WITH THE EYES SHUT

By Edward Bellamy

1898

Railroad rides are naturally tiresome to persons who cannot read on thecars, and, being one of those unfortunates, I resigned myself, on takingmy seat in the train, to several hours of tedium, alleviated only bysuch cat-naps as I might achieve. Partly on account of my infirmity, though more on account of a taste for rural quiet and retirement, myrailroad journeys are few and far between. Strange as the statement mayseem in days like these, it had actually been five years since I hadbeen on an express train of a trunk line. Now, as every one knows, theimprovements in the conveniences of the best equipped trains have inthat period been very great, and for a considerable time I found myselfamply entertained in taking note first of one ingenious device and thenof another, and wondering what would come next. At the end of the firsthour, however, I was pleased to find that I was growing comfortablydrowsy, and proceeded to compose myself for a nap, which I hoped mightlast to my destination. 

Presently I was touched on the shoulder, and a train boy asked me if Iwould not like something to read. I replied, rather petulantly, that Icould not read on the cars, and only wanted to be let alone. 

"Beg pardon, sir, " the train boy replied, "but I 'll give you a bookyou can read with your eyes shut. Guess you have n't taken this linelately, " he added, as I looked up offended at what seemed impertinence. "We 've been furnishing the new-fashioned phonographed books andmagazines on this train for six months now, and passengers have got sothey won't have anything else. "

Probably this piece of information ought to have astonished me more thanit did, but I had read enough about the wonders of the phonograph tobe prepared in a vague sort of way for almost anything which might berelated of it, and for the rest, after the air-brakes, the steam heat, the electric lights and annunciators, the vestibuled cars, and otherdelightful novelties I had just been admiring, almost anything seemedlikely in the way of railway conveniences. Accordingly, when the boyproceeded to rattle off a list of the latest novels, I stopped him withthe name of one which I had heard favorable mention of, and told him Iwould try that. 

He was good enough to commend my choice. "That's a good one, " he said. "It's all the rage. Half the train's on it this trip. Where 'll youbegin?"

"Where? Why, at the beginning. Where else?" I replied. 

"All right. Did n't know but you might have partly read it. Put you onat any chapter or page, you know. Put you on at first chapter with nextbatch in five minutes, soon as the batch that's on now gets through. "

He unlocked a little box at the side of my seat, collected the price ofthree hours' reading at five cents an hour, and went on down theaisle. Presently I heard the tinkle of a bell from the box which he hadunlocked. Following the example of others around me, I took from it asort of two-pronged fork with the tines spread in the similitude of achicken's wishbone. This contrivance, which was attached to the side ofthe car by a cord, I proceeded to apply to my ears, as I saw the othersdoing. 

For the next three hours I scarcely altered my position, so completelywas I enthralled by my novel experience. Few persons can fail to havemade the observation that if the tones of the human voice did not havea charm for us in themselves apart from the ideas they convey, conversation to a great extent would soon be given up, so little isthe real intellectual interest of the topics with which it is chieflyconcerned. When, then, the sympathetic influence of the voice is lent tothe enhancement of matter of high intrinsic interest, it is notstrange that the attention should be enchained. A good story is highlyentertaining even when we have to get at it by the roundabout meansof spelling out the signs that stand for the words, and imagining themuttered, and then imagining what they would mean if uttered. What, then, shall be said of the delight of sitting at one's ease, with closed eyes, listening to the same story poured into one's ears in the strong, sweet, musical tones of a perfect mistress of the art of story-telling, and ofthe expression and excitation by means of the voice of every emotion?

