shown a quiet devotion to Angelica, who, now that she seemed likely to lose her lifelong companion, turned to him for the affection that was a necessity of existence to her. The party stopped for some time at Schwarzenfeld, where Jean Kauffmann had relatives. After her father's death in the year following, the Zucchis went to Venice, where Angelica painted a large picture entitled "Leonardo Dying in the Arms of Francis." Next they proceeded to Rome, where Angelica was soon surrounded by a crowd of admirers, though her old friend Raphael Mengs, who had in earlier days written so enthusiastically about her, was dead. But among her new friends were men of such eminence as Herder, Klopstock, Gessner, and Goethe. All of these spoke in most flattering terms of her, Goethe saying that she had "a remarkable and for a woman really unheard-of talent;" and, "no living painter excels her in dignity or in the delicate taste with which she handles the pencil."

Angelica's married life with Zucchi was so full of self-suppression that it left her natural yearning for sympathy unsatisfied; and at nearly forty years of age she carried on a most romantic correspondence with Goethe. Herder, who was sent to Angelica by Goethe, was so fascinated with her that he wrote to his wife: "She is dearer to me than all else in Rome." Goethe, from this association, is perhaps not an unprejudiced observer, but he said that Zucchi was selfish and avaricious and made Angelica work too hard. At last many troubles came, and Zucchi, ill from anxiety, took jaundice and died. Angelica's fortune had been much impaired, and Zucchi left nearly all that he possessed to others. Revolution and French invasion reduced Angelica almost to poverty.

Though he had not been very sympathetic or generous, Angelica sincerely mourned her husband's loss, and suffered keenly from her loneliness. But, her indomitable energy and courage reviving, she began to travel, to make friends, to work. In search of change of scene and health she revisited Florence, Venice, and other familiar cities, and then returned to Rome, where she did some of her best work in portraiture. When nearly sixty

years of age she undertook to paint for Catherine of Russia a colossal portrait of Achilles. As an instance of the respect and esteem in which Angelica was held, it is interesting to read that when the French army entered Rome the General, Lespinasse, exempted her from the duty of providing food and quarters for his soldiers. As a return for his consideration Angelica asked permission to paint his portrait; and this proved to be her last completed work. Not long afterward she was seized with a lingering disease, and, though she lived a few years, she never recovered strength, finally dying November 5, 1807. The artists and connoisseurs of Rome, led by the sculptor Canova, attended her funeral, her last two works being carried behind her coffin, on which was a model in plaster of her right hand curved as though grasping a pencil. Her body was buried in the church of St. Andrea delle Tratte.

Some idea of Angelica's industry and vogue may be gathered from the fact that about six hundred of her pictures were engraved, many of them by engravers as eminent as Bartolozzi, Daw, and Bettelini. Of course she painted many pictures which were not reproduced by the engraver, and besides she furnished designs for panels, ceilings, chimney-pieces, and other works of art. Her paintings are to be found in many parts of Europe, at Hampton Court, in the National Gallery in London, in Paris, Dresden, and Munich: some of the best are in the Hermitage collection in Russia. In the Louvre is one of her paintings entitled "A Mother and Child," and at Florence is her own portrait of herself (see p. 239) in which she is not represented as possessing such regular beauty as in Reynolds's portrait of her. But Sir Joshua probably flattered her.

The eulogistic comments of Raphael Mengs, Winckelmann, and Goethe, upon Angelica's talent as a painter, have already been quoted, but some critics have suggested that her pictures owed their success more to the personal charms of the painter than to their own actual merit. Henry Fuseli does not speak as favorably of Angelica's work as do others of her contemporaries, but then he was naturally a rather unkindly critic, and, further, was a rejected suitor. About her popularity there can be no question. More than a dozen years after her departure from London, British publishers tried to

increase the sale of their annuals by calling them after her name, or by putting reproductions of her pictures into them.

But, eminent as was the position held by Angelica among the artists of her day, it is the woman and not the portraitpainter that is, after all, the more interesting. She was a creature of infinite charm, of high enthusiasm, and, despite a wide knowledge of the world and some bitter experiences, of great innocence. Her face,

A

DISPASSIONATE review of the Philippine problem must convince an unprejudiced person that, apart from considerations of justice to the Filipinos themselves, it is merely a question of expediency for us that our honor or our duty is in no wise involved save as we should be concerned for our own welfare and should be careful not to violate the rights of others.

