leaped over fallen trees, he felt that a
hairy human monster was just about
to seize him.
When the camp-fire was reached,
Martin had arrived ami was cutting
boughs with a hunting-knife, while
lean and Levi were just entering the
tent. A fire had been started, a black
ened pail had been hung from a stick
o’er the flame, and preparations for a
night in the woods were well tinder
wav. Into iliis little group leaped the
terrified doctor, breathless, with face
scratched ami bleeding.
‘Pack up. quick!-’ lie exclaimed in a
husky voico; “we’ve got to get out of
hero at once! There’s a wild man back
up in the woods, and I wouldn't stay
here for a million dollars!”
Martin and Levi exchanged quick
glances. and ,i halt came in the camp*
ire work For a moment the two
looked at one another, and then, as if
recalling that curious footprint they
had seen 20 miles away, they glanced
furtively up the hush-choked log road.
One instant only Martin hesitated, and
then lie recovered himself.
“Doctor,’’ he said, “i expected you
would get well scared the first time you
went Into the woods alone, and I se*»
ou have. What you saw, most, lil^iy,
was a blackened stump half hid in the
boshes, or possibly it might have been
a bear. If so. he is a mile away by now,
i tore scared than you are. Here, take
u drink, trace up. and help us to make
camp. It s almost dark.”
But Dr. So! was obdurate. “I tell
you. Martin Friable,’’he replied sternly,
heeding not the proffered flask, “I
Wouldn t stay here a night for love nor
money. We are watched, and by the
most savage-looking creature I ever
set. eyes on.” Then, with many addi
tions. as might he expected, he told of
his fright.
Martin and Levi exchanged knowing
looks once more, hut made no comment
until the tale was told, and then Mar
tin spoke.
f.To Be Continued ]
EVADING THE QUESTION.
One %V millin'* « lewr Wily of IVIIinjf
ln<iuinitl\«• I'crson* lion
Old She Jn.
‘I think it is a foolish fasliion that
so many women indulge, that of tell
ing their age wrongly,” said the wom
an with tlie prematurely gray hair,
relates London Tit-Bits. ”1 can hon
estly say dial 1 never practice it my
self.”
“No?" said her friend, with many
meanings in the monosyllable.
Well, said the first speaker, with
a. smile—she was a woman with r»
sense of humor—“the fact is. I don’t
have to. I have a way of making my
self out younger than I am. if I wish
to. without telling a fib at all.”
“Really?” inquired the other, curi
ously ”in what way?”
“i put the burden ot the flb alimpon
the questioner. You see, when one of
my dear women friends—it is always
women who are curious on this point —
asks me how old I am I say: ‘Oh, I’m
a year or two older than you. you
know, my dear—at least a year older.
Let me see, now, how old are you?’
And then she always knocks more off
my age than I should ever have the
nerve to do myself!”
>li«»r«l <M(ivn» llnrlt Mmim.
Traveling on the continent of Kurope
with a party of young Americans, 1
wan witness of their dismay at being
assailed from time to time by friendly
English fellow travelers with such
questions as these:
"Is It not very lonely jn America?
Are there any singing birds there? 1
Any wild flower*,? Any bishops? Are
there booths In the streets „f New
York? Do people read Knglisji bobks
there'’ Have they heard of Ituskln;
and how?”
These were front the rank and file of
questioners, while a very cultivated
clergyman lost caste somewhat with
our young people by asking confi
dently. “Are Harvard and Yale both
in Boston?”
I his question, which seemed 10 them
as hopelessly benighted as the remark
of a lady just return, d Iron the won
ders or the new world, who had been
Impressed, like all visitors, with the
novelties offered in the way of food at
the Baltimore dinner tables, but still
sighed with regrel at having been
obliged to come away without eating
a "canvas-backed clam ”- Atlantic.
I'lte Hired Hnn.
”1 eg n't see that man you've hired
anywhere,” said Mrs. Riggs, Irritably.
Merc you are laid up with rheuma
tism. and I need some more wood
split up for kindling. There! I see a
man way over in the cranberry mead
ow. I believe tnat’s him ”
the man standing or sitting'”’
asVtd Mr. Higgs
“Standing.” said his wife
Then thn chances are It is some
other man," said the Invalid, "unless
he's found a wasp’d nest."—Youths
Companion. »
THE ELEPHANT'S POSITION. ~
The Democratic Donkey — Say. Old Man, Where Do I Come InP
OUR DIPLOMACY TRIUMPHS.
World's Progress Accelerated Through
the Patriotic Statesmanship
of Roosevelt.
The successful effort by the United
Stales to secure the release of Mr. Per
diearis, the American citizen who was
seized and held captive by a Moroccan
brigand, and incidentally the freedom
also of his stepson, who was a British
subject, grows in importance as its full
significance comes to be understood.
This is because, as has been the case
numerous times before, the American
initiative, taken with vigor and firm
ness, is likely to lead to international
results of great moment. To get the
true perspective of the incident it is nec
sary to look at the matter through for
eign eyes, and it is a tribute tothe states
manship of our government that the
meaning of it all Is so readily recog
nized and so willingly acknowledged
abroad.
The Sf. %Louis Globe-Democrat, which
Is not given to over-enthusiasm, ex
presses the opinion that “not since De
catur, in 18J.r>, captured the dey of Al
giers’ flagship, destroyed one ofifcis
frigates and compelled that functionary
to sign a treaty of peace on the United
States officer’s deck, has American di
plomacy won a more conspicuous tri
umph in dealing with a barbarous peo
ple than it has just scored in compell
ing the release of' Percicaris,” and in
this position it is sustained by a British
journal of the character and standing of
the London Standard, which affirms that
Secretary Hay’s decisive action has
speedily closed “the most remarkable in
cident which has troubled con tern porary
history in Morocco.” This is emphatic
yet discriminating. That it is more than
JustiKed is shown by th“ Globe-Demo
crat in a further elucidation of the mat
ter:
“The Roosevelt administration in the
Perdiraris affair had not only to deal
with the brigand chief, but it was com
pelled to fight the sultan of Morocco.
