the present age! England is civilised; France is civilised; so is America; we all differ in the process; -and in China they call us all barbarians. These, of course, are unsatisfactory results for pure optimists, who wish to lay down a regular code or creed for mankind. They tell us something more must be done to make us, at least, assimilate in the great broad principle; and that, instead of quarrelling or going to war with each other about it, or any thing like such, we should unite together in trying to find its true interpretation. Civilisation, then, we may fairly repeat, is a genus more than a species; a bundle of loose agencies rather than a distinct individual quality; but yet cemented by certain ingredients tending clearly to distinguish it from barbarism. It has its times, its places, its colours, its types, its characters; it develops man in the individual as well as man in the mass. Go to the savage, and learn his arts; seek the distant nations, and mark their age by its tablets. Civilisation has its classes, these classes have their conflicts and their claims, and these conflicts are often as strange as those between barbarism and refinement. We often call our ancestors barbarous because our claims are so unlike; our posterity may call us the same, for we shall be ancestors to them. Civilisation moves on: it has its monuments; but it has its milestones, and seems to be moving round the sun like our earth, rising and setting. But look again at these old nations: when the North and West were in darkness the East and the South were in light. The Chaldeans flourished, and Babylon fell. Egypt hands her arts to Greece; the pilgrim looks to her pyramids, the isles show their temples and tombs. Then comes Rome, the young barbarian, to run her course; till Attila advances with his Huns; then Christianity, with its bright agents, and Chivalry, with all its display; then come the Monks, the Monarchs, and the Church; and at length comes Mind. Here a new process appears, here a new progress is marked; nations hurry on in their march, and civilisation takes its round to the West. Let us come down, then, near home, and near our times. History is not yet the "old Almanack" fitted for our upper shelves- but it is the letter of introduction handed down by the ancients to the moderns; and a letter which we must pass on to those after us with notes and commentaries, but which, in the interim, we must profit by ourselves. If it be admitted that the great distinction between ancient and modern civilisation lies in the former being so stationary and so varied, whilst the latter is so progressive and alike, -if it be admitted that the great feature of modern history is the great force of moral, or rather mental, power, and that this great force of moral power has been the great fact of political movements and changes going on in the world,—it is easy to come down to those new forms of civilisation which our "march of intellect" now develops, easy to guess that mighty tendency which our age points out, and thus to say how far this new civilisation, by uniting these nations, points altogether to a new end. In fact, what do we trace since the middle ages but this movement and mingling of nations and of mind, the great agent by which it was effected? In what state was Europe previously? Society was stationary: there were but two classes-victors and vanquished, despots or slaves; and physical force, or corruption, the only agents known. At length a new spirit arose -Liberty. At length Mind, like a giant refreshed with long sleep, started up; and at length man seemed invested with new powers. What was the result? A new series of events, partly the cause, partly the consequence:Printing and Protestantism- the compass and Columbia. The nations had a new chain, their new lights were its new links, the portals of long-benighted ages were thrown open, and the aspect of the world became changed. These are matters of history we all know them. Turn over its pages: see how these nations were isolated from each other; see the "divide et impera" system laid down by kings, priests, and rulers; see how society has been enslaved in obedience to such until it could group itself in other combinations, and by means of some one great and united influence that could extend to all. What did the feudal system show us? What else do we see since the middle ages but the struggles of this new and mighty power of Mind with the barriers opposed to it? New collisions producing new lights, new lights producing new liberties, new liberties producing new bonds of union, and yet these again producing new tyrannies and strife. Such has been old Europe: she looks hoary and worn: she points out to us the battlefields, where new banners were raised; but yet she tells us that there is a regenerating spirit still at work, and that it is only with her ancient and solitary sisters that man can be as he was of old. Now if all this be any thing like a just glance at the history and progress of civilisation, at least modern civilisation, it is easy to perceive in it a new principle, a new process, a new progress, in the affairs of nations; easy to perceive that we have turned over a new chapter in the great volume of human society; and that by the new lessons and new laws therein revealed, we can advance in a ratio hitherto unknown, and see in it the ultimate aim to which it tends that of their union and peace. What, then, is this new principle-this new process in the great work of civilisation, but the new and further spread of mind and knowledge? What else is its distinguishing characteristic, than the power which this mind shows of pushing out and uniting nations in one great career by which each can clearly understand its own interests, and yet one great interest pervade the whole. Where do we see this of old? What do we see in the ancient page, but the history of physical, not moral man? We read of Plato, we read of Socrates, we read of Aristotle; but where do we read of that amplifying and progressive principle taught by modern mind, and above all, of that principle by which national union and peace can be effected? The intellect of the ancients was great, it was glorious; its works still remain; ruin hangs lightly over them; the tideless Tyrrhene reflects them in its bright wave; and time, which in its flight seems both our mockery and