The administration's policy has by turns been excused or defended on a variety of grounds. The reasons given to justify the President's course have changed to meet the changing character of criticism. At the outset the motive kept most prominently in the foreground was the great business gain to come from possessions in the East. By some unexplained commercial legerdemain Manila was to become the key to a marvellous traffic with China. It was urged with apparent seriousness that trade would patriotically "follow the flag," although greater profit might be realized by a shorter cut to market. But the commercial justification of the official course seems now to have been discarded, and out of the other various reasons from time to time put forth to silence opposition the claim that our duty to the Philippines requires us to subdue them has apparently, by a sort of survival of the fittest, been decided upon as the ground of defence against all criticism based on the moral aspects of the question. And this is natural. The proposition that the course we are pursuing is morally wrong could scarcely be met with a more effective argument than that we are under moral obligations to pursue it. The claim that that course is inexpedient is robbed of its chief force if we listen to the solemn - not to say pious — assertion

If

that duty compels it. The protest that such a course is likely to prove expensive becomes sordid in the view of one convinced that we are but meeting our moral responsibility. Hence it is that obligation, duty, responsibility, are the pleas with which it will be sought to forestall appeals to the moral consciousness of the country, and to turn the tables on those who would seek to arouse the public conscience to the evils of our so-called expansion policy. That multitudes are influenced or mystified by the idea that somehow or other our duty as a nation is involved in the struggle is beyond question. Duty and obligation are one. duty commands we must obey without regard to consequence or cost. But what what is-our duty in the premises? How far do we owe duties to foreign folk? What is the relative duty of the United States government to the people of the United States and to the inhabitants of the group of one thousand islands, more or less, for a tainted title to which we have paid Spain $20,000,000, and to secure possession of which we have already sacrificed hundreds of lives more precious, more valuable to every patriotic American, than all the islands in the Southern Sea? A consideration of the question of our duty, of our responsibility to the people of the late Spanish possessions and to the world at large, may help to resolve doubts in the minds of some and to prepare the way for clearer judgment in the minds of others.

was

First, as to the duty of the United States government. What duty does it owe and to whom does it owe it? Our national government, as an organization, is the creation of the written constitution adopted by the people of the United States through

their representatives in 1789. It may be

assumed that the men who framed that instrument had a clear perception of its purpose and of the obligations which they intended to lay upon the government they were calling into life. They gave to the world a summary of their intention in a preamble of marvellous terseness and comprehensiveness. They said, speaking for their constituents, "We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, ensure domestic tranquillity, provide for the common defence, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain this constitution for the United States of America." The dullest student of constitutional law will concede that the "justice" to be established was for the people of the United States, and not for foreign peoples in foreign lands; that the "domestic tranquillity" to be ensured was not law and order in the West Indies or at the antipodes; that the "common defence » to be provided for was the defence of the American people against the attacks of an outside foe, and not the defence of some South Sea islands against the attacks of Europe or of each other; that the "general welfare" to be promoted was the welfare of the inhabitants of the United States, and not of the denizens of remote corners of the earth where philanthropy, might suggest need of improvement; and that the "blessings of liberty» to be secured by means of that Constitution were by express terms confined to the people of the United States and to those who could legitimately be considered their posterity. This preamble of our written Constitution contains all that there is in the instrument expressive of the objects-and therefore duties of the government which it creates. The rest merely provides the machinery for carrying those objects into effect. Organically, therefore, no duty was imposed upon the government of the United States toward any foreign people. If those interested in the administration of that government under that Constitution are using the power of that government for the benefit of a foreign people, are they not guilty of a perversion of powers, of a betrayal of confidence? Are they not committing practical treason to the Constitution they were sworn to support? Let it not be forgotten that according to the American

theory, taught and accepted since the Revolution, government is but a corporation created to minister to the needs and comforts of the people who by their consent created and continue it. This theory is fundamentally opposed to the OldWorld theory of the divine nature of authority. In the crisis now upon us we may modify or abandon the American theory of government, but it cannot be gainsaid that up to the outbreak of the Spanish war that theory was as here stated.