When, at the conclusion of the story, the train boy came to lock upthe box, I could not refrain from expressing my satisfaction in strongterms. In reply he volunteered the information that next month the carsfor day trips on that line would be further fitted up with phonographicguide-books of the country the train passed through, so connected byclock-work with the running gear of the cars that the guide-bookwould call attention to every object in the landscape, and furnishthe pertinent information--statistical, topographical, biographical, historical, romantic, or legendary, as it might be--just at the timethe train had reached the most favorable point of view. It was believedthat this arrangement (for which, as it would work automatically andrequire little attendance, being used or not, according to pleasure, bythe passenger, there would be no charge) would do much to attract travelto the road. His explanation was interrupted by the announcement inloud, clear, and deliberate tones, which no one could have had anyexcuse for misunderstanding, that the train was now approaching thecity of my destination. As I looked around in amazement to discover whatmanner of brakeman this might be whom I had understood, the train boysaid, with a grin, "That's our new phonographic annunciator. "

Hamage had written me that he would be at the station, but somethinghad evidently prevented him from keeping the appointment, and as itwas late, I went at once to a hotel and to bed. I was tired and sleptheavily; once or twice I woke up, after dreaming there were people inmy room talking to me, but quickly dropped off to sleep again. Finally Iawoke, and did not so soon fall asleep. Presently I found myself sittingup in bed with half a dozen extraordinary sensations contending forright of way along my backbone. What had startled me was the voice of ayoung woman, who could not have been standing more than ten feet from mybed. If the tones of her voice were any guide, she was not only a youngwoman, but a very charming one. 

"My dear sir, " she had said, "you may possibly be interested in knowingthat it now wants just a quarter of three. "

For a few moments I thought--well, I will not undertake the impossibletask of telling what extraordinary conjectures occurred to me by way ofaccounting for the presence of this young woman in my room before thetrue explanation of the matter occurred to me. For, of course, whenmy experience that afternoon on the train flashed through my mind, Iguessed at once that the solution of the mystery was in all probabilitymerely a phonographic device for announcing the hour. Nevertheless, sothrilling and lifelike in effect were the tones of the voice I had heardthat I confess I had not the nerve to light the gas to investigate tillI had indued my more essential garments. Of course I found no lady inthe room, but only a clock. I had not particularly noticed it on goingto bed, because it looked like any other clock, and so now it continuedto behave until the hands pointed to three. Then, instead of leavingme to infer the time from the arbitrary symbolism of three strokes ona bell, the same voice which had before electrified me informed me, in tones which would have lent a charm to the driest of statisticaldetails, what the hour was. I had never before been impressed with anyparticular interest attaching to the hour of three in the morning, butas I heard it announced in those low, rich, thrilling contralto tones, it appeared fairly to coruscate with previously latent suggestionsof romance and poetry, which, if somewhat vague, were very pleasing. Turning out the gas that I might the more easily imagine the bewitchingpresence which the voice suggested, I went back to bed, and lay awakethere until morning, enjoying the society of my bodiless companion andthe delicious shock of her quarter-hourly remarks. To make the illusionmore complete and the more unsuggestive of the mechanical explanationwhich I knew of course was the real one, the phrase in which theannouncement of the hour was made was never twice the same. 

Right was Solomon when he said that there was nothing new under the sun. Sardanapalus or Semiramis herself would not have been at all startledto hear a human voice proclaim the hour. The phonographic clock hadbut replaced the slave whose business, standing by the noiselesswater-clock, it was to keep tale of the moments as they dropped, agesbefore they had been taught to tick. 

In the morning, on descending, I went first to the clerk's office toinquire for letters, thinking Hamage, who knew I would go to that hotelif any, might have addressed me there. The clerk handed me a smalloblong box. I suppose I stared at it in a rather helpless way, forpresently he said: "I beg your pardon, but I see you are a stranger. Ifyou will permit me, I will show you how to read your letter. "

I gave him the box, from which he took a device of spindles andcylinders, and placed it deftly within another small box which stoodon the desk. Attached to this was one of the two-pronged ear-trumpets Ialready knew the use of. As I placed it in position, the clerk toucheda spring in the box, which set some sort of motor going, and at oncethe familiar tones of Dick Haulage's voice expressed his regret that anaccident had prevented his meeting me the night before, and informed methat he would be at the hotel by the time I had breakfasted. 