our monitor, seems pausing over those spots, as if giving us fresh aspirations for man's glory. But yet, what was this mind after all? What was its march? Tombs, temples, and pillars: but in these tombs its spirit lies buried. There was no life in it-no movement-nothing to make it pass down the course of ages-nothing but what the barbarian could stop. If Christianity promoted the cause of mind, it was merely by levelling Pagan pride: it afforded new ways for it to move on by the bright lessons afforded; but it had not new means in itself, nor was it pushed on by any power behind. Well: the middle ages came; we read of the restoration of literature then; we hear that the monks caught sparks of its ancient spirit from its ancient tombs; but we hear how they as often stifled it in their own. Still, however, it came. Still this new power of mind gradually collected, not as a new principle in the constitution of man, -not as a new faculty of his brain,-not as a new element of his composition; but it was the application of new lights, and new lights producing new liberties;it was the commencement of a new machinery, new agencies: it was the spirit of communication which new knowledge produced. This went on: knowledge has the art of multiplying and modifying its own creations as it advances: one discovery produced another; one doctrine led to another; doubts followed both in the same proportion: but doubts, says Aristotle, are the "beginning of truth." Now, if all this be admitted ;-if it be admitted that a great and new principle has arisen amongst the nations of Europe, and which, though contending with so many obstacles, has still struggled on;—if it be admitted that by means of this new principle their union can be better secured, and their rights better established, as we have ever experienced in our own time, and still experience, — what is the inference to be derived, but that this great principle, or power, or whatever we choose to call it, has now arrived at that stage or station from whence it cannot recede unless by our own wilful blind passions? What are we to conclude, but that nations can no longer be torn asunder, unless we stifle those lights which have been created? What are we to look to for their lasting peace and union, but the further spread of that power from which, even already, so much has been gained? Yes; mind and knowledge are what we must look forward to. Education is the promise of our age-they must be spread abroad: we do not want depth, but diffusion: we do not want the lofty, but the level. "Knowledge is power;" the same was told us ages ago, by Bacon; but then it lay quiet, because locked up now it becomes a new power, widening and looking forward to broader and brighter circles, but still threatening greater evils, if impeded, from the new weapons with which it is armed. All this we know all this we must look to; it will not do to be confining or confiding this power to certain classes alone it must descend from its high summits to the mass: it will not do to have those ups and downs in society we once had. We may try and direct it in proper channels, as far as we can; for, as to perfect equality, it is a perfect chimera: we may try and soften those conflicts, which its imperfect diffusion still creates; but it is to this principle of diffusion, after all, we must look; for, without it, these conflicts must continue. These are the lessons of our age; the time is gone by when oracles were listened to. Mind is like our earth-a circle; there's no end of it; we must look to its new ways and means - every one must have a share — it must be public property. We must see it going about from nation to nation, from individual to individual: we must not, like the monks, consider it for its massiveness, but its mobility; but we must see it a great vital stream, running on from age to age, from generation to generation, vivifying, fructifying, and recording. Yes; these are the lessons of the age; for what have these lessons told us?- have they not told us, and do they not still tell us, of wars and revolutions? — do they not show us in these wars the imperfect conception of that broad principle of true civilisation which new mind aims at?. do they not show us in these revolutions but the rushes of that stream to which we have alluded, because in the flow of that stream it was impeded, or rather resisted, by our passions. What have modern times exhibited but lust? what do we still see but this agitated surface of society, arising from half-and-half knowledge? Of old, revolutions were mere paltry rebellions- they were confined to their own districts: look at them now, running from one nation to another see how man's rights are submitted to other tribunals where this great principle of new mind and knowledge has pervaded-see what public opinion now is, and what formerly - see what conflicts and claims this half-and-half knowledge has produced, because of its being half-andhalf power. What do we see now in these revolutions but reforms, or reactions, at least pretended reforms? what do we see but the rushes of the new spirit that has gone abroad? - Movements in one country produce movements in another - the streams are larger in surface but shallower nations submit to this we often feel shocks. in depth; they hurry us on to find a kind of level and union. They are not so much the measure of armed resistance to armed strife, as the measure of that nind which seeks liberty, but which, if oppressed, rushes out in its turn, though with other weapons. But not only is it a moral, but a material union amongst nations, that marks our age, at least a tendency to such; not only is it an interchange of thoughts, but things, that brings us together. Whether commerce was the ancient parent of civilisation, it is of much less importance to inquire into, than into the means whereby it was carried on; but if we admit that it is an agent of such civilisation (using this term in its large and best sense, and a most important one), we must admit that every extension or improvement in such agency, or, in other words, every new ways and means whereby nations can be approximated and brought together, are so many new ways and means whereby their new civilisation can effect its great what is their great promises. Now what are these new ways and means? tendency?what course are they pursuing? The principle of commerce is the principle of communication-we need not dilate on its effects - the first path that struck through our old forests and marshes was a civilising agent in itself, because it brought together the labours of man-for the destination of man is for society. But in those days what was this commerce?