KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 
S000 eum 
271 
et crea ele ate Nail Uy aS 
“Up stairs, and down stairs, 
And in my lady’s chamber,” 
you hear daily and hourly, and almost 
momentarily, this stirring injunction to— 
** move on !” 
Nor does there appear to us to be any- 
thing unreasonable in obedience to this 
universal requirement to ‘ move on!’ All 
things are moving on: and who are you that 
you should defy this ‘“ imperial ukase” of 
nature! ‘The pleasant air around you, the 
placid stream at your feet, the beauteous 
clouds above you, and the “ firm-set earth” 
itself on which you stand, are moving. ‘The 
solemn sea in the summer calm, the surging 
ocean in the winter’s storm, and the fair 
bosom of the inland lake, played on by the 
passing breeze, are moving too. The leaves 
of the forest, the stately oak, the drooping 
willow, the quivering aspen, the painted flora, 
and the emerald grass-blade are moving to 
and fro. Ali things above, beneath, and 
around, that live and have their being, move; 
—the soaring eagle and minute ephemera, 
the “ king of beasts” and microscopic insect, 
the great leviathan and tiny animalcule, 
move! Above— 
“That bright-orb’d maiden, 
With white fire laden, 
Which mortals call the Moon,” 
circles round her planetary centre; the planet 
around the sun; the entire system around 
some vaster orb; and so, throughout the 
silent regions of space—quiet, but not quies- 
cent, — satellite, and sun, and stars, and 
nebule “ weave their mystic dance,” and, 
with a stately melody,—“ move on !” 
All that does not ‘‘ move on,”’ as a general 
rule, stagnates; and stagnation brings forth 
death. It is the circulation of the vital fluid 
within the veins, aided by the piston-like 
pulsations of the heart—that most perfect 
engine —that give life and health. A 
moment’s stoppage would be fatal. ©The 
instincts of our nature prompt to action ; 
and the youngest child feels the impulse to 
healthful motion. So strong imdeed is the 
passion for movement throughout life, that 
it renders even the oldest, impatient of 
quiescence. And if the instincts of our 
physical nature prompt us to activity, no 
less do those of our mental economy. Can 
you chain down a man’s thoughts, or even 
a child’s, so that they shall not “ for ever, 
and for evermore, move on?” 
And this law of progress extends to man- 
kind in their social and political associations. 
The experiment has been tried over and over 
again to keep mankind from moving on, but 
always with the same want of success. A 
point has been fixed upon, and bounds have 
been set, and mathematical lines, with nicest 
calculation, laid down, beyond which progress 

should be prohibited. But, just as Canute 
found the waves deaf to his voice, just as 
they steadily advanced to his boundary line, 
and then, as steadily, overleaped it, so has 
society progressed —yea, and shall progress. 
You may tell society to “move on,” and, 
perchance, it will obey you; but tell it to 
stand still, and it will laugh at you for a 
simpleton. You may encourage an indi- 
vidual mind to progress and expansion; and 
you shall find no limits to that growth. But 
coop it up within itself, incarcerate it in 
Florentine dungeons, heap great weights of 
cruel oppressions upon it, and you shall 
assuredly find that 
‘ Prison-bars do not a dungeon make.” 
It will escape and wander free—free as the 
air we breathe, free as the light of Heaven, 
free as the love of God. 
What sort of aspect would the world of 
commerce wear without this life and action ? 
Suppose some morning we were to go upon 
’Change, amongst the docks, canals, and 
railways, and find all still—no life, no 
motion, no activity !—what would be the 
effects upon the industry of England of the 
stoppage of the stupendous machine of 
modern commerce, even for a single hour ? 
If all the mills of Lancashire, the mines 
of Northumberland, the iron-works of Wales, 
and the manufactures of Birmingham could 
by any possibility simultaneously stand 
still,—who could calculate the greatness of 
the calamity ? No; motion here is essential 
to national progress, health, and wealth; in- 
dustry must ‘move on,’ keep moving— 
always moving! The merchant knows 
this: —who so busy as he in the crowded 
marts of merchandise! The mechanic 
knows this ;—and it gives him the stimulus 
to do his manful stroke of work. All the 
industrial classes know this: and it makes 
merry England, busy England—money- 
getting England! And the reason why 
England is what she is, is that she knows 
when and how to “ move on.” 
‘“Move on!’ is the axiom of the age: 
and it sufficiently accounts for all its achieve- 
ments and characteristics. The pushing, 
striving, active “move on” spirit has pene- 
trated and ramified all ranks, classes, and 
conditions ; and to this restless, persevering 
energy is to be attributed nearly all the good, 
and not a little of the bad, that we find in 
this age of ours. It has crept into schemes 
of education; into sanitary science; into 
politics and political economy ; into corpora- 
tions and charitable institutions ; into move- 
ments for public libraries, parks, baths, and 
wash-houses, model lodging-houses, and early 
closing; into religious societies, city mis- 
sions, ragged schools, and ragged churches, 
penny banks, clothing clubs, and mutual 
assurance associations. It has made itself 
