much more securely, had we kept good faith with ourselves, with our allies and with the world.
Now contemplate the other side of the alternative. If the American people, even after the monstrous aberrations of their government, repudiate the policy of criminal aggression and renounce their conquests; if they declare that their profession of unselfish motive and generous purpose in the Spanish war was sincere, and must be maintained at any cost—what then? They will forever put to shame the detractors of the American democracy. They will show that, although the powers of their government may some time be put to base uses by men of misguided ambition, the American people are honest, and can be counted upon to resist even the strongest of temptations, the intoxication of victory, and to submit even to the mortifying ordeal of a confession of wrong done in their name, in order that right, justice and liberty may prevail. Such an attitude will secure to the American people the confidence of mankind as it has never been enjoyed by any nation in the world's history, and with it the fruits of that confidence. Our democratic institutions will issue from the trial with a luster they never had before. By so splendid a proof of good faith this Republic will achieve a position of unexampled moral grandeur and influence. It will naturally become the trusted umpire between contending states, a peaceable arbiter of the world's quarrels. It will not only be a great world-power by its strength, but the greatest of all existing world-powers by its moral prestige.
It may be asked whether this is not an ideal picture. Well, this is the idealism cherished by George Washington, the soberest and most practical of men. This is what he wished and hoped the Republic of the United States, which he loved so much, would become.
But is there any chance of its accomplishment? Are
