Can Such Things Be?

o you really believe

fied a sense of his attention by a brighter glow. For several weeks I had been observing in him a growing habit of delay in answering even the most trivia

tly he

nary: ‘Any instrument or organization by which power is applied and made effective, or a desired effect

ay so? — all that you say is mere evasion. You know well enough that when I sa

ter he turned about and with a smile said: “I beg your pardon; I had no thought of evasion. I considered the dictionary man’s unconscious testimony suggestive a

r him. I knew, for one thing, that he suffered from insomnia, and that is no light affliction. Had it affected his mind? His reply to my question seemed to me then evidence that it had; pe

it think with — in t

is customary delay, took his favor

lant think — in the

lass! I should be pleased to know some of th

in order that he may fertilize their distant mates. But observe this. In an open spot in my garden I planted a climbing vine. When it was barely above the surface I set a stake into the soil a yard away. The vine at once made for it, but as it was about to reach it after several days I removed it a fe

ame to a break, where a section of the pipe had been removed to make way for a stone wall that had been built across its course. The root left the drain and followed the wall until

all t

it? It shows the consciousness of

es. They may be composed partly of wood — wood that has no longer vitality

the phenomena, for exam

t explai

l it reason. When wild geese in flight take the form of a letter V you say instinct. When the homogeneous atoms of a mineral, moving freely in solution, arrange themselves into shapes mathemati

rd it at the same moment and, visibly agitated, rose and hurriedly passed into the room whence it came. I thought it odd that any one else should be in there, and my interest in my friend — with doubtless a touch of unwarrantable curiosity — led me to listen intently, though,

tly. I have a machine in there that

heek, which was traversed by four paral

t do to trim

on, but seated himself in the chair that he had left and r

: it is all alive; all instinct with force, actual and potential; all sensitive to the same forces in its environment and susceptible to the contagion of higher and subtler ones residing in such superior organisms as it may be brought i

it afterward, for anything I know, but in all that time I have been unable to think of a single word that could p

eneous changes, both simultaneous and successive, in co

enon,” I said, “but give

as a consequent. Of certain phenomena, one never occurs without another, which is dissimilar: the first in point of time we call cause, the second, ef

I want you to observe is that in Herbert Spencer’s definition of ‘life’ the activity of a machine is included — there is nothing in the definition that is not applicable to it. According to this s

of leaving him in that isolated house, all alone except for the presence of some person of whose nature my conjectures could go no further than that it was

om have yo

e laughed lightly and ans

n action with nothing to act upon, while I undertook the interminable task of enlightenin

wish you good night; and I’ll add the hope that the machine which you inadvertently

erve the effect of my

echanical consciousness and the fatherhood of Rhythm. Odd, and in some degree humorous, as his convictions seemed to me at that time, I could not wholly divest myself of the feeling that they had some tragic relation to his life and character — perhaps to his destiny — although I no longer entertained the notion that they were the vagaries of a disordered mind. Whatever might be thought of his views, his exposition of them was too logical for that. Over and over, his last words came back to me: “Consciousness is the creature of Rhythm

Saul of Tarsus; and out there in the storm and darkness and solitude I experienced what Lewes calls “The endless variety and excitement of philosophic thought.” I exulte

ement to find the doorbell I instinctively tried the knob. It turned and, entering, I mounted the stairs to the room that I had so recently left. All was dark and silent; Moxon, as I had supposed, was in the adjoining room — the “machine-shop.” Groping along the wall until I found the

metal worker, of whom no one knew anything except that his name was Haley and his habit silence. But in my spiritual exaltation, disc

little of chess, but as only a few pieces were on the board it was obvious that the game was near its close. Moxon was intensely interested — not so much, it seemed to me, in the game as in his antagonist, upon whom he had fixed so intent a look that, sta

ad, which had a tangled growth of black hair and was topped with a crimson fez. A tunic of the same color, belted tightly to the waist, reached the seat — apparently a box —

observed nothing now, except that the door was open. Something forbade me either to enter or to retire, a feeling — I know not how it came — that I was in

so being quick, nervous and lacking in precision. The response of his antagonist, while equally prompt in the inception, was made with a slow, uniform, mechanical and, I thought,

a machine — an automaton chess-player! Then I remembered that Moxon had once spoken to me of having invented such a piece of mechanism, though I did not understand that it had actually been constructed. Was all his

sity. I observed a shrug of the thing’s great shoulders, as if it were irritated: and so natural was this — so entirely human — that in my new view of the matter it startled me. Nor was t

upon one of his pieces like a sparrow-hawk and with the exclamation “checkmate!” r

nuous convulsion appeared to have possession of it. In body and head it shook like a man with palsy or an ague chill, and the motion augmented every moment until the entire figure was in violent agitation. Suddenly it sprang to its feet and with a movement almost too quick for the eye to follow shot forward across table and chair, with both arms thrust forth to their full length — the posture and lunge of a diver. Moxon tried to throw himself backward out of reach, but he was too late: I saw the horrible thing’s hands close upon his throat, his own clutch its wrists. Then the table was overturned, the candle thrown to the floor and extinguished, and all was black dark. But the noise of the struggle was dreadfully distinct, and

t tragic night slowly evolved in my ailing brain recognized in my attendant Mo

I managed to say, fa

y knows how you came to be there. You may have to do a little explaining. The origin of t

Mox

day — what was

arting shocking intelligence to the sick he was affable enough. After some

rescu

at interests

d you rescue, also, that charming product of your skill

, looking away from me. Presen

u know

eplied; “I

If asked to-day I shoul