agricultural implements alone seemed ready
for their work; as if they knew they must be
up and doing, at a time when skill alone can
cultivate to profit, and busy Science must take
the place of lazy Protection.

Another fortnight produces a marvellous
change in the aspect of the Palace of Industry.
On the 16th of April the artisans of the
building are nearly gone. The sod, upon
which laden wains were crushing together at
the beginning of the month, is floored over.
The scaffolds are cleared away. A solitary
painter, here and there, is finishing the rails
of the galleries; but the structure is essentially
complete. It is a wondrous fabric; sublime in its
magnitude, beautiful in its simplicity. The
venerated elms of Hyde Park are budding in
their vast conservatory, and their leaves will
welcome our May-Day. Singular effects of light
are produced by the character of the building;
and in the dim perspective of its roofs the
prevailing blue shows like an aerial vault. The
divisions of the vast area into geographical
and industrial departments no longer look cold
and formal. The long vista of the central aisle
becomes longer to the eye, for the continuous
line of sculpture gives a measure to the distance.
Draperies are covering the partitions
of the side aisle, making ready for the display
of every variety of textile fabric—from the
shawl of Cashmere to the Bandana handkerchief
of Glasgow. Packages are being rapidly
opened, and the ponderous chests carted away.
The noise of the hammer is still heard; but
the workman is now employed in the adjustment
of machinery, the fitting of models, or
the fixing of counters and glass-cases. In the
Austrian division beautiful parquet floors of
oak are being laid down. In the English,
scagliola workers are giving the last polish to
their specimens; and ceilings and walls of
brilliant paper-hangings are proclaiming our
tardy emulation.

Another fortnight brings us to the May-Even of 1851.

It is not our province to write descriptions
of the "riches fineless" of our May Palace.
Its growth, and the gradual unveiling of its
manifold industries, have been suggestive to
us of many feelings of admiration of the
present, and confidence in the future. It is
ennobling to behold any vast co-operation for
a great public good. The spirit which
prompted this enterprise was generous and
noble; the industry which has carried out the
scheme is worthy of all praise. But let it
not be forgotten that to the Exhibitors belongs
the chief collective honour. There never was
seen, in the world, such a Museum of the
products of industry, and of the instruments
of production. It is almost safe to predict
that such another will never again be beheld.
The cost of the building is insignificant when
compared with the expenditure of the Exhibitors.
The expenditure upon this Exhibition may be
valued by hundreds of thousands. Few will
derive any immediate gain in money-value from
their anxiety and their outlay. It is a generous
emulation that has prompted, for the most part,
this wondrous display. There have been principles
at work beyond what has been unjustly considered
the sole attribute of the commercial character.
There is the love of fame—there is the pride
of country;—but there is even something
more. There is the determination to assert
the dignity of labour; to manifest to those
who hold that the world is made for the
few, that throughout the habitable globe
there are the same agencies at work which
have given the mechanic of the nineteenth
century a greater command of the comforts of
life than was possessed by the feudal lord of
the sixteenth. Here are the evidences.

We repeat it is not for us to enumerate
them. The Shepherd in Homer, when the
stars shine clear about the silver moon, beholds
the signs that glad his heart; the
astronomer catalogues the known stars, and
watches for undiscovered planets. We are
like the shepherd, in gazing upon the glad
signs of human progress. When we look upon
the sumptuous furniture that denotes the
luxury of the Austrian capital, we turn to the
plain school-room desks and chairs of the
United States, and learn the comparative
importance of the necessities of the humble,
and the artificial wants of the great. When
we acknowledge that our sculptors (those
who have chosen to exhibit here) contrast
unfavourably with the bolder artists of France
and Germany; or when we see no English
carvings equal to those of Florence, and no
bronzes to be placed in rivalry with those of
France, we specially think of the wondrous
processes which have sent tasteful articles of
utility into the dwellings of the tradesman
and the artisan—we turn to our potteries, our
electro-plate works, our glass-houses. In
comparison with the block of marble from the
Grecian quarry, that gave Phidias the material
of his Theseus, we can look upon the
same granite that formed Waterloo Bridge.
If Rome sends her costly mosaics for the halls
of princes, Cornwall shows her serpentine and
porphyry for the cheap adornment of our
common English hearths. Belgium exhibits
her richest laces—it is her ancient and proper
pride; India brings her silk and golden
shawls; Tunis her embroidered tissues;
Persia her gorgeous carpets. But here are
also the ribbons of Coventry, the shawls of
Paisley, the calicoes of Manchester, the
broad-cloths of Leeds. They are for the comfort
and the decent ornament of the humblest in
the land. And here, too, are the instruments
by which the humblest have been enabled to
possess them—the spindles and the looms in
their most completed organisation. But here
are also the scientific instruments which suggested
and perfected the spindles and looms; which are
the guides of mechanical invention;