It follows, therefore, that the United States government, as such, owed and still owes a duty primarily to the people of the United States, if not, indeed, to them exclusively. It is true that the authority and obligation of our national government extends over far greater territory than it embraced when the Constitution was adopted. But this extension, this expansion, was over territory which became an integral part of the United States and to peoples who became fullfledged citizens of a common country. It may be said that if we incorporate Cuba, Porto Rico, and the Philippines into our system, the duty of our government to these former Spanish colonies will attach as doubtless it did attach to other territory acquired by us. So much will be granted if we shall finally decide to incorporate these colonies into our system. But the point here discussed is whether our government owes or did owe such a duty to the people of these colonies that it was or is under obligation to assimilate them, or whether, if we should think it best for us to let them go and cease to be even quasi territory of the United States, that then the government's obligation would be such as to forbid it to release its hold. Logically the United States government cannot by virtue of its Constitution owe a duty to any people not directly brought under its authority, and therefore cannot be under obligation to any foreign people to receive, much less to force such people into the circle of, that authority. To say that our government owes a duty because it assumes control is to beg the question, is to reason in a circle. Why assume control? Why undertake the obligation? Why impose upon the aching back of the American toiler the additional "white man's burden" of a costly rule of alien races? This is the question. It is no answer to cry duty. Why duty?

Whence the obligation? How came the moral responsibility? A clear and definite answer should be given to these queries before American citizenship should be loaded down with another war-debt. Individuals may owe a duty to individuals of another land or race whom they recognize as brothers. This individual obligation may be so general as to assume national proportions and call for organized effort on a national scale. Our missionary and kindred organizations are examples of this. They represent voluntary movement. They are individual, not governmental. Our government is not a missionary society nor is it a philanthropic club. It is the glory of missionary work that it is carried on by willing hands and voluntary gifts, that the tax-gatherer does not collect its funds or the conscripting officer enlist its workers. But government has no right to tax its citizens for the benefit of other lands. Still less has it any right to take men from their homes, to fight across the seas for the spreading of the gospel of the Prince of Peace, and to carry our civilization to people unwilling and therefore unfitted to receive it. When government, whatever its form, lays its hands on its citizens or on their property for such purposes, it becomes tyrannical. So far as it enforces compliance with such aims it becomes despotic.

What has been here said is confined to the duty of the government under the Constitution. The conclusion drawn is that it owes no duty under that instrument to any people other than the citizens and inhabitants of the United States. The question of power under that Constitution to acquire and govern dependencies or colonies will not be here considered. This question has been much discussed since the outbreak of hostilities, but such discussion is futile. If the American people ultimately decide that they wish to expand into an imperial power governing conquered provinces by a pro-consular system they will do so. Lack of direct constitutional authority will no more prevent this than did the same want of authority stand in the way of the purchase of Louisiana. Where an idea is fixed and substantially unanimous we shall not be seriously hampered by actual provisions of our written Constitution, still less shall we be retarded by an absence of provisions in that instrument. From the day

our Constitution was adopted we have, like our English brethren, been evolving an unwritten Constitution, which exists, and which with still further development will continue to exist, by the side of the written Constitution, modifying, supplementing, and sometimes, perhaps, supplanting the written instrument. This is

the inevitable law of constitutional growth and development. The purchase of Louisiana was doubtless an extra-constitutional act. It accorded, however, with the popular notion of national expediency, and was acquiesced in and ratified by the subsequent approval of public opinion. Similar acquisitions of territory have since established this as one of the constitutional powers of our government, made so, not by any written authority, but by deliberately given common consent, which consent is the true source of all real constitutional power. If, therefore, the people of the United States really wish to govern dependencies under a military system or otherwise, the absence of constitutional authority will not hinder. If there is no precedent, then, like Napoleon, we can make one. Time is wasted in discussing constitutional construction on this point. Other considerations will finally decide our course. We shall do whatever we may wish to do.