— what was the rate at which it proceeded? Camels, caravans, and galleys may get on very well when people are not anxious to get on in other ways, and when no great propelling principle is at work beyond the simple wants of nations; but what was there in all this of any thing like social interchange or union? what did the shores of the Mediterranean know of each other? - what was there of mind, or the reaction of mind and matter, in all these transactions? Now then come down to the middle ages we have already taken these as our starting post for that new prinWhat was commerce in those ages? ciple of movement which mind created. how could it flourish under a system where national contiguity, instead of being any thing like national connection, was the exact reverse, and where the "noli me tangere" law bristled up on every frontier? Look at it now see what the action and reaction of mind and matter have done, and what see how the spirit of commerce and travel modern science has effected have altered us -see how our roads of communication have advanced in proportion to our roads of knowledge; where bigotry, ignorance, or passion reared their ramparts of separation, there now come treaties of conciliation; where the hill, the rampart, or the fortress interposed, there runs now the embryo of railroads; where man seemed at conflict with man, as if distinct territories produced distinct races, there rushes out steam to say, No! This is the true material interpretation of the nineteenth century. Commerce is the true representative of national union. The spread of knowledge may be the "philosophy of peace;" but commerce is its true tangible expression, that comes home to us all. Now, without touching any further on our modern improvements in all these matters, we merely wish to touch on the general tendency of the age we live in, to show to what a new pass we have arrived in the progress of national union—to show that peace is its ultimate aim, particularly with those nations who are neighbours, and have advanced in such a career and that to retreat from such is to retreat into barbarism. This is the object of our article in general: we began it with trying to explain what civil B 3 isation consisted of, and what progress it has made; and we think we cannot better point out the evils it is exposed to than in alluding to that state which France and England now seem to offer. - Before coming to this, however, let us just glance at those difficulties which are so often made even by the professed lovers of peace to this new state of society which this new civilisation has produced. What is our condition at home? What have been our changes even in the last twenty years? Does it not seem that in proportion as these newly civilised nations are at peace without, they are often at strife within?-that there is a kind of inverse ratio going on between the union of masses and individuals, and between that centripetal and centrifugal play of forces which once marked society, and seemed to keep nations in such good order? What has done all this? what is the theory of such changes and conflicts, but what we have alluded to? Modern mind seems to promise that man is no more to be deceived; but what occurs in the interim? Delusion no longer dazzles with its lights-blindness and bigotry no longer fatten on the slime of the cloister, for the veil of their consecration has been torn away by untrembling hands, and the bright dwelling of that Deity we all adore seems glittering in new light before us. Fifty years have scarcely fled since magic had its claims, and mystery its titles-when witches were burned, when ghosts stalked abroad, and when darkness rested on the face of the earth in those days people confided in each other - men allowed others to think for them-the lights of the schools shone out, and learning was venerated; in those days infidelity reared not its hydra head, nor fanaticism its cloven foot— the sacred works were sealed visions, and the holy fathers carefully watched over them; in those days art had its enigmas, science its arcana-professors were philosophers, and philosophers like the wise men of the East-the priest could menace with the fires of heaven-the lawyer could change truth on the strength of his statutes—the doctor could kill or cure with his cabalistic letters, and none but the initiated could doubt or dispute :-in short, in those days mind was still feeble in its march; the great crash had not come upon our oracles, and the questions of right and wrong were left as in the days of Delphos or Dodona. Those days are fled-mind seeks other shrinesall can approach them-it tramples and triumphs, because it looks to truthits front wears the majesty of peace, though often the moroseness of Minerva; it offers sterner appeals we must accept of them. Men are sharply at their posts - and the tickets to names are losing their charm Fame's temple must depend on its decree. - In short, the present aspect of society, we all know, is one of conflict and competition-strife and agitation doubt and distrust; and if we did not know from whence they proceeded, we might go on blindly despairing. To this our state of new civilisation, as at first remarked, has brought us; it is, perhaps, a new disease we must accept it; we know its causes, its characters, its symptoms, but we know not its prognosis. The knowledge of a disease is half its cure, though the other half may be more difficult, but still we have only to advance in the same line which this knowledge has pointed out to us: this must be the work of timetime alone cures many diseases: but, in the mean time, we must do our own part. To deny that in this interim the struggle is a severe one, and that we are called upon with proportionate energy to meet it, would be blindly subjecting ourselves to a continuance of it; but to pretend retreating from the position we have gained, would be even a sillier delusion. Yes, the struggle is a severe one; we seem to have arrived at a new and narrow pass by the closer communication of men's claims, or |