afterwards the palanquin. Close beside it is the first rude bullock cart, the wheel one solid piece without any tire, clumsy and heavy, harnessed to the bullock by poles tied to his horns. On the other side is the interior of the perfected Pullman car and the indication of the finest ships that sail the sea. And, as to how modern these things are, I saw the other day a statement made by Governor Russell that it was only twenty-two years since the rough cart was the only means of transportation in this country north-west of Minneapolis and St. Paul.

Now, this world, which began as a jungle and wilderness, peopled by tribes, separated by mountain chains, separated by rushing rivers, by bays and oceans, separated by barriers of language, separated by loyalty to different gods, separated by all the impassable barriers of which you can conceive,this world, so wild and savage and cruel, owes more to improved means of transportation than we realize. The one thing that has done more than anything else to civilize has been this marvellous development of the means of transportation. I was talking the other day in mid-Atlantic with Professor James of Harvard. We had been down together inspecting the machinery of our ship; and he gave utterance to what I have said a hundred times, that it seemed to him that the most wonderful thing, taken in every way, that man had yet produced, was the finest modern steamship, the greyhound racer of the sea. Think of the marvellous creation of man which represents such a triumph over the world that the ocean now is no longer the enemy of man, as it was in the ancient times, no longer a gray and unploughed waste, no longer the scene of storms alone, but the common ferryway of the civilized world. Man has conquered the wave and the wind and the storm, until now there is no delay for wind or tide. He makes even head-winds to help him on his course. He disregards all conditions of weather, and is master of the sea. The captain of my ship told me the other day that it was true a first-class steamer that crosses the Atlantic has absolutely nothing to fear from any storm

that it may meet. The only thing the modern sailor fears is fog, hidden in which there may be collision with icebergs or some other vessel. Only let him see his way, and the elements may do their worst, while he bids them harness themselves to his ship and help him on his way.

I have no time to speak of many phases; but I wish to refer for a moment to man's triumph over the material conditions of life. He has taken the raw substances of the world, and manufactured them into everything that can satisfy human need, delight human taste, or gratify human pride. There is one thing, however, that I cannot pass by. I must step for a moment into the Electricity Building; for here I find justification of that which I said a moment ago when I declared that man has harnessed the lightning, and can command it to do his will. It is no longer exclusively the prerogative of Jove or of any god supposed to sit in the heavens. Man can create lightnings, and they run at his will. One very significant and beautiful sight in the Electricity Building is where you stand looking down through a sheet of plate glass at a mechanism which reminds you of a music-box, by means of which an electric flash of lightning runs up a pillar, along the ceiling, and finally disappears along the ceiling of the building.

I need only mention the telegraph, the telephone, and the phonograph by which we have already taken down not only the words, but the very living voices of great men, and shall be able to make them heard by those who shall listen a hundred years from now. That which startled me most, perhaps because of its novelty, was Professor Gray's telautograph. I knew that they were investigating something in this direction; but I possibly exposed my own ignorance when I said that I did not know that it was already perfected in such a way as to be ready to be introduced into popular use. What does that mean? It means that I here in Boston may sign a check in a bank in Chicago with my own autograph. I may write a letter to a friend in Washington; and he in his study, as I write, may see the words come out under his very

picture or anyAn artist for a

eye. In the same way you may transmit a thing that may be written by human hand. newspaper may be at a railroad accident. He may take his pencil to the nearest office where there is a telautograph, and sketch the scene which he wishes to be produced in the morning Herald; and, as he draws line after line, it will appear in the Herald office ready for immediate use. Not only transportation of goods and persons from place to place, but transportation of thought, transportation of our handwriting without regard to distance or time,- this shows the marvellous mastery that man has attained over the physical forces of the world. Here he shows himself as being only a little lower than God, "after the measure of a man; that is, of an angel."

