aty that is binding in good faith. We claim, however,
say the gentlemen, a right to judge of the expediency of treaties;
that is the constitutional province of our discretion. Be it
so. What follows? Treaties, when adjudged by us to be inexpedient,
fall to the ground, and the public faith is not hurt. This,
incredible and extravagant as it may seem, is asserted. The amount
of it, in plainer language, is this--the President and Senate are to
make national bargains, and this House has nothing to do in making
them. But bad bargains do not bind this House, and, of inevitable
consequence, do not bind the nation. When a national bargain, called
a treaty, is made, its binding force does not depend upon the
making, but upon our opinion that it is good. . . .

To expatiate on the value of public faith may pass with some men for
declamation--to such men I have nothing to say. To others I will
urge, Can any circumstance mark upon a people more turpitude and
debasement? Can anything tend more to make men think themselves
mean, or degrade to a lower point their estimation of virtue and
their standard of action?

It would not merely demoralize mankind; it tends to break all the
ligaments of society, to dissolve that mysterious charm which
attracts individuals to the nation, and to inspire in its stead a
repulsive sense of shame and disgust.

What is patriotism? Is it a narrow affection for the spot where a
man was born? Are the very clods where we tread entitled to this
ardent preference because they are greener? No, sir; this is not the
character of the virtue, and it soars higher for its object. It is
an extended self-love, mingling with all the enjoyments of life, and
twisting itself with the minutest filaments of the heart. It is thus
we obey the laws of society, because they are the laws of virtue. In
their authority we see, not the array of force and terror, but the
venerable image of our country's honor. Every good citizen makes
that honor his own, and cherishes it not only as precious, but as
sacred. He is willing to risk his life in its defense, and is
conscious that he gains protection while he gives it. For what
rights of a citizen will be deemed inviolable when a State renounces
the principles that constitute their security? Or, if his life
should not be invaded, what would its enjoyments be in a country
odious in the eyes of strangers and dishonored in his own? Could he
look with affection and v