English ideas and upon English principles. Abstract liberty, like other mere abstractions, is not to be found. Libberty inheres in some sensible object, and every nation has formed to itself some favorite point, which, by way of eminence, becomes the criterion of their happiness. It happened that the great contests for freedom in this country were from the earliest times chiefly upon the question of taxing. Most of the contests in the ancient commonwealths turned primarily on the right of election of magistrates, or on the balance among the several orders in the state. The question of money was not with them so immediate. But in England it was otherwise; on this point the ablest pens and most eloquent tongues have been exercised, the greatest spirits have acted and suffered. In order to give the fullest satisfaction concerning the importance of this point, it was not only necessary for those who in argument defended the excellence of the English Constitution to insist on this privilege of granting money as a dry point of fact, and to prove that the right had been acknowledged in ancient parchments, and blind usages, to reside in a certain body called a House of Commons; they went much further they attempted to prove, and they succeeded, that in theory it ought to be so, from the particular nature of a House of Commons as the immediate representative of the people, whether the old records had delivered this oracle or not. They took infinite pains to inculcate, as a fundamental principle, that in all monarchies the people must in effect, themselves, mediately or immediately, possess the power of granting their own money, or no shadow of liberty could subsist. The colonies draw from you, as with their life-blood, these ideas and principles. Their love of liberty, as with you, is fixed and attached on this specific point of taxing. Liberty might be safe, or be endangered, in twenty other particulars, without their being much pleased or alarmed. Here they felt its pulse, and as they

found that beat, they thought themselves sick or sound. I do not say whether they were right or wrong in applying your general arguments to their own case. It is not easy, indeed, to make a monopoly of theorems and corollaries. The fact is, that they did thus apply your general arguments, and your mode of governing them, whether through lenity or indolence, through wisdom or mistake, confirms them in the imagination that they, as well as you, have an interest in those common principles." To the assertion that a power of granting vested in the assemblies of the colonies would dissolve the unity of the empire, he answered: "Perhaps I am mistaken in my idea of an empire as distinguished from a single state or kingdom. An empire is an aggregate of many states under one common head, whether that head be a monarch or a presiding republic. I do not know what this unity means, nor has it ever been heard of, that I know, in the constitutional policy of this country. The very idea of subordination of parts excludes the notion of simple and undivided unity. England is the head, but she is not the head and the members too. My hold on the colonies is in the close affection which grows from common names, from kindred blood, from similar privileges, and equal protection. These are the ties which, though light as air, are as strong as links of iron. Let the colonies always keep the idea of their civil rights associated with your government, and they will cling and grapple to you, and no force under heaven will be of power to tear them from their allegiance. But let it be understood that your government may be one thing, and their privileges another, that these two things may exist without any mutual relation, the cement is gone, the cohesion is loosened, and everything hastens to decay and dissolution. . . Reconciliation," urged Burke, "can hardly be expected, if it must depend upon the juridical determination of per plexing questions, or on the precise marking of the shadowy

boundaries of a complex government; but it is certain, upon a return to that path of peace which Great Britain and the colonies have for so many years trod together, with security, advantage, and honor." The resolutions of Burke, framed upon the spirit of his speech, were negatived by 270 to 78, and the preponderance of opinion was even greater in the nation than in the House. In the colonies the position was almost exactly reversed: three fourths held Great Britain in the wrong, one fourth in the right, technically, if ungenerously. That the ministry, the king, or the English people, were consciously unjust, is far from the truth. The causes of their misconception are obvious. After continuous civil contests, accompanied by two civil wars, much of the power of the crown had passed to the nation, but the old form was preserved, and all service, civil or military, is still her Majesty's. Whatever right of government over the colonies had been vested in the king, passed as had his other powers, undoubtedly with their full assent; but the obligation of the contract between him and them was the same, shared or retained. No more could pass than he possessed; king, lords, and commons had no larger right of rule than the king formerly. The power Great Britain saw, for power is easily seen; the limitation was overlooked, for limitation, except by those it protects, is easily overlooked. The taxation of Americans by Parliament seemed an ordinary and natural exercise of power to men whom it continuously taxed. The recognition of its right of complete authority, by all subjects except one portion, made the denial of such authority by that portion apparently factious. Even to entertain the idea of the contention of the colonies, an Englishman had to get out of his usual habit of thought. Had the question not become a party question, men might possibly have appreciated distinctions and reasoned without bias; but, with party spirit enlisted, taxation had to be compelled,

that opponents might be confuted. Bitterness against the colonists, absent from the Taxation no Tyranny, is intense against their English advocates.

"Far be it from an Englishman to thirst for the blood of his fellow-subjects. Those who most deserve our resentment are unhappily at a less distance. The Americans, when the Stamp Act was first proposed, disliked it undoubtedly, as every nation dislikes an impost, but they had no thought of resisting it till they were encouraged and incited by European intelligence from men whom they thought their friends, but who were friends only to themselves. On the original contrivers of mischief let an insulted nation pour out its vengeance. With whatever design they have inflamed this pernicious contest, they are themselves equally detestable. If they wish the success of the colonies, they are traitors to this country; if they wish their defeat, they are traitors at once to America and to England. To them, and to them only, must be imputed the interruption of commerce and the miseries of war, the sorrow of those that shall be ruined, and the blood of those that shall fall." No words ever painted more vividly the fate of him who, appreciating its danger, opposes some darling scheme of his people. For him the future is black; with failure he is a mourner, with success a victim. Another and perhaps the leading cause for the misjudgment of Great Britain was the misapplication of the principle of majorities and minorities. That upon a controverted point of constitutional rights, less than three millions should not defer to eight millions seemed the unfairness of arrogance. The principle so consonant to reason and so salutary when interests are identical, or consequences will be equally shared, becomes a pure despotism when they are not. To crown all, the very liberality and loyalty of the colonies told against them. They had "given to satiety," and were ready to give again. If they were

willing to part with their money, was not collision upon a mode of transfer not merely the unreason but the wickedness of pride?

That Great Britain was in the wrong is undeniable, but no people ever had greater excuse for being in the wrong, and none with an object of desire to compass has ever been honest enough to cast the first stone at her. War came, of course; between communities of equal civilization and spirit the result is a question of resources. "The last louis d'or wins." The colonies would have been subjugated, had not France very early secretly encouraged and aided them, soon to become an open ally. Then the disparity of force shifted,* and Great Britain was forced to recognize each State as the independent community which the Declaration of Independence had announced it as such to the world. The fate of that famous paper is singular. For more than fifty years it has been assumed by many to mean what it does not say, and not to mean what it does say; though there never has been a collection of words of which the intention is more palpable or its expression more exact. Its propositions are four: that men are created free and equal, entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; that to secure those rights they form societies and institute governments; that just governments are founded on the consent of the governed; that a society has the right to alter, or to unmake, and to make a new government. These it terms selfevident truths. If self-evident, they can not be novelties; if truths, they must be true for all time and under all circumstances. Their truth may be tested at once by taking their converse, and drawing conclusions from it.

* On August 31, 1781, Count de Grasse entered Chesapeake Bay with twenty-eight ships-of-the-line, six frigates, and three thousand soldiers, the equivalent of thirty-five thousand men, which, in the exhausted state of the principals, brought the contest to an end.