But I have two other points that I wish to note. I must spend a moment in speaking of the artistic side; for man is not only one who loves comfort, a higher and more distinguishing characteristic is that he loves beauty. He loves that things shall be fine and fair. Here I cannot go into detail at length. I can only call your attention to the art galleries, the pictures, the statuary. And here let me say, though I may be considered a man of poor taste in saying it, that, having once more studied in Europe the work of the old masters, and appreciated much of its wonder and beauty, I am human enough and believer enough in the world and in its growth, and in the leading of God, to say that I prefer the new masters every time. Man has not lost his power. He has not lost the mastery of hand or pencil or brush. Statuary and pictures that need not be ashamed to find themselves beside the antique are being produced in the modern world, or will be produced in the days that are to come. Here there are specimens from all lands that indicate how man, who started, 'way down there in the Midway Plaisance, or thousands and thousands of years before these poor specimens started, began his art by scratching the outline of an elk on a bit of bone with a sharp stone, by daubing himself with different colored earths, by outlining rude figures with a brand

plucked from the fire, has now risen until he has produced all these unspeakably fair and lovely things.

So, too, in music. Stand a little while before the gate of the Javanese village, and hear the monotonous tum, tum, tum, which you may hear all day long any day of the week and any week of the month, as the highest which they have attained in the direction of music, and then hear our songs, our operas, our oratorios, our magnificent orchestras, and see to what a height the music of the present has come, and what a prophecy of the future it contains.

If you wish to sum up all the beauty that man has achieved, go with me to the Court of Honor. It was a magnificent moonlight night, the night before the full of the moon, that I have in mind, when I overheard a man say as I passed, without I think any touch of irreverence about it, as he was overwhelmed with the glory and beauty and brilliancy of the world around him, "The moon is not in it to-night." I say I do not think the man was irreverent: he was only overwhelmed by the beauty and brilliancy of the scene around him,- this White City, the Court of Honor, the electric launches, the gondolas, the wonderful fountains, as fine as any on the face of the earth, the fountains of colored lights, as though the waters themselves had been painted, playing as high as the buildings themselves, the music of the bands, the search-lights on the different parts of the building, flashing now so as to make stand out in all its brilliancy a group of statuary here or a figure there, all the salient lines of the buildings around the Court of Honor marked with rows of electric light, a fairy scene, a dream of beauty that made one wonder if, while he closed his eyes, it might not vanish and he find himself awake. It was hardly strange that a divinity student exclaimed, "I am almost sorry that I have seen it, for after this I am afraid heaven may be disappointing." I do not believe that on the face of the earth in any land or in any city there is anything that for beauty of architecture or artistic taste and management of light and color can for one moment compare

with it. Here is the outflowering, then, of man's sense of beauty. Here is what the material Chicago has given to the world as a specimen of the fact that it is standing on the material indeed, but is aspiring to something above and beyond.

And now I have only time for one other suggestion as to the revelation of this Fair concerning the nature of man, his moral nature. What moral story has the Exposition to tell?

In the first place, let me say what it seemed to me was a very wonderful thing that we should be able to say. On last Saturday week I was in the fair grounds all day. The newspapers the next morning reported that two hundred and thirteen thousand people had been on the grounds that day. Everything eatable that the earth produces was there. Everything drinkable that the earth produces was there, free to any one who chose and was able to buy. And yet, wandering as I did from the Midway Plaisance through the different buildings in different parts of the grounds, and spending the evening as I did during the illuminations in the Court of Honor, I saw no blow struck, I heard no loud or angry or even impatient voices. I noticed not one word or act of discourtesy. The farmer from his fields, the workman with his hands hard and grimy from the shop, the gentleman from his library, all there together on an equal footing, and all, so far as I could see, equally courteous and kindly, ready to guide and to help, all serious, all intent to see and learn. That one fact seemed to me to be a tremendous word in favor of the moral attainment of the human race. They were not what they were because there was no opportunity to be anything else. They were what they were because they had attained self-mastery, because they had climbed up out of the animal into the thinking, feeling, and aspiring man. This, I take it, is the way all the world's reforms are to be attained, to-day and in the future.

If you wish to measure in any way the moral advance of the world, go to the Midway Plaisance, and study the conditions of the savages there. Study the rudeness, the igno