Pass along the avenues of any city or town, in which you live--behold
the trading shops--the manufacturies--see the operations of the various
machinery--see the stage-coaches coming in, bringing the mails of
intelligence--look at the railroads interlining every section, bearing
upon them their mighty trains, flying with the velocity of the swallow,
ushering in the hundreds of industrious, enterprising travellers. Cast
again your eyes widespread over the ocean--see the vessels in every
direction with their white sheets spread to the winds of heaven,
freighted with the commerce, merchandise and wealth of many nations.
Look as you pass along through the cities, at the great and massive
buildings--the beautiful and extensive structures of
architecture--behold the ten thousand cupolas, with their spires all
reared up towards heaven, intersecting the territory of the clouds--all
standing as mighty living monuments, of the industry, enterprise, and
intelligence of the white man. And yet, with all these living truths,
rebuking us with scorn, we strut about, place our hands akimbo,
straighten up ourselves to our greatest height, and talk loudly about
being "as good as any body." How do we compare with them? Our fathers
are their coachmen, our brothers their cookmen, and ourselves their
waiting-men.
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