and in order to judge of their true bearing it is sometimes necessary that, so to say, we should transport ourselves out of ourselves, so as to obtain a perfectly independent, impartial and objective view of things.
Let me suppose that you, Mr. President, although being born in this country, had left it when still young. You had studied the theory of our government; you had become imbued with its principles, your mind had become saturated with the teachings of the Fathers of this Republic, but you had not become familiar with the workings of our political machinery in detail. Then you had gone to study the theories and observed the practice of other governments in different parts of the world. Imagine then you had come back to this country about the 4th of March of the year after a Presidential election which had resulted in a change of party control. You would at once hasten to the capital of your country. You would bring with you an exalted idea of the greatness of this Republic, of its tremendous extent, of its gigantic resources, of the multifarious interests which are involved in its political life, of the great history and noble qualities of its people, of its great mission in the history of the world. You come here to Washington to witness the spectacle of the inauguration. You see the President standing in front of the Capitol, and before him an immense multitude, and you behold that grand and simple scene in which the President lays before the people of the United States those principles and views of policy which are to guide him in the administration of public affairs—a scene grand, simple and in imposing harmony with the nature of our institutions.
So far your mind receives impressions corresponding to the convictions you had previously formed. But you spend some time at Washington, after having viewed this interesting and grand spectacle. Presently it strikes
