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THE INDUSTRIAL MUSEUM
come over the meaning of the words, "a day's journey,' as signifying so much space traversed! Think of the difference between even the shortest "sabbath day's journey," as measured across the Egyptian desert from the back of a camel, and the platform of a locomotive engine; or across the Atlantic from the deck of a packet, and the paddle-box of an ocean steamer. We scarcely seem seated in our express trains, for what by miles is a long journey, when we are called on to surrender our tickets; and before we have time to forget the song to which the sailors heaved the anchor on one side of the world, the outlook gazing on the other is heard shouting, Land in sight!
Our children may tire of swift progression, and cut the telegraph wires and cables, that they may meditate in peace, and undisturbed realise the poet's "lodge in some vast wilderness." But for us in our present eager mood, express trains are but lagging steeds, and the failure of the Atlantic cable a bitter calamity. The seven league boots, the shoes of swiftness, and Fortunatus' wishing cap, which, under the names of steam-engine and telegraph, modern science has bestowed upon practical art, must, although they had been but solitary gifts, have altered all our commercial relations. The entire globe is now an open market-place and bazaar for every nation, and trading must proceed in a different fashion from before.
AND COMMERCIAL ENTERPRISE.
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The great races of men will doubtless continue to work at different rates and in different ways, and we shall always probably be able to say of them, what Shakspeare's Rosalind says of individuals, "I'll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.” But steam-engines and telegraphs are plainly persuading the whole world to keep in all senses the same time o' day, though what that time shall be is still uncertain. I may be allowed in passing, to indulge the hope that our people will be content to go at the approved national pace of the trot. We have not as yet learned to amble gracefully, and we cannot often afford to indulge, as we have recently been doing, in the expensive luxury of a headlong gallop. But this by the way. What I am earnest to urge as foremost in importance is, that the world opened up so widely to us, and our long separated brethren brought before us, face to face, could not but affect us strangely, although all that world were an African desert, and all its inhabitants wild men practising rude aboriginal arts. But that world contains many a people, as wise at least as ourselves, and their industry, as well as ours, has been quickened by