The letter ended, the obliging clerk removed the cylinders from the boxon the desk, replaced them in that they had come in, and returned it tome. 

"Is n't it rather tantalizing, " said I, "to receive one of these letterswhen there is no little machine like this at hand to make it speak?"

"It does n't often happen, " replied the clerk, "that anybody is caughtwithout his indispensable, or at least where he cannot borrow one. "

"His indispensable!" I exclaimed: "What may that be?"

In reply the clerk directed my attention to a little box, not whollyunlike a case for a binocular glass, which, now that he spoke of it, Isaw was carried, slung at the side, by every person in sight. 

"We call it the indispensable because it is indispensable, as, no doubt, you will soon find for yourself. "

In the breakfast-room a number of ladies and gentlemen were engaged asthey sat at table in reading, or rather in listening to, their morning'scorrespondence. A greater or smaller pile of little boxes lay besidetheir plates, and one after another they took from each its cylinders, placed them in their indispensables, and held the latter to their ears. The expression of the face in reading is so largely affected by thenecessary fixity of the eyes that intelligence is absorbed from theprinted or written page with scarcely a change of countenance, whichwhen communicated by the voice evokes a responsive play of features. Ihad never been struck so forcibly by this obvious reflection as I was inobserving the expression of the faces of these people as they listenedto their correspondents. Disappointment, pleased surprise, chagrin, disgust, indignation, and amusement were alternately so legible on theirfaces that it was perfectly easy for one to be sure in most cases whatthe tenor at least of the letter was. It occurred to me that while inthe old time the pleasure of receiving letters had been so far balancedby this drudgery of writing them as to keep correspondence within somebounds, nothing less than freight trains could suffice for the mailservice in these days, when to write was but to speak, and to listen wasto read. 

After I had given my order, the waiter brought a curious-looking oblongcase, with an ear-trumpet attached, and, placing it before me, wentaway. I foresaw that I should have to ask a good many questions before Igot through, and, if I did not mean to be a bore, I had best ask asfew as necessary. I determined to find ont what this trap was withoutassistance. The words "Daily Morning Herald" sufficiently indicatedthat it was a newspaper. I suspected that a certain big knob, if pushed, would set it going. But, for all I knew, it might start in the middle ofthe advertisements. I looked closer. There were a number of printed slipsupon the face of the machine, arranged about a circle like the numberson a dial. They were evidently the headings of news articles. In themiddle of the circle was a little pointer, like the hand of a clock, moving on a pivot. I pushed this pointer around to a certain caption, and then, with the air of being perfectly familiar with the machine, Iput the pronged trumpet to my ears and pressed the big knob. Precisely!It worked like a charm; so much like a charm, indeed, that I shouldcertainly have allowed my breakfast to cool had I been obliged tochoose between that and my newspaper. The inventor of the apparatus had, however, provided against so painful a dilemma by a simple attachmentto the trumpet, which held it securely in position upon the shouldersbehind the head, while the hands were left free for knife and fork. Having slyly noted the manner in which my neighbors had effectedthe adjustments, I imitated their example with a careless air, andpresently, like them, was absorbing physical and mental alimentsimultaneously. 

While I was thus delightfully engaged, I was not less delightfullyinterrupted by Hamage, who, having arrived at the hotel, and learnedthat I was in the breakfast-room, came in and sat down beside me. Aftertelling him how much I admired the new sort of newspapers, I offered onecriticism, which was that there seemed to be no way by which one couldskip dull paragraphs or uninteresting details. 

"The invention would, indeed, be very far from a success, " he said, "ifthere were no such provision, but there is. "

He made me put on the trumpet again, and, having set the machine going, told me to press on a certain knob, at first gently, afterward as hardas I pleased. I did so, and found that the effect of the "skipper, " ashe called the knob, was to quicken the utterance of the phonograph inproportion to the pressure to at least tenfold the usual rate of speed, while at any moment, if a word of interest caught the ear, the ordinaryrate of delivery was resumed, and by another adjustment the machinecould be made to go back and repeat as much as desired. 

