For the
time there will be more land left in Europe; but, unbelievably
soon, the Great War will have been forgotten; and then the march
of the people will be resumed toward such frontiers of the world
as yet may remain. Land, land, more land!
Always in America we have occupied the land as fast as it was
feasible to do so. We have survived incredible hardships on the
mining frontier, have lived through desperate social conditions
in the cow country, have fought many of our bravest battles in
the Indian country. Always it has been the frontier which has
allured many of our boldest souls. And always, just back of the
frontier, advancing, receding, crossing it this way and that,
succeeding and failing, hoping and despairing--but steadily
advancing in the net result--has come that portion of the
population which builds homes and lives in them, and which is not
content with a blanket for a bed and the sky for a roof above.
We had a frontier once. It was our most priceless possession. It
has not been possible to eliminate from the blood of the American
West, diluted though it has been by far less worthy strains, all
the iron of the old home-bred frontiersmen.
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