So boundless and varied is the field, so complicated are the obstacles to be surmounted, so vast the preparations, improvements and inventions to be brought into requisition, that, after ages and generations have exhausted their energies, much is still left to be done--much which can only be done by the progress and extension of those modern triumphs of art, by which the elements--the fire, the wind, the water, the lightning, submit to the control of man, and become his chariot, his bearer of despatches. By these means the globe we occupy will soon be explored, the limits, boundaries and resources of every dark corner be clearly defined and understood. Man already moves over the surface of the earth at the rate of fifty, sixty, and even ninety miles per hour, and still he aspires. He contemplates making the air his chariot, and wafting himself through the open firmament at the rate of, perhaps, a thousand miles per hour. Suppose he attains to this, what then? Will the great, the infinite principle within him be satisfied? No. He lifts his eyes to the contemplation of those myriads of shining orbs on high. He knows by actual admeasurement that some of them are much larger than the planet he occupies. He also knows by analogy that eternal riches are there; that a boundless store of element and resources is there; that they are treasured there for the use, comfort, convenience, and enjoyment, of intellectual and physical beings--beings, for aught he knows, of his own species, and connected with him by kindred ties, or by the law of universal sympathy and affection. He has reason to believe that there is gold and silver, that there are precious stones, and houses, and cities, and gardens. That there are walks of pleasure, and fountains, forests, brooks, and rivers of delight; that there are bosoms fraught with life and joy, and swelling with all the tender sensibilities of a pure, holy and never-ending affection. Why, then, should his aspirations not reach forth, his mind expand, his bosom swell with love, and his heart beat with the boundless, fathomless infinitude of thought, of feeling, and of love? Why not be noble and boundless in charity, like the God whom he calls his father? Why does he not rise from his groveling sphere in this small island, which floats in the ocean of space, as a small black speck, amid the numberless shining orbs? The reason is obvious; it is not for the want of noble aspirations; it is not for the want of grand conceptions; it is not for the lack of will. It is because the body is chained, imprisoned, confined here, by the operation or attraction of surrounding elements, which man has not yet discovered the means to control. It may be said that the powers of earth enslave him, and chain him down, beyond the possibility or hope of escape.