ose
sea-robbers domineer on the ocean; their den must be destroyed; that
nation must be extirpated.

I like this, sir, because it is sincerity. With feelings such as these,
we do not pant for treaties. Such passions seek nothing, and will be
content with nothing, but the destruction of their object. If a treaty
left King George his island, it would not answer; not if he stipulated
to pay rent for it. It has been said, the world ought to rejoice if
Britain was sunk in the sea; if where there are now men and wealth and
laws and liberty, there was no more than a sand bank for sea monsters to
fatten on; a space for the storms of the ocean to mingle in conflict.

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 defence, 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. I see no exception to the
respect that is paid among nations to the law of good faith. If there
are cases in this enlightened period when it is violated, there are none
when it is decried. It is the philosophy of politics, the religion of
governments. It is observed by barbarians--a whiff of tobacco smoke, or
a string of beads, gives not merely binding force but sanctity to
treaties. Even in Algiers, a truce may be bought for money, but when
ratified, even Algiers is too wise,