If a man is driving a motor-car three miles an hour all he needs to attend to with his imagination is a few feet of the road ahead. If he is driving his car thirty miles an hour and trying to get on by anticipating his road a few feet ahead, he dies. The faster a man goes--if he has the brains for it--the more people and the more things in the way, his mind covers in a minute--the more magnificently he sees how. On a railway train any ordinary man any day in the year (if he goes fast enough) can see through a board fence. It may be made of vertical slats five inches across and half an inch apart. He sees through the slits between the slats the whole country for miles. If he goes fast enough a man can see through a solid freight train. All our modern industrial social problems are problems of gearing people up. Ordinary men are living on trains now--on moral trains. Their social consciousness is being geared up. They are seeing more other people and more other things and more things beyond the Fence. The increased vibration in human nature and in the human brain and heart that go with the motor-car habit, the increased speed of the human motor, the gearing up of the central power house in society everywhere is going to make men capable of unheard-of social technique. The social consciousness is becoming the common man's daily habit. Laws of social technique and laws of human nature which were theories once are habits now. There is a certain sense in which it may be said that the modern man enjoys daily his moral imagination. He is angered and delighted with his social consciousness. He boils with rage or sings when he hears of all the new machines of good and machines of evil that people are setting up in our modern world. There is a sense in which he glories in the Golden Rule. The moral-machinist's joy is in him. He is not content to watch it go round and round like some smooth-running Corliss engine which is not connected up yet--that nobody really uses except as a kind of model under glass or a miniature for theological schools. He cannot bear the Golden Rule under glass. He wants to see it going round and round, look up at it, immense, silent, masterful, running a world. He delights in the Golden Rule as a part of his love of nature. It is as the falling of apples to him. He delights in it as he delights in frost and fire and in the glorious, modest, implacable, hushed way they work! We are in an age in which a Golden Rule can sing. The men around us are in a new temper. They have the passion, almost, the religion of precision that goes with machines. While I have been sitting at my desk and writing these last words, the two half-past-eight trains, at full speed, have met in the meadow.