ce," and the seas no longer
barriers, but the highways, through which the parent-state and her
brood of dominions, though flung far into many zones, should yet
go easily to and fro, not separate nations, nor yet a company bound
together by a mere rope of sand, but one. Great nations replaced
little states.

Had the South prevailed in the Civil War, there would have been a
distinct and calamitous set-back in the world movement. It would have
been a reaction toward particularism, and how far might it not have
gone? Into what granulations might not our society have crumbled? The
South's principle once recognised, there could have been no valid
or lasting tie between States. Counties even might have assumed to
nullify, and towns to stand apart sufficient unto themselves. When
the thing was doubtful with us, the North by no means escaped the
infection. The New York City of Fernando Wood contemplated isolation
not only from the Union but from the State of which it was a part. Had
the spirit then so rife really prevailed, the map of America
to-day might have been no less blotched with the morbid tetter
of particularism than that of the Germany of sixty years ago.
Centralisation may no doubt go too far, but in the other extreme may
lie the gravest danger, and rushing thitherward the South was blind
to the risk. I stood with all reverence by the graves of the two great
men at Lexington. Perhaps no Americans have been in their way more
able, forceful, and really high-purposed. But they were misguided, and
their perverted swords all but brought to pass for us and the future
the profoundest calamity. I am proud to have been in the generation
that fought them down, believing that upholding the country was doing
a service to the world. I think of that lofty sentence inscribed
upon the memorial of Goldwin Smith at Ithaca, "Above all nations is
Humanity." Patriotism is not the highest of virtues. It is indeed a
vice if it limits the sympathies to a part. Love for the whole is
the sovereign virtue, and the patriotism is unworthy which is not
subordinate to this, recognising that its only fitting work is to lead
up to a love which embraces all.

And now I toss the "Last Leaf" on my probably over-large accumulation
of printed pages. What I have set down is in no way an autobiography.
It is simply the presentment of the panorama of nearly fourscore
momentous years as unrolled before one pair of eyes. Whether the eyes
have served their o