A certain degree of progress from the rudest state in which man is found,—­a dweller in caves, or on trees, like an ape, a cannibal, an eater of pounded snails, worms, and offal,—­a certain degree of progress from this extreme is called Civilization.  It is a vague, complex name, of many degrees.  Nobody has attempted a definition.  Mr. Guizot, writing a book on the subject, does not.  It implies the evolution of a highly organized man, brought to supreme delicacy of sentiment, as in practical power, religion, liberty, sense of honor, and taste.  In the hesitation to define what it is, we usually suggest it by negations.  A nation that has no clothing, no alphabet, no iron, no marriage, no arts of peace, no abstract thought, we call barbarous.  And after many arts are invented or imported, as among the Turks and Moorish nations, it is often a little complaisant to call them civilized.

Each nation grows after its own genius, and has a civilization of its own.  The Chinese and Japanese, though each complete in his way, is different from the man of Madrid or the man of New York.  The term imports a mysterious progress.  In the brutes is none; and in mankind, the savage tribes do not advance.  The Indians of this country have not learned the white man’s work; and in Africa, the negro of to-day is the negro of Herodotus.  But in other races the growth is not arrested; but the like progress that is made by a boy, “when he cuts his eye-teeth,” as we say,—­childish illusions pricing daily away, and he seeing things really and comprehensively,—­is made by tribes.  It is the learning the secret of cumulative power, of advancing on one’s self.  It implies a facility of association, power to compare, the ceasing from fixed ideas.  The Indian is gloomy and distressed, when urged to depart from his habits and traditions.  He is overpowered by the gaze of the white, and his eye sinks.  The occasion of one of these starts of growth is always some novelty that astounds the mind, and provokes it to dare to change.  Thus there is a Manco Capac at the beginning of each improvement, some superior foreigner importing new and wonderful arts, and teaching them.  Of course, he must not know too much, but must have the sympathy, language, and gods of those he would inform.  But chiefly the sea-shore has been the point of departure to knowledge, as to commerce.  The most advanced nations are always those who navigate the most.  The power which the sea requires in the sailor makes a man of him very fast, and the change of shores and population clears his head of much nonsense of his wigwam.