even by our friends, proved such a thing to be possible without the slightest difficulty, was one of the finest lessons ever taught by a great democracy to mankind.
Such was our normal policy during the period between the foundation of the Republic and our days. Times of war excepted, the Republic was, compared with other nations, substantially unarmed, and, considering the condition of our coast fortifications, substantially defenseless. And yet it cannot be said that, since the war of 1812, it was, in consequence of its unarmed state, at any time in serious danger of foreign aggression or of a serious denial of its rights by any foreign Power. Not as if all foreign nations had been our sworn friends, eager to keep us from harm in our innocence—for there were people enough in Europe, and even in America, who disliked us and would not have been sorry to see this Republic perish; nor as if in our intercourse with foreign nations we had been over-anxious to spare other people's feelings—for the tone of our diplomacy was not always a model of politeness. No, it was because in the main we took little interest in matters which did not concern us, and because every foreign Power understood that, considering our vast resources and the compactness and substantial impregnability of our great continental stronghold, a serious conflict with the United States would mean to our antagonist a test of endurance which no European Power could undergo without offering seductive opportunities to its rivals or enemies in the old world, and that therefore it was wise to avoid so hazardous an embroilment at almost any cost. This feeling became especially distinct in Europe after the unexpected display of strength the United States made in the civil war, and after the equally unexpected reconciliation between the North and the South so soon after the close of the conflict.
The American people were therefore perfectly right
