POPULATION extending to the milder regions of Europe, brought civilization along with it, so that it is only among the savages, (as we call our ancestors) of the north, that we can trace the intermediate state I have spoken of. Amongst them, one regular gradation seems to have taken place; they were first hunters and then warriors. As they advanced in their knowledge of the arts of life, and acquired a little property, as much of pastoral pursuits as their rigorous climate would allow, without the aid of regular agriculture, mingled with their wandering habits. But, except in a few partial instances, from hunters they became conquerors; the warlike habits acquired from that mode of life, raising their minds above patient industry, and teaching them to despise the softer arts that embellish society. In fine, their usual process was to pass to civilization through the medium of conquest. The poet says, “With noble scorn the first fam’d Cato viewed, Rome learning arts from Greece, which she subdued.” The surly censor might have spared his scorn, for doubtless science, and the arts of peace, were by far the most valuable acquisitions resulting from their conquest of that polished and ingenious people. But when the savage hunters of the north became too numerous to subsist on their deer and fish, and too warlike to dread the conflict with troops more regularly armed, they rushed down, like a cataract, on their enfeebled and voluptuous neighbours; destroyed the monuments of art, and seemed, for a time, to change the very face of nature. Yet dreadful as were the devastations of this flood, let forth by divine vengeance to punish and to renovate, it had its use in sweeping away the hoarded mass of corruption, with which the dregs of mankind had polluted the earth. It was an awful but a needful process, which, in some form or other, is always renewed when human degeneracy has reached its ultimatum. The destruction of these feeble beings, who, lost to every manly and virtuous sentiment, crawl about the rich property which they have not sense to use worthily, or spirit to defend manfully, may be compared to the effort nature makes to rid herself of the noxious brood of wasps and slugs, cherished by successive mild winters. A dreadful frost comes; man suffers and complains; his subject animals suffer more, and all his works are for a time suspended: but this salutary infliction purifies the air, meliorates the soil, and destroys millions of lurking enemies, who would otherwise have consumed the productions of the earth, and deformed the face of nature. In these barbarous irruptions, the monuments of art, statues, pictures, temples, and palaces, seem to be most lamented. From age to age, the virtuosi of every country have re-echoed to each other their feeble plaints over the lost works of art, as if that had been the heaviest sorrow in the general wreck—and as if the powers that produced them had ceased to exist. It is over the