It is different with what has taken place since.  Every work has come in its right time, just when best prepared for, and most required.  There is not one but is sustained on every side, and fits into its place, as each new piece of colored stone in a mosaic is sustained by the progressive picture.  Every one is conserved by its connections.  Whatever has been done is sure,—­and the past being secure, the future is guarantied.  It is impossible that the present knowledge in the world should be extinguished.  Nothing but a stroke of imbecility upon the race, nothing but the destruction of its libraries, nothing but the paralysis of the printing-press, and the annihilation of these means of intercommunication,—­nothing but some such arbitrary intervention could accomplish it.  The facts already in human possession, and the constitution of the mind, together insure what we have as imperishable, and what we are to obtain as illimitable.

We come now to another suggestive characteristic of the time,—­another of its promises.  So far we find Progress gathering fulness and strength,—­making sure of itself.  It has also been gathering impetus.  It has been, all along, accumulating momentum, and now it sweeps on with breathless rapidity.  The reason is, that, the farther it has gone, the more it has multiplied its agents.  The present generation is not only carried forward, but is excited in every quarter.  The activity and versatility of the intellect would appear to be inexhaustible.  Instead of getting overstrained, or becoming lethargic, it never was so powerful, never had so many resources, never was so wide-awake.  Men are busy turning over every stone in their way, in the hope of finding something new.  Nothing would seem too small for human attention, nothing too great for human undertaking.  The government Patent-Office, with its countless chambers, is not so large a museum of inventions as the capacious brain of to-day.

One man is engrossed over an apple-parer; another snatches the needle from the weary fingers of the seamstress, and offers her in return the sewing-machine.  That man yonder has turned himself into an armory, and he brings out the deadliest instrument he can produce, something perhaps that can shoot you at sight, even though you be a speck in the horizon.  His next-door neighbor is an iron workshop, and is forging an armor of proof for a vessel of war, from which the mightiest balls shall bound as lightly as the arrows from an old-time breastplate.  There is another searching for that new motive power which shall keep pace with the telegraph, and hurl the bodies of men through space as fast as their thoughts are hurled; there is another seeking that electro-magnetic battery which shall speak instantly and distinctly to the ends of the earth.  The mind of that astronomer is a telescope, through whose increasing field new worlds float daily by; the mind of that geologist is a divining-rod, forever bending toward the waters of chaos, and pointing out new places where a shaft can be sunk into periods of almost infinite antiquity; the mind of that chemist is a subtile crucible, in which aboriginal secrets lie disclosed, and within whose depths the true philosopher’s stone will be found; the mind of that mathematician is a maze of ethereal stair-ways, rising higher and higher toward the heaven of truth.