It is said of the government of Russia that it is "despotism tempered by assassination." That of most of our sister republics is assassination tempered by despotism, Mexico, the best of them, is not a republic; it is a despotism, the splendid tyranny of a man strong and wise, who knows Mexico and how to govern her, a humane and beneficent tyrant.

There are many noble men in Cuba, men of education and character, with the culture and bearing of gentlemen. Some of these I know, and one I have been proud to call my friend, Felipe Poey, during fifty years professor in the University of Havana. Most good men in Cuba hope for the success of the insurgents, but they have not much confidence in Cuban democracy. The common run of the Cuban population is of a very different class.

"The Cuban soldiers at Tampa," says John R. Rathom, “are very small, excitable, erratic, physically unfit. They go about the camps brandishing their machetes and telling our infantrymen who tower above them like giants, how they are going to cut the Spaniards to pieces. Their whole spirit is one of frothy boasting."

There are three things inseparable from the life of the Cuban people to-day, the cigarette, the lottery ticket, and the machete. These stand for vice, superstition and revenge. Above these the thoughts of the common man in Cuba seldom rise. Most of the people cannot read, and those who can read largely the literature of vice.

From my own visit to Havana, two keen recollections remain. In the early morning the markets are filled by a long procession of loaded burros who came down from the mountain side. These bring everything that is eatable, with the rest live pigs and sheep. Pigs and sheep alike are tied in pairs and hung saddle-wise, head downward, from the backs of the donkeys. From two until four in the morning the long procession comes in, the pigs lustily squealing, the sheep helpless and dumb. But nobody cares for an animal's pain. There is no society for

prevention of cruelty to animals in Cuba. There are not many who could understand even the purpose of such a society. In Havana, bull-fights follow the church services, not fights but slaughter. A horse lame and blind is ripped up by an infuriated bull, who in turn is done to death by the stab of a skillful butcher.

At Christmas time all interest centers in the lottery. Everybody buys lottery tickets. Charms, fortune-tellers, astrology and all the machinery of superstition are brought into play to select the lucky numbers. How many days old am I? How many days old is my Dolores? How many days old was I on my lucky day when I drew the prize last year? How can I find my lucky number? These matters are talked of everywhere on the streets, in the church, in the wine rooms, in the theatres. One hears the parrots on their posts at the gate discussing the very same questions. The birds rattle off the names and numbers as glibly as their masters, and with as high a conception of the possibilities of life.

It seems probable that most of the oppressed people, crowded from their homes by Weyler's armies, will be dead before we come to their relief. In starving out Havana we shall doubtless starve them first. Those who survive may become our bitterest enemies before the year is out. For these people prefer the indolence of Spanish rule with all its brutalities to the bustling ways of the Anglo-Saxon. Many of them would take their chances of being starved or butchered rather than to build roads, wash their faces and clean up their towns. To suppress the lottery and the cock-fight would be to rob them of most that makes life worth living. The Puritan Sabbath and the self-control it typifies in their minds would be worse than the flames of Purgatory. Whether as a free nation under our protection or whether governed by our martial law, it will be no easy task to hold the peace in Cuba Libre. The down-trodden Cuban and the Spanish oppressor are the same in blood, the same in method.

But we may say that American enterprise will change all this. It will flow into Cuba when Cuba is free. It will clean up the cities, stamp out the fevers, build roads where the trails for mule-sleds are, and railroads where the current of traffic goes. It will make the pearl of the Antilles the fairest island on the face of the earth.

No doubt all this will come if we give a stable government. Whatever else we say or do we must give such a government. The nations of the world will hold us responsible for Cuba through the years to come. A virtual serfdom under American martial law is the fate of Cuba, though we may declare her free and independent.

Why then shall we not hold Cuba, if she becomes ours by right of conquest? Because that would be a cowardly thing to do. The justification of her capture is that we do not want her. If we want Cuba, common decency says that we must let her alone. Ours is a war of mercy, not of conquest. This we have plainly declared to all the nations. Perhaps we meant what we said, though the speeches in Congress do not make this clear. If we can trust the records, our chief motives were three: desire for political capital, desire for revenge, and sympathy for humanity.

