the seas, bearing food and clothing to the peoples
who live far away, but when we attempt to estimate the magnitude of
commerce, the mind confesses to itself that the problem is too great. We
may multiply the number of ships by their tonnage, but we get, in
consequence, an array of figures so great that they cease to have any
meaning for the finite mind. The best and most that they can do for us
is to make us newly aware that the people who dwell in the jungles of
Africa, who roam the pampas of South America, who climb the Alps, the
Rockies, the Andes, and the Himalayas, all have desires that these ships
are striving to gratify.

=Social intercourse.=--Going up the river to Hampton Court we see people
out for a holiday. There are house-boats with elaborate and artistic
fittings and furnishings, and other craft of every sort that luxury can
suggest. One could imagine that none but fairies could stage such a
scene. The blending of colors, the easy dalliance, the rippling
laughter, the graceful feasting, and the eddying wavelets all conspire
to produce a scene that serves to emphasize the beauty of the shores.
Underneath this enchanting scene of variegated beauty we discover the
fundamental fact that man is a gregarious animal, that he not only
craves association with his kind but that playing with them brings him
into more harmonious communion with them. In their play they meet upon
the plane of a common purpose and are thus unified in spirit. Hence, all
this beauty and gayety is serving a beneficent purpose in the way of
gratifying the inherent desire of mankind for social intercourse.

=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