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The Man Thei K> Tie News and Courier reprints this morning from Collier's Weekly a remarkable editorial article reviewV ihg the swing-back of public sentiment toward Mr. Wilson. The testimony of Collier's is in itself an interesting evidence of the sentiment ^ which it describes.?News and Cour-1 ier. (From Collier's Weekly.) One of the permanent possessions V of a human heart is the memory of its great enthusiasms. You may have come to disdain and even despise them, but they are never uprooted. Then you reached your highest?and ^ you know it. When a noble ideal kindles such enthusiasms, that ideal becomes one of those things that without warning, * at rare intervals, flares up. And you sat in the light of the flare and ponder. Why did it fail? Not because it was not beautiful?right?desir< able. Was it because you were not fit for beauty, righteousness, desira bility? Peoples are like men. They may lay aside their great hopes, but to the end there are hours when they sit f with them and ponder. Perhaps that ds the explanation of * the persistent, mysterious, unconscious way in which, men today draw > together around Voodrow Wilson. It * r^Quires explanation. Why, in Washinlgton for months now, has the sightseeing wagon followed his car? Why rin t.hp. nh&tterinE tourists inside grow silent as they pass it? They don't peer. They lift their hats and sigh, and it sometimes takes minutes and striking sights to break the mood the fleeting glimpse of that drawn, lotfg i white face has stirred. Why is it that on Sundays and holidays men and women and ehilddren?most of them busy through . / the week?walk to his home and stand there in groups, speak together in hushed tones as if something solemn and ennobling moved in them? Curtiosity? Men chatter and gibe and jostle in curiosity. These v people are silent, gentle and orderly. You will see them before the theater on nighta when it is known that Mr. Wrilson is within, quietly waiting for *-a? * ? TVVi orn tit ill ho fiftv r JOIU LU CUtUC UUI, mvJt nit. , a hundred, even sometimes a thous1 and. They cfheer him as he passes, and thei^e are often chokes in the cheers, and always tenderness. Why do they do it? Nothing more instinctive, J more unplanned, goes on in Washington. Let it be known that he is in his seat in a theater, and the whole house will rise in homage. Let his face be thrown on the screen, and it * will draw a greeting that the face of | no other living American receives. NAnd that is not true in Washington alone. Why should the vast throng that packed Pennsylvania avenue from end' to end on Armistice Day have stood reverently, with heads bared in silence as the bier of the unknown soldier passed, attended by all of the official greatness of the moment? the President, his cabinet, the Supreme court, the house, the senate, the diplomatic corps, Pershihg, Foch ?why should this great crowd have watc&ed in silence until quite unexpectedly, a carriage far down the line came in to view? Wihy should this linoAnooiniic rkf what it WRS % VX V/ n U) UUWUOViVUO V4 * MMV .. doing, have broken into a low cry of 1 sympathy and grief; "There's Wilson!" The cry flew down the long t , avenue. They saw him as the man who had ealled into service the boy they hon^ ored, who had put the wonderful light in his eye, that light of which a great French surgeon said: "The American soldier is different from all others. I don't 4now what it is, whether it \ is God, the Monroe doctrine, or Pres ident Wilson; but he has something in his eye." Yes, Wilson's place was by the dead soldier, and the people > knew it, and told him so by their unconscious outburst. Woodrow Wilson means something to the people ,of the United States; something profound, something they y cannot forget. People think of him now as the man who was behind the inspiration of their greatest moments; who stirred them to a fresh understanding of the meaning of words that had become mere patter on many tongues?"democracy, * union."? He made them realities, personal, deep?showed them as the reason of all that is good in our present, all that is hopeful in our future, the working basis on which men may strive to liberty of soul and peaceful achievement. He made them literally things to die for, lifting all of our plain, humble thousands who never knew applause of wealth or the ' honor of office into the ranks of those who are willing to die for an ideal? the .highest plane that humans reach. People are thinking, also, of hi3 _ work in that after-war period when the hate, revenge, and bitterness that1 / Cannot Forget ; war lias loosed have n'one of the j restraints that war compels, and we must, by reason and good will and I patience, restore our controls?that terrible period we speak of as reconj struction. There, too, he kindled xnthusiam. "Now," he said, "let us do what men have long dreamed?give to each people its chance, cut down the foolish barriers of trade, limit our armaments, enter into a union of all nations pledged to cooperation and peace.'