Muley Abdul Azziz had to be overawed
before any headway could be attempted
with Raisuli. The kidnaping incident
was merely one of a series of frequent
episodes which diversify the annals of
Morocco. The difference between the
Perdiraris affair and the general run of
abductions by bandits in that land of
licensed rapine is that this time it was
an American who was the victim, and
consequently It was the American gov
ernment which had to be reckoned
with.
Probably the mandate of President
Roosevelt and Secretary Hav In Mo
rocco. ‘We must have Perdicaris alive
or Raisuli dead.’ will change the rela
tions of that country to the rest of the
world as radically as Ralnbridge and
Pecatur did a century ago. when they
paid tribute to the Algerian pirates at
the mouths of American cannon. For
a*es Europe had submitted to the black
mail which was levied on its vessels by
the Barbary corsairs, but the American
people forced Jefferson and Madison to
crush the pirates instead of subsidizing
them. Then Europe followed the Ameri
can example, and the reign of the free
booter* was over Once again the Pnlted
States has sent a big fleet through the
Pillar* of Hercules. Again American
cannon has compelled barbarism to ca
pitulate to civilization. The United
State* squadron which sailed past Gib
raltar and info the harbor of Tangier has
fulfilled its mission as promptly and de
cisively as did its forerunner long ago
In Tripoli and Algiers. Mtiley Abdul
Azzfz. like the nameless despots who
ruled the varlo„f Barbary states of a
century ngo. has been forced to recognize
that Europe’s easy tolerance of brigand
Advance in Price of Meat.
Hoof is going up in price, and retailers
and consumers alike are unhappy over
the fact. Various reasons are given
for the advance, and there may he more
or less truth in all of them And per
t aj>v the exjdanation by one of the large
dealers may go far toward accounting
for the situation. He declares that "we
are a porterhouse race.” That Is, the
American people buy more of the finer
cuts of meat than any other, and this In
turn creates a demand and a scarcity
which lead to the exaction of hij^her
prices. Thorr is no doubt that American*
ar® croat moat oatcrs and that most of
thorn want the boat, and th-re is only *
limited supply of the best -Cleveland
Leader.
t^Some people hav» solemnly %n-1
with significant shakes of the head called
1 attention to the faot that the republican
national convention was thirteenth in
| the history of the party Weil, it may
be unlucky—for the democrats, as moat
'of the others have beenMinneapolis
, Times.
age and murder is not shared by the
j United States.
i “An immediate consequence of the
Perdicaris incident will probably be that
Morocco will feel the weight, of a re
straining hand from the outside. In the
recent treaty England conceded to
France a paramount interest in Moroc
co, with the stipulation that British
trade with that country should not he
interfered with. Spain asks to be con
sulted in the disposition of affairs on the
other side of the straits of Gibraltar, it
is France, however, that the world will
look to for surveillance over the activ
ities of Morocco's despot ami his brig
ands. The United States recognized
France’s overlordship in Morocco in tho
Perdicaris incident, and France at
tempted to coerce the sultan into listen
ing to American demands. That func
tionary being slow in answering
France’s overtttrrs, American vessels*
sailed into ll^ harlior or Tangier, ma
rines were landed and preparations wem
made to send an army into the country
to hunt Raisuli down in case the bandit
refused to come to terms. Then sullan
and brigand yielded, and their prison
ers were surrendered. Hereafter
France’s suzerainty over Morocco will
have to he more manifest if it is to be
recognized by the world. Another ray of
light has been shot into the dark conti -
nent. For neither Morocco nor any oth -
er country’ can stem the march of civil
ization and tho movement of the spheres
be suspended.”
It is a splendid thing fo- the UnitPd
States that it has as directing jiowen*
in its government men like President
Roosevelt and Secretary of State Hay.
who cannot only instantly perceive a
great opportunity, but who have the
courage and skill to instantly turn it to
, effective account. The world’s progress
j *s vastly- accelerated through such pre
I eminent statesmanship and patriotism.
NATIONAL IN ITS PURPOSE,
t Republicans Are Victorious Because*
They Stand for the Welfare
of the Whole Country.
“The republican party was born with
j the declaration that slavery was sec
. tional and that freedom was national,
i It ha-s ever been a national party, its
policies benefit ini? every section and
| every man in the republic."
In this opening sentence of his speech
as permanent chairman of the repub
lican national convention Hon. Joseph
(i. Cannon acutely and accurately de
fined the abiding difference between the
republican party and its rival.
The democratic party committed 11
self fully to sectionalism when it de
i dared the war for the union a failure
With occasional uplifts Into national
ism. generally forced upon it by the re
publican party, it has continued to bo
sectional in spirit ever since.
For more than a generation the ap
peals of the democracy to the Ameri
can people have been appeals to a aec
i tion or class or group of sections or
classes. Even the unsuccessful demo
I cratic campaign of 1806 and 1900 were*
appeals to debtors as a class against
; creditors as a class.
Roonusr the democratic party is •<*
sentlally a class and sectional party,
while the republican is a truly national
1 f>arLv that is the great abiding reason
why the American people generally pre
fer republican rule.
The national party, says the Chicago
Inter Ocean, succeeds because the Unit
ed States is regarded by Its 80.0(H),000 of
people not ns merely a federation of see
Hons or classes, but as a nation whos«*
people, as a whole, rise or fall, succeed
or fail, wax or wane, prosper or grow
poor, indlvisihiy and Inseparably