When I told Hamage of my experience of the night before with the talkingclock in my room, he laughed uproariously. 

"I am very glad you mentioned this just now, " he said, when he hadquieted himself. "We have a couple of hours before the train goes out tomy place, and I 'll take you through Orton's establishment, where theymake a specialty of these talking clocks. I have a number of them inmy house, and, as I don't want to have you scared to death in thenight-watches, you had better get some notion of what clocks nowadaysare expected to do. "

Orton's, where we found ourselves half an hour later, proved to be avery extensive establishment, the firm making a specialty of horologicalnovelties, and particularly of the new phonographic timepieces. The manager, who was a personal friend of Hamage's, and proved veryobliging, said that the latter were fast driving the old-fashionedstriking clocks out of use. 

"And no wonder, " he exclaimed; "the old-fashioned striker was anunmitigated nuisance. Let alone the brutality of announcing the hourto a refined household by four, eight, or ten rude bangs, withoutintroduction or apology, this method of announcement was not eventolerably intelligible. Unless you happened to be attentive at themoment the din began, you could never be sure of your count of strokesso as to be positive whether it was eight, nine, ten, or eleven. Asto the half and quarter strokes, they were wholly useless unless youchanced to know what was the last hour struck. And then, too, I shouldlike to ask you why, in the name of common sense, it should take twelvetimes as long to tell you it is twelve o'clock as it does to tell you itis one. "

The manager laughed as heartily as Hamage had done on learning of myscare of the night before. 

"It was lucky for you, " he said, "that the clock in your room happenedto be a simple time announcer, otherwise you might easily have beenstartled half out of your wits. " I became myself quite of the sameopinion by the time he had shown us something of his assortment ofclocks. The mere announcing of the hours and quarters of hours was thesimplest of the functions of these wonderful and yet simple instruments. There were few of them which were not arranged to "improve the time, "as the old-fashioned prayer-meeting phrase was. People's ideas differingwidely as to what constitutes improvement of time, the clocks variedaccordingly in the nature of the edification they provided. There werereligious and sectarian clocks, moral clocks, philosophical clocks, free-thinking and infidel clocks, literary and poetical clocks, educational clocks, frivolous and bacchanalian clocks. In the religiousclock department were to be found Catholic, Presbyterian, Methodist, Episcopal, and Baptist time-pieces, which, in connection with theannouncement of the hour and quarter, repeated some tenet of the sectwith a proof text. There were also Talmage clocks, and Spurgeon clocks, and Storrs clocks, and Brooks clocks, which respectively marked theflight of time by phrases taken from the sermons of these eminentdivines, and repeated in precisely the voice and accents of the originaldelivery. In startling proximity to the religious department I was shownthe skeptical clocks. So near were they, indeed, that when, as I stoodthere, the various time-pieces announced the hour of ten, the warof opinions that followed was calculated to unsettle the firmestconvictions. The observations of an Ingersoll which stood near me wereparticularly startling. The effect of an actual wrangle was the greaterfrom the fact that all these individual clocks were surmounted byeffigies of the authors of the sentiments they repeated. 

I was glad to escape from this turmoil to the calmer atmosphere of thephilosophical and literary clock department. For persons with a tastefor antique moralizing, the sayings of Plato, Epictetus, and MarcusAurelius had here, so to speak, been set to time. Modern wisdom wasrepresented by a row of clocks surmounted by the heads of famousmaxim-makers, from Rochefoucauld to Josh Billings. As for the literaryclocks, their number and variety were endless. All the great authorswere represented. Of the Dickens clocks alone there were half a dozen, with selections from his greatest stories. When I suggested that, captivating as such clocks must be, one might in time grow weary ofhearing the same sentiments reiterated, the manager pointed out that thephonographic cylinders were removable, and could be replaced by othersayings by the same author or on the same theme at any time. If onetired of an author altogether, he could have the head unscrewed from thetop of the clock and that of some other celebrity substituted, with abrand-new repertory. 