It was desire for political capital that forced the hand of the President. "The war," says Dr. Frank Drew, "did not begin as an honorable war. If it is to become such, it must be made honorable by other men than those whose votes committed us to it."

If we retire with clean hands, it will be because our hands are empty. To keep Cuba or the Philippines would be to follow the example of conquering nations. Doubtless England would do it in our place. The habit of domination makes men unscrupulous.

Professor Nicholson of Edinburgh has said: "There can be no question, in the light of history, that the political instinct of the English people-or to adopt the popular language of the moment, the original sin of the

nation-is to covet everything of its neighbors worth coveting, and it is not content until the sin is complete." No wonder England now pats us on the back. We are following her lead. We are giving to her methods the sanction of our respectability. Of all forms of flattery, imitation is the sincerest.

By a war of conquest fifty years ago we took from Mexico her fairest provinces. For the good of humanity we did it, no doubt, and along the lines of manifest destiny. Brave battles our soldiers fought, but for all that, the war itself was most inglorious. So it reads in history as we write it to-day. It is iniquitous in history as written in Mexico.

Shall then the war for Cuba Libre come to an inglorious end? If we make anything by it, it will be most inglorious. It will be without honor if its two millions a day are made good by conquered territory. Neither for conquest nor for revenge have we sent forth the army of the Republic. "Let us beware," says J. K. H. Burgwin, "of placing ourselves in the position of doing a noble and generous act and then demanding that a bankrupt and humbled enemy shall pay our expenses." If we are going to hold the prizes of war or to use them in thrifty trade we should never have set out on the errands of humanity.

The nations of Europe look with jealousy on our possibilities of strength. "If I only," some king may say"if I only had all these men, all this land, all these resources, I would eclipse the glory of Cæsar, of Charlemagne, of Napoleon." If we turned everything into fighting, what a fight we could make. But we have gone about our business, a vast nation of common people, careless of European complications, indifferent to European glory, unconscious of our power.

For the end of government by the people is to fit the people to control their own affairs. The basis of our government is the town meeting. The people manage their local business, and send their wisest men as delegates to

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look after the interests of the nation. This was the dream of the fathers. If there has been much change and some degeneration, yet in substance the thoughts of the fathers prevail. The liberties of the people are secure because they are everywhere in the people's hands. America is not a power among the nations. She is a nation among the powers. A "power" is a country which is concerned with affairs not her own and which develops the machinery to make such concern effective. A nation minds her own business.

The spirit of our foreign policy has been to avoid all display of power. It was set forth in Washington's farewell address, in these memorable words:

"The great rule of conduct for us in regard to foreign nations is, in extending our commercial relations, to have with them as little political connection as possible. * * * Europe has a set of primary interests which to us have none or very remote relation. Hence she must be engaged in frequent controversies the causes of which are essentially foreign to our concerns. Hence, therefore, it must be unwise in us to implicate ourselves by artificial ties in the ordinary vicissitudes of her politics or the ordinary combinations and collisions of her friendships or enmities. Our detached and distant situation invites and enables us to pursue a different course. * Why forego the advantages of so peculiar a situation? Why quit our own stand upon foreign ground? Why, by interweaving our destiny with that of any part of Europe, entangle our peace and prosperity in the toils of European ambition, rivalship, interest, humor, or caprice? It is our true course to steer clear of permanent alliances with any portion of the foreign world."

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The America of which Washington dreamed should grow strong within herself, should avoid entangling alliances with foreign nations, should keep out of all fights and all friendships that are not her own, should secure no territory that might not be self-governing, and should acquire no provinces that might not in time be numbered among the United States. To this policy his followers closely adhered. Even gratitude to France never made us her catspaw in her struggle against England. No outflow of sympathy has caused us to interfere in behalf of Ireland or Armenia or Greece.