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 veneration to such a country as his parent?  The sense of having one would die within him; he would blush for his patriotism, if he retained any, and justly, for it would be a vice.  He would be a banished man in his native land.