"I can imagine, " I said, "that these talking clocks must be a greatresource for invalids especially, and for those who cannot sleep atnight. But, on the other hand, how is it when people want or need tosleep? Is not one of them quite too interesting a companion at such atime?"

"Those who are used to it, " replied the manager, "are no more disturbedby the talking clock than we used to be by the striking clock. However, to avoid all possible inconvenience to invalids, this little lever isprovided, which at a touch will throw the phonograph out of gear or backagain. It is customary when we put a talking or singing clock into abedroom to put in an electric connection, so that by pressing a buttonat the head of the bed a person, without raising the head from thepillow, can start or stop the phonographic gear, as well as ascertainthe time, on the repeater principle as applied to watches. "

Hamage now said that we had only time to catch the train, but ourconductor insisted that we should stop to see a novelty of phonographicinvention, which, although not exactly in their line, had been sentthem for exhibition by the inventor. It was a device for meeting thecriticism frequently made upon the churches of a lack of attention andcordiality in welcoming strangers. It was to be placed in the lobby ofthe church, and had an arm extending like a pump-handle. Any stranger ontaking this and moving it up and down would be welcomed in the pastor'sown voice, and continue to be welcomed as long as he kept up the motion. While this welcome would be limited to general remarks of regard andesteem, ample provision was made for strangers who desired to be moreparticularly inquired into. A number of small buttons on the frontof the contrivance bore respectively the words, "Male, " "Female, ". "Married, " "Unmarried, " "Widow, " "Children, " "No Children, " etc. , etc. By pressing the one of these buttons corresponding to his or hercondition, the stranger would be addressed in terms probably quite asaccurately adapted to his or her condition and needs as would be anyinquiries a preoccupied clergyman would be likely to make under similarcircumstances. I could readily see the necessity of some such substitutefor the pastor, when I was informed that every prominent clergymanwas now in the habit of supplying at least a dozen or two pulpitssimultaneously, appearing by turns in one of them personally, and byphonograph in the others. 

The inventor of the contrivance for welcoming strangers was, itappeared, applying the same idea to machines for discharging many otherof the more perfunctory obligations of social intercourse. One beingmade for the convenience of the President of the United States at publicreceptions was provided with forty-two buttons for the different States, and others for the principal cities of the Union, so that a caller, by proper manipulation, might, while shaking a handle, be addressedin regard to his home interests with an exactness of informationas remarkable as that of the traveling statesmen who rise from thegazetteer to astonish the inhabitants of Wayback Crossing with theprecise figures of their town valuation and birth rate, while the engineis taking in water. 

We had by this time spent so much time that on finally starting for therailroad station we had to walk quite briskly. As we were hurryingalong the street, my attention was arrested by a musical sound, distinctthough not loud, proceeding apparently from the indispensable whichHamage, like everybody else I had seen, wore at his side. Stoppingabruptly, he stepped aside from the throng, and, lifting theindispensable quickly to his ear, touched something, and exclaiming, "Oh, yes, to be sure!" dropped the instrument to his side. 

Then he said to me: "I am reminded that I promised my wife to bring homesome story-books for the children when I was in town to-day. The storeis only a few steps down the street. " As we went along, he explainedto me that nobody any longer pretended to charge his mind with therecollection of duties or engagements of any sort. Everybody dependedupon his indispensable to remind him in time of all undertakings andresponsibilities. This service it was able to render by virtue of asimple enough adjustment of a phonographic cylinder charged with thenecessary word or phrase to the clockwork in the indispensable, so thatat any time fixed upon in setting the arrangement an alarm would sound, and, the indispensable being raised to the ear, the phonograph woulddeliver its message, which at any subsequent time might be called up andrepeated. To all persons charged with weighty responsibilities dependingupon accuracy of memory for their correct discharge, this feature ofthe indispensable rendered it, according to Hamage, and indeed quiteobviously, an indispensable truly. To the railroad engineer it servedthe purpose not only of a time-piece, for the works of the indispensableinclude a watch, but to its ever vigilant alarm he could intrust hisrunning orders, and, while his mind was wholly concentrated upon presentduties, rest secure that he would be reminded at just the proper timeof trains which he must avoid and switches he must make. To theindispensable of the business man the reminder attachment was notless necessary. Provided with that, his notes need never go to protestthrough carelessness, nor, however absorbed, was he in danger offorgetting an appointment. 

