We had letters to send: couriers could not go fast enough, nor far
enough; broke their wagons, foundered their horses, bad roads in spring,
snow-drifts in winter, heat in summer, could not get the horses out of a
walk. But we found out that the air and earth were full of electricity;
and always going our way,--just the way we wanted to send. _Would he
take a message?_ Just as lief as not; had nothing else to do;
would carry it in no time. Only one doubt occurred, one staggering
objection,--he had no carpet bag, no visible pockets, no hands, not so
much as a mouth, to carry a letter. But, after much thought and many
experiments, we managed to meet the conditions, and to fold up the
letter in such invisible compact form as he could carry in those
invisible pockets of his, never wrought by needle and thread,--and it
went like a charm.
I admire still more than the saw-mill the skill which, on the sea-shore,
makes the tides drive the wheels and grind corn, and which thus engages
the assistance of the moon like a hired hand, to grind, and wind, and
pump, and saw, and split stone, and roll iron.
Now that is the wisdom of a man, in every instance of his labor,
to hitch his wagon to a star, and see his chore done by the gods
themselves.
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