If the government owes its first duty to the people of the United States, then they who conduct it are false to their trust when they deliberately commit that government to a line of policy which, while possibly benefitting other peoples, works a detriment, a hardship, to our own. If a so-called expansion policy will involve increased taxation to maintain a larger military and naval establishment with no corresponding benefit to the inhabitants of the United States, then the government's duty to its citizens requires it to refrain from exploiting such a policy. Our government's duty to foreign peoples must of necessity end where disregard of its duty to its own people begins. The United States government is charged with the mission of securing for its own citizens the highest possible development in democratic rule, the greatest material prosperity consistent with the growth of democratic principles. It is bound by every obligation to govern cheaply, for light taxation means increased reward for labor. Increased taxation necessarily means increased privations for the poor. Growth in national

expenditure and growth in individual poverty are as inseparably connected as the course of the moon and the rising and falling of the tides. If taxation without representation was tyranny, taxation without benefit is despotism.

It will be urged, however, that if our government technically owes no duty to the Philippines, in a larger view, in a broader sense, the American people do owe such a duty, and that in the discharge of that duty they must act through the instrumentality of their government. Disorder must be suppressed, our authority must be established, we must compel recognition of our power and ability to enforce submission. But suppose the accomplishment of these ends involves grave wrong to the American people. Must we still pursue the ignis fatuus of duty to an alien race, let our course lead where it may? Is there no retreat consistent with our honor and the obligations which we have undertaken? They who say that, no matter whether the original step was wise or unwise, just or unjust, we cannot now stop until the "rebels" have submitted to our authority, should pause to consider what their assertion means. It will be granted that it would be awkward to retrace our steps now; that it would better comport with national dignity, prestige, and self-esteem to conquer and subdue these peoples, even though we should immediately thereafter bid them go in peace to work out their own salvation or meet their own destruction. But this is a matter of expediency. It does not necessarily involve honor or duty. If we concede it to be our duty to ourselves to overcome these peoples before we can consider what shall be done with them; if, having put our hands to the plough, we cannot turn back (and this seems to be the President's idea), then it means that the American people have imposed upon themselves a task from which there is no escaping even though its accomplishment should cost them half their national wealth and rob them of their choicest youth. Are the sponsors of this idea of duty ready to go so far.

It is no answer to say that our resources are such that so great a sacrifice will not be necessary. That is the argument of expediency again. If it is our duty to do this thing we must do it even though we take the last widow's little ewe lamb and rob every American mother of

her sons. If one should say that he would not pursue this policy to such an extent, that he would stop short of such extreme sacrifice by the American people on the altar of duty, then the conclusion is irresistible that his conceptions of honor and of duty in this matter are illusory or that he is insincere. And if duty would not oblige us to go to this extreme of sacrifice for the Filipinos to subdue them, why does it require us to sacrifice anything at all? If we would abandon our self-imposed task rather than deprive our workers of the necessities of life, why should we even deprive them of their comforts? If we would shrink from decimating American homes for the sake of American glory and honor as being too murderous, why should we sacrifice a single American life, which life it is our government's duty to guard and protect? Unless it is our duty to wage this war for fifty years if we cannot sooner conquer and pacify; to sustain the contest until a debt as large or larger than that of our civil war shall have been hung around the necks of the American producers, until as many or more lives shall have been lost than were sacrificed in the struggle for national existence,—then it is not our "duty," nor does our honor require us, to spend a single dollar or to offer up a single life. The American people proved the sincerity of their patriotism in the civil war by their willingness to sacrifice blood and treasure to the uttermost. Gigantic as was that sacrifice, still more men and substance would have been immolated rather than that the Union should have been dismembered. Would the advocates of subjugation be willing to make similar sacrifices now? To differentiate the line of duty or the rule of honor on the scale of sacrifice involved is to make it a mere matter of expediency, and it is that this whole question may be considered and decided in the light of expediency that a plea is here made. For when the matter shall be viewed from the standpoint of opportunism the common sense of the American people will have full play. But so long as the people are deceived by false notions of honor or of duty, their judgments will be clouded and their conclusions founded upon ignorance and prejudice rather than upon knowledge and reason. Before they can see clear" they must "think straight." But the crowning argument of all, based on this notion of our duty in this matter,