has now, by precedent and decision, a mighty power to continue a war without the consent of Congress, and perhaps against its wish.  Against the united will of the American people a President would of course be impotent; such is the genius of the place and nation that he would never think of it.  But when the nation was (as of late) divided into two parties, one cleaving to the President, the other to the Congress, the now unquestionable power of the President to issue paper-money may give him the power to continue the war though Parliament (as we should speak) may enjoin the war to cease.

And lastly, the whole region of the very highest questions is withdrawn from the ordinary authorities of the State, and reserved for special authorities.  The “Constitution” cannot be altered by any authorities within the Constitution, but only by authorities without it.  Every alteration of it, however urgent or however trifling, must be sanctioned by a complicated proportion of States or legislatures.  The consequence is that the most obvious evils cannot be quickly remedied; that the most absurd fictions must be framed to evade the plain sense of mischievous clauses; that a clumsy working and curious technicality mark the politics of a rough-and-ready people.  The practical arguments and the legal disquisitions in America are often like those of trustees carrying out a misdrawn will—­the sense of what they mean is good, but it can never be worked out fully or defended simply, so hampered is it by the old words of an old testament.

These instances (and others might be added) prove, as history proves too, what was the principal thought of the American Constitution-makers.  They shrank from placing sovereign power anywhere.  They feared that it would generate tyranny; George III. had been a tyrant to them, and come what might, they would not make a George III.  Accredited theories said that the English Constitution divided the sovereign authority, and in imitation the Americans split up theirs.

The result is seen now.  At the critical moment of their history there is no ready, deciding power.  The South, after a great rebellion, lies at the feet of its conquerors:  its conquerors have to settle what to do with it. [Footnote:  This was written just after the close of the Civil War, but I do not know that the great problem stated in it has as yet been adequately solved.] They must decide the conditions upon which the Secessionists shall again become fellow citizens, shall again vote, again be represented, again perhaps govern.  The most difficult of problems is how to change late foes into free friends.  The safety of their great public debt, and with that debt their future credit and their whole power in future wars, may depend on their not giving too much power to those who must see in the debt the cost of their own subjugation, and who must have an inclination towards the repudiation of it, now that their own debt—­the cost of their defence—­has