I am here disposed to make a few remarks relative {124} to the late war. I know that in so doing I shall incur censure; but I write for those who are too noble to conceal their defeats, and too modest to proclaim their victories. The genius, and energy, and resources of the United States should have accomplished every thing.
I confess that I did not rejoice at the beams of peace. Premature peace does not promote the cause of humanity. We declared war for the defence of essential rights, which had, in the wantonness of power, been repeatedly invaded. In this war we sought indemnity for the past, and security for the future;—that security which punishment extorts from injustice:—that security which the fine and the lash guarantees to honest and peaceable communities. Did we effect our object? —Oh no! Whatever may have been our victories, our defeats were disgraceful. The administrators of the government were deficient in information, in system, and in energy. They sought an effect without an adequate cause; and the people sacrificed the glory of the country to the pride of political competition. As to the opposition, they pursued false morals until they lost sight of true patriotism.
There was virtue enough in the community; but affliction was necessary to raise it from the ruins of thoughtless and passionate rivalry. We were upon the eve of humiliation,—the eve of new, and omnipotent moral impulse, when peace unexpectedly presented herself. Not the peace which the victor magnanimously gives to the humbled foe, but that peace which misguided apprehension yields to the dark calculations of policy. The British Lion ceased to roar, and instead of contending until we had pared his princely paws, we were ready to forgive and to embrace him. Our own Eagle despised us; and with a fearless, anxious eye, and ruffled plume, {125} retired to the elevated
