When mining becomes with us a geological art—when the agricultural labourer is an organic chemist—when the feeder and breeder of cattle is an experimental physiologist—when, indeed, every handicraft is made both a scientific and æsthetic operation—then, and then alone, will the handicraftsmen hold that high and honourable position in the country, which, as the producers of all our wealth—as those to whom we owe our every comfort and luxury, they ought most assuredly to occupy. The Great Exhibition is a higher boon to labour than a general advance of wages. An increase of pay might have brought the working men a larger share of creature comforts, but high feeding, unfortunately, is not high thinking nor high feeling. Anything which tends to elevate the automatic operation of the mere labourer to the dignity of an artistic process, tends to confer on the working classes the greatest possible benefit. Such appears to be the probable issue of the Great Exhibition! Nor can we conceive a nobler pride than that which must be felt by working men when they behold arranged all around them the several trophies and triumphs of labour over the elements of the whole material universe. The sight cannot fail to inspire them with a sense of their position in the State, and to increase their self-respect in the same ratio as it must tend to increase the respect of all others for their vocation. * * * * * London, for some time previous to the opening of the Great Exhibition, had been a curious sight even to Londoners. In all the main thoroughfares, especially those leading from the railways and the docks, heavy vans, piled high with unwieldy packing-cases, or laden with some cumbrous machine, and drawn by a long team of horses, crawled along, creaking, on their way towards the Crystal Palace. The greater part of the principal streets were being repaired, preparatory to the increased traffic; shops were being newly-painted and newspapers were announcing in huge placards that they proposed publishing supplements in several languages. In almost every omnibus, some two or three foreigners were to be seen among the passengers,—either some light-haired Germans, or high-cheeked Americans, or sallow Turks, with their “fez-caps” of scarlet cloth. In the pit of the theatres, Chinamen, with their peculiar slanting eyes, and old-woman-like look and dress, might occasionally be perceived gaping with wonder at the scene; while from the number of gentlemen in beards, felt-hats, and full pantaloons, visible at the West-end, Regent-street had much the Anglo-Frenchified character of Boulogne-sur-Mer.