Knight-errant of the Nations she must be pure of heart and swift of foot, every inch a knight.

The crisis comes when the war is over. What then? Our question is not what we shall do with Cuba, Porto Rico and the Philippines. It is what these prizes will do to us. Can we let go of them in honor or in safety? If not, what if we hold them? What will be the reflex effect of great victories, suddenly realized strength, the patronizing applause, the ill-concealed envy of great nations, the conquest of strange territories, the raising of our flag beyond the seas? All this is new to us. It is un-American; it is contrary to our traditions; it is delicious; it is intoxicating.

For this is the fact before us. We have come to our manhood among the nations of the earth. What shall we do about it? The war once finished, shall we go back to our farms and factories, to our squabbles over tariffs and coinage, our petty trading in peanuts and postoffices? Or shall our country turn away from these things and stand forth once for all a great naval power, our vessels in every sea, our influence felt over all the earth? Shall we be the plain United States again, or shall we be another England, fearless even of our own great mother, second to her only in age and prestige?

The minor results of war are matters of little moment in comparison. Let us look at a few of them as we pass. Most of them are not results at all. The glow of battle simply shows old facts in new relation.

The war has stirred the fires of patriotism, we say. Certainly, but they were already there, else they could not be stirred. I doubt if there is more love of country with us to-day than there was a year ago. Real love of country is not easily moved. Its guarantee is its permanence. Love of adventure, love of fight, these are soon kindled. It is these to which the battle spirit appeals. Love of adventure we may not despise. It is the precious heritage of new races; it is the basis of personal courage; but it is not patriotism; it is push. Love of

fight is not in itself unworthy. The race which cannot fight if need be, is a puny folk destined to be the prey of tyrants. But one who fights for fight's sake is a bully, not a hero. The bully is at heart a coward. To fight only when we are sure of the result, is no proof of national courage.

Patriotism is the will to serve one's country; to make one's country better worth serving. It is a course of action rather than a sentiment. It is serious rather than stirring. The shrilling of the mob is not patriotism. It is not patriotism to trample on the Spanish flag, to burn fire-crackers or to twist the Lion's tail. The shrieking of war editors is not patriotism. Nowadays, nations buy newspapers as they buy ships. Whatever is noisy, whether in Congress or the pulpit, or on the streets, cannot be patriotism. It is not in the galleries that we find brave men. "Patriotism," says Dr. Johnson, "is the last refuge of the scoundrel." But he was speaking of counterfeit patriotism. There could not be a counterfeit were there not also a reality.

But this I see as I watch the situation: true patriotism declines as the war spirit rises. Men say they have no interest in reform until the war is over. There is no use of talking of better financial methods, of fairer adjustments of taxes, of wiser administration of affairs, until the war fever has passed by. The patriotism of the hour looks to a fight with some other nation, not towards greater pride in our own.

The war has united at last the North and the South, we say. So at least it appears. When Fitzhugh Lee is called a Yankee, and all the haughty Lees seem proud of the designation, we may be sure that the old lines of division exist no longer. North and South, East and West, whatever our blood, birth or rank, we Yankees stand shoulder to shoulder in 1898. But our present solidarity shows that the nation was sound already, else a month could not have welded it together.

It is twenty-eight years ago to-day that a rebel soldier who says—

"I am a Southerner,

I loved the South and dared for her

To fight from Lookout to the sea

With her proud banner over me,"

stood before the ranks of the Grand Army and spoke these words:

"I stand and say that you were right;
I greet you with uncovered head,
Remembering many a thundrous fight,
When whistling death between us sped;
I clasp the hand that made my scars,
I cheer the flag my foeman bore,

I shout for joy to see the stars

All on our common shield once more."

This was more than a quarter of a century ago and all this time the great loyal South has patiently and unflinchingly accepted war's terrible results. It is not strange, then, that she shows her loyalty to-day. The "Solid South," the bugaboo of politicians, the cloak of Northern venality, has passed away forever. The warm response to American courage, in whatever section or party, in whatever trade or profession, shows that with all our surface divisions, we of America are one in heart. The impartial bitterness of Spanish hatred directed toward all classes and conditions of Anglo-Saxons alike emphasizes the real unity of race and nation.