* These peoples of the earth rallied to his plan, pledged themselves. And then the loosed passions began their war on him. Those who wanted peace and believed it easy; those who hated peace and believed it impossible; those who envied his place, differed with his judgments, failed of -his favor?these and many more joined in an attack such as few men ever faced in the history of this earth. He fought to a finish, that ne might secure the pledge of the nations of the ideal" of world cooperation. He won?won with the peoples of the world, if not with all of their orm-ornmpnt*!. Thev look him as the man who drove that id .c*l so deep into the soul of the nations that no man or men can ever destroy it. Jt has become an asset of tormented humanity, a possible way out of slaughter and hate. Through all the future, men will be building upon it, adapting, expanding, as men .have built on Washington's work, on Lincoln's work, knowing that their efforts rest on something essentially sound and secure. They are simple people, remember, those thousands whose hearts he had enkindled. They are the people who do the work of the world, and their minds are easily bewildered. "He has deceived you," they were told. "He has given you dreams. DTeams are not for men. You live by realities, not ideals. Out with him! Down nri+'K Mmi Ac a pp?at nation, vou tw 1111 uim. M c - ?, v w _ have strength, you have gold. Keep them. Stand alone. Do not forget that you do not live by ideals." And the people withdrew?bewildered. But the shouting over, they remembered their long days of exaltation, of sacrifice, of freedom and boldness, of worthwhileness. Was it only a deception? Was all they had felt a mere magic of words on their untrained minds, the stir of a#fleeting passion in their lives? Was there no sense, no reality, in it all? That is what thousands upon thousands have been asking in these past days. And slowly they are turning to him who led them. His suffering face and palsied side are a symbol of their crippled hopes. "How is it with HIM," they ask, "a living sacrifice to that faith and that vision? Does he still believe? Has he lost! faith as well as strength?" And so they seek him. He means something to them; they don't quite know what. He is a living link with their noblest phase. Those who destroyed that phase are giving them' nothing in its place. Wihat does it all mean? And so they follow his carriage, gather before his house, stand in rain and snow and cold before the theater to get even the most fleeting glimpse, something that will bid them live again as they did in + V. ncn. .er.root Tnnm on tc iuvou ^ 1 \S%+ v amvamwmwv, A Georgia Funeral. Here is^an extract taken from one of the famous speeches made by Henry W. Grady, and in these few words 'he speaks whole volumes? and all plain facts. "It was a 'one-gallus' fellow, whose breeches struck him under the armpits and hit him at the other end about the knee. He didn't believe in decollete clothes. They buried him in the midst of a marble quarry; they cut through solid marble to make his grave; and yet a little tombstone they put above him | was from Vermont. They buried him in the heart of a pine forest, and yet the pine coffin was imported from Cincinnati. They buried him within touch of an iron mine, and yet the nails in his coffin and the iron in the shovel that dug his grave were imported from Pittsburg. They buried him by the side of the best sheep-grazing country on the earth, and yet the wool in the coffin bands themselves was brought from the north. "The south didn't furnish a thing on earth for that funeral but the corpse and the hole in the ground. And they put him away and the clods rattled down on his coffin. And they buried him in a New York coat and a Boston pair of shoes and a pair of breeches from Chicago and a shirt from Cincinnati, leaving him nothing to carry into the next world with him to remind him of the country in which he lived, and for which he fought for four years, but the chilled blood in his veins and the marrow in his bones." # I fl 1 ^omen Hun I We have at h Pad that we c maun soft, reta thing on your Cater's Ink Co best on the mi I HERA! I The kind Ij in most I price I The Lai of 01 I Su ThoH? in I A AAV 11 Mail Orders Filled Prompt! HBHHBBHnaHBBHHHHHnH [ling We've ting for Ma / Years ast succeeded in securi an recommend. One t lin the ink and not sm desk. These Pads are n >mpany, and like their i arket in their line today, LD BOX [ that are being places for $1.0C as long as they 1 75c EACH rgest and Bes Ffice and Sch pplies in thi section at ly BAMBERG, S. C. No Postage P IBMHnBnHHHHHHHHHHH i ^ ___ I B I H il?Bj| ij|| 'jjjjj 11 Been 1 mm ny j hat will re- I | tear every- I 1 lade by the I 1 liik, is me | . Try one. I M HI ILES retailed a ); our I ast I : ;l IV ' \ -I J :| / I! 'I Iw" I lli OV