It is the pestiferous purple which renders the progress of civilization a
curse, and warps the understanding, till men of sensibility doubt whether
the expansion of intellect produces a greater portion of happiness or
misery. But the nature of the poison points out the antidote; and had
Rousseau mounted one step higher in his investigation, or could his eye
have pierced through the foggy atmosphere, which he almost disdained to
breathe, his active mind would have darted forward to contemplate the
perfection of man in the establishment of true civilization, instead of
taking his ferocious flight back to the night of sensual ignorance.
