THE UNITED STATES SENATE.
Many circumstances have combined to fix attention at the present time upon the Senate of the United States. We have seen a Republican majority confirm the appointments of a Democratic President with the calmness and dignity of a Supreme Court passing upon questions of law. The event is not a new one, but it is still an impressive one, quite as much so as the change of the presidential office on the fourth of March. We then saw a defeated party resign the control of the government with decorum and civic reverence. We waited with bated breath for the first conflicts between the President and the Senate. No conflict came. Appointments were confirmed by the Senate without partisan bickerings or lamentations. The dignity of the Senate was seen to be a splendid and honorable reality. We catch other lights shining upon the Senate by going back a little. Last year, when the English people were “mad to the verge of insanity” because the House of Lords refused to pass a bill extending the franchise, the English magazines and newspapers overflowed with commendations of our Upper House. In the light of their own trouble, the English saw how happily our fathers had founded an Upper House upon enduring foundations, and how deftly they had combined popular representation with conservative privilege in our Senate. No other American institution ever had so much first-rate advertising as this Senate of ours had last year. The praise came from the best foreign sources; from men deeply versed in history, rich in public experience, and renowned for candid and sober judgment. What the historian sees in our Senate is an Upper House which reposes upon the elective principle, and is in fact constituted indirectly by the same vote which fills the Lower House—and therefore as truly from the people—but which has at the same time a distinct and original and impressive office in the government. The result was achieved by the fathers with a few well-aimed strokes of political art. For example, the Senate never dies. There are many Congresses, but there is only one Senate. There is at this time no House of Representatives; there never was an hour of constitutional history when there was not a Senate. This was achieved by a simple provision that one third of the Senators should retire biennially. The Senate must “advise,” that is to say, confirm all the President’s appointments. It is his council for considering and completing treaties with foreign powers—and without the consent of the Senate the President can make no treaty. And if the people through the House of Representatives impeach the President, it is in that august presence that he must appear and plead in his defense. The Senate has exercised all these peculiar functions during the century past, and in all of them it has displayed in the main those special qualities which the framers of the constitution sought to enlist in the service of government. It has even tried a President in the intense heat of controversies begotten in civil war—and acquitted him in the face of the clamorous dominant party to which the majority belonged. Its record is full of striking triumphs over the bitterness of party spirit. It has been judicial in its temper many a time when the air was full of rancorous strifes and malignant personalities. It has sloughed off the partisan sores caused by factional poison; and though it was seriously endangered by such devices as “the courtesy of the Senate,” it has refused to be used for narrow and selfish ends. The wranglers have passed out of sight; the Senate never dies.
The judicial character of the body is apparent in its methods of discussion. There is no “previous question” gag upon debate. A conspicuous unfairness to a member is impossible. A neat way of showing self respect by respecting brother Senators is the custom of confirming, without reference to a committee, any nomination of a Senator to an office. All other names must go to the committees; the names of Senators are honored by immediate action. Members of the Lower House are, not without reason, jealous of the power and “arrogance” of the Senate. But the people enjoy the breadth and decorum of their Senate. It can be trusted to judge, to put its candid opinion into all the peculiar functions which it exercises. In the field of politics, senatorial action may be very like any other human behaving in such environments; but in the special judicial tasks of the Senators there is the serenity and probity of a court room. And yet the Senate has its dangers, and it has in recent years been close to the perilous edge of the precipice. A tendency to venal methods of electing Senators came in after the civil war, and a number of rich nobodies have disgraced the high office. It is believed that there are now a few Senators whose purses are far longer than their heads, and in some of the wrangles over recent elections of Senators, the power of money has been very freely talked of and boasted of. But in this matter the worst is over. The election of Mr. Evarts in New York is a proof that legislatures can be lifted above money influence; for if any senatorships would invite special efforts to win them by venal arts, they are those of the Empire State. When that state chose last winter one of its most eminent citizens—a man known rather as a great man than as a politician—it set an example which will have no small influence over other states. The Senate has in both parties men of great ability. There is undoubtedly a growing desire and purpose that only great men be clothed with senatorial honors. We are well past the civil war and reconstruction periods, and as we advance into happier conditions we are likely to take an increasing popular pride in our unique, original and successful Upper House. There is nothing like it in the world. It is the most conspicuous work of American political genius. The more the people realize it, the more pains will they take in filling it with great men.