The ancient Hindoo, who, in ages too remote for history to record, wept over the fallen splendor and lost power, the ruined wealth and degenerate arts of his country; the Egyptian who, in ante-Mosaic periods, beheld the fierce and barbarous Shepherd-Kings trampling with haughty contempt and hostile fanaticism on the wonderful works which still astonish the _progressed_ world; the Assyrian, who, a century before the foundation of Rome, witnessed the downfall of his country’s magnificence and extensive empire,—all equally thought that these glories would never be resuscitated, and that the best ages of the world were past away; and if any of them had been told, that in other lands and other climes they would, in far-distant ages, be outvied, he would have turned with incredulity from the prospect, and have demanded what race was to surpass the glorious achievements of his own. But the modern dogmatist tries to take his case out of the argument, by pretending that Christianity will protect the world from again retrograding. This is the mere pride of the Pharisee, who flatters himself that he is not as other men are, that his Christianity is too pure to fall, and his knowledge too vast to be blasted. Or else he forgets that the pure Christianity of the first disciples and martyrs failed to preserve succeeding generations from the inroads of sin and darkness more overwhelming than had ever blackened the face of Europe since the commencement of the historical period. The dogmatist of those days sighed over the world’s degeneracy, and saw not through the surrounding gloom any hopeful gleam of light; just as the modern dogmatist rejoices over the world’s advance, without perceiving any overhanging shadow of darkness. Both judge of the world by their own time and circumstances, just as we are too apt to judge of each other by ourselves.