There are some who justify war for war's sake. Blood-letting "relieves the pressure on the boundaries." It whets courage. It keeps the ape and tiger alive in men. All this is detestable. To. waste good blood is pure murder, if nothing is gained by it. To let blood for blood's sake is bad in politics as it is in medicine. War is killing, brutal, barbarous killing, and its direct effects are mostly evil. The glory of war turns our attention from civic affairs. Neglect invites corruption. Noble and necessary as was our Civil War, we have not yet recovered

from its degrading influences. Too often the courage of brave men is an excuse for the depredations of venal politicians. The glorious banner of freedom becomes the cover for the sutler's tent.

The test of civilization is the substitution of law for war; statutes for brute strength. No doubt diplomacy, as one of our Senators has said, is mostly "a pack of lies," and arbitration, as we have known it, is compulsory and arbitrary compromise. But in the long run truth will out, even in diplomacy. The nations who suffer through clumsy and blundering tribunals of arbitration will learn from this experience. They will find means, at last, to secure justice as well as peace. As private war gave way to security under national law, so must public war give way to the law of civilization.

I hear men say to-day that war is necessary to the Republic because we need new heroes for our worship. The old heroes are getting stale. Those of the Revolution are half mythical. Washington and Greene were never actually alive in real flesh and blood. Even Grant and Sherman, Lee and Jackson, Thomas and Farragut are names only to most of us. Our fathers knew them, but their's are not names to conjure with to-day. The name of Dewey fills a popular want. The heroes of the newspaper in times of peace are mere tinsel heroes. Here is one with flesh and blood in him, a man of nerve and courage and success.

All this is true, but our heroes were with us already. In times of peace they were ready for heroism. The real hero is the man who does his duty. It does not matter whether his name be on the headlines of the newspapers or not. His greatness is not enhanced when a street or a trotting horse is named for him. It is the business of the Republic to make a nation of heroes. The making of brave soldiers is only a part of the work of making men. The glare of battle shows men in false perspective. To one who stands in its light we give the glory of a thousand.

But we may applaud with the rest as the great captains pass before us. They have earned their renown, yet when "the tumult and the shouting dies," still the crisis remains. What effect must the war have on us?

Our line of action seems a narrow one. Our policy has been fully declared. Our armies invade Cuba to put an end to disorder, brutality and murderous wrong. In the words of the resolution of Congress:

"The abhorrent conditions which have existed for more than three years in the island of Cuba, so near our own borders, have shocked the moral sense of the people of the United States, have been a disgrace to Christian civilization, and cannot longer be endured."

And in recording the necessity which forces us to act we disclaim all selfish intentions. Thus Congress used these words which are already part of the record of history and which we may not forget:

"The United States hereby disclaims any disposition or intention to exercise sovereignty, jurisdiction or control over said islands except for the pacification thereof, and asserts its determination when that is accomplished to leave the government and control of the island to its people."

The wrongs we would avenge are not new to Spain. By such cruelties she has always held her possessions. By such means she has lost most of them. Flanders, Mexico, Peru, Venezuela, Chili, Cuba, all tell the same story. Spain still belongs to the seventeenth century. From the seventeenth century Cuba has escaped. To her we shall bring order and relief. Her shackles once broken, then we shall stay our hand. To Cuba Libre, independent and free, we will leave the choice of her own future.

But this is easier said than done. Cuba Libre has no heart or will to choose. Her present nominal government is not that of a republic. It is a political oligarchy, which has its seat not in Havana, but in New York. Cuba is helpless now. As a republic she will be helpless still. Spanish blood and Spanish training illy prepare a land for freedom. Freedom such as we know it has never yet been won by people of Latin blood. The freedom of Spanish America is for the most part military despotism.