=The travel instinct.=—­At Charing Cross the commerce drama is reenacted, only here with trains instead of boats, and, mainly, people instead of merchandise.  Here we see hurry and bustle, and hear the shriek of the engine and the warning blast of the guard.  Trains are going out, trains are coming in.  When the people step out upon the platforms, they seem to know exactly whither they are bound.  There are porters all about to help them achieve their desires, and cabs stand ready at the curb to do their bidding.  Here is human commerce, and the trains are the answer to the call of the human family to see their own and other lands.  These trains are swifter and more agreeable for nomads than the camel of the desert or the Conestoga wagon of the prairie.  The nomadic instinct pulls and pushes people away from their own door-yards; hence railways, trains, engines, air brakes, telegraph lines, wireless apparatuses, and all the many other devices that the mind of man has designed at the behest of this desire to roam about.

=Monuments.=—­Further down the Thames we see Greenwich, which regulates the clocks for the whole world, and furnishes the sea captain the talisman by which he may know where he is.  Over against St. Paul’s is the Bank of England, which for long years ruled the finances of the world.  Yonder is the Museum, the conservator of the ages.  There is the Rosetta Stone, which is the gateway of history; there the Elgin Marbles, which proclaim the glory of the Greece that was; there the palimpsests which recall an age when men had time to think; and there the books of all time by means of which we can rethink the big thoughts of men long since gone from sight.  There are things that men now call curiosities that mark the course of minds in their struggles toward the light; and there are the sentiments of lofty souls that will live in the hearts of men long after these giant stones have crumbled.

=Desire for pastoral beauty.=—­Beyond the city, in the alluring country places, we see a landscape that delights the senses, ornate with hedges, flowers, vine-clad cottages, highways of surpassing smoothness, fertile fields, and thrifty flocks and herds.  There are carts and wagons on the roads bearing the products of field and garden to the marts of trade.  Men, women, and children zealously ply the hoe, the plow, or the shovel, abetting Nature in her efforts to feed the hungry.  In this pastoral scene there is dignity, serenity, and latent power.  Its beauty answers back to the aesthetic nature of mankind, and nothing that is artificial can ever supplant it in the way of gratifying man’s desire for the beautiful.

=Economic articulation.=—­Through all the diversified phases of this panorama there runs a fundamental principle of unity.  There are no collisions.  In the economy of civilization the farmer is cooerdinate with the artist, the artisan, and the tradesman.  But, if all men were farmers, the economic balance would be disturbed.  The railroad engineer is major because he is indispensable.  So, also, is the farmer, the legislator, the artist, and the student.  There is a degree of interdependence that makes for economic harmony.  The articulation of all the parts gives us an economic whole.