frontier of the Republic. Year after year each group of rough settlers
and rough soldiers wrought its part in the great epic of wilderness
conquest.

The people that for one or more generations finds its allotted task in
the conquest of a continent, has before it the possibility of splendid
victory, and the certainty of incredible toil, suffering, and hardship.
The opportunity is great indeed; but the chance of disaster is even
greater. Success is for a mighty race, in its vigorous and masterful
prime. It is an opportunity such as is offered to an army by a struggle
against a powerful foe; only by great effort can defeat be avoided, but
triumph means lasting honor and renown.

As it is in the battle, so it is in the infinitely greater contests
where the fields of fight are continents, and the ages form the measure
of time. In actual life the victors win in spite of brutal blunders and
repeated checks.

The Grimness and Harshness of Frontier Life.

Watched nearby, while the fight stamps to and fro, the doers and the
deeds stand out naked and ugly. We see all too clearly the blood and
sweat, the craft and dunning and blind luck, the raw cruelty and
stupidity, the shortcomings of heart and hand, the mad abuse of victory.
Strands of meanness and cowardice are everywhere shot through the warp
of lofty and generous daring. There are failures bitter and shameful
side by side with feats of triumphant prowess. Of those who venture in
the contest some achieve success; others strive feebly and fail ignobly.

Only a Mighty Race Fit for the Trial.