Thanks to these portable memories it was, moreover, now possible fora wife to intrust to her husband the most complex messages to thedressmaker. All she had to do was to whisper the communication into herhusband's indispensable while he was at breakfast, and set the alarm atan hour when he would be in the city. 

"And in like manner, I suppose, " suggested I, "if she wishes him toreturn at a certain hour from the club or the lodge, she can depend onhis indispensable to remind him of his domestic duties at the propermoment, and in terms and tones which will make the total repudiationof connubial allegiance the only alternative of obedience. It is a veryclever invention, and I don't wonder that it is popular with the ladies;but does it not occur to you that the inventor, if a man, was slightlyinconsiderate? The rule of the American wife has hitherto been adespotism which could be tempered by a bad memory. Apparently, it is tobe no longer tempered at all. "

Hamage laughed, but his mirth was evidently a little forced, and Iinferred that the reflection I had suggested had called up certainreminiscences not wholly exhilarating. Being fortunate, however, inthe possession of a mercurial temperament, he presently rallied, and continued his praises of the artificial memory provided by theindispensable. In spite of the criticism which I had made upon it, Iconfess I was not a little moved by his description of its advantagesto absent-minded men, of whom I am chief. Think of the gain alike inserenity and force of intellect enjoyed by the man who sits down to workabsolutely free from that accursed cloud on the mind of things he hasgot to remember to do, and can only avoid totally forgetting by wastingtenfold the time required finally to do them in making sure by frequentrehearsals that he has not forgotten them! The only way that one ofthese trivialities ever sticks to the mind is by wearing a sore spot init which heals slowly. If a man does not forget it, it is for the samereason that he remembers a grain of sand in his eye. I am conscious thatmy own mind is full of cicatrices of remembered things, and long erethis it would have been peppered with them like a colander, had I nota good while ago, in self-defense, absolutely refused to be heldaccountable for forgetting anything not connected with my regularbusiness. 

While firmly believing my course in this matter to have been justifiableand necessary, I have not been insensible to the domestic odium whichit has brought upon me, and could but welcome a device which promised toenable me to regain the esteem of my family while retaining the use ofmy mind for professional purposes. 

As the most convenient conceivable receptacle of hasty memoranda ofideas and suggestions, the indispensable also most strongly commendeditself to me as a man who lives by writing. How convenient when a flashof inspiration comes to one in the night-time, instead of taking coldand waking the family in order to save it for posterity, just to whisperit into the ear of an indispensable at one's bedside, and be able toknow it in the morning for the rubbish such untimely conceptions usuallyare! How often, likewise, would such a machine save in all their firstvividness suggestive fancies, anticipated details, and other notionsworth preserving, which occur to one in the full flow of composition, but are irrelevant to what is at the moment in hand! I determined that Imust have an indispensable. 

The bookstore, when we arrived there, proved to be the mostextraordinary sort of bookstore I had ever entered, there not being abook in it. Instead of books, the shelves and counters were occupiedwith rows of small boxes. 

"Almost all books now, you see, are phono-graphed, " said Hamage. 

"The change seems to be a popular one, " I said, "to judge by the crowdof book-buyers. " For the counters were, indeed, thronged with customersas I had never seen those of a bookstore before. 

"The people at those counters are not purchasers, but borrowers, " Hamagereplied; and then he explained that whereas the old-fashioned printedbook, being handled by the reader, was damaged by use, and therefore hadeither to be purchased outright or borrowed at high rates of hire, the phonograph of a book being not handled, but merely revolved in amachine, was but little injured by use, and therefore phonographed bookscould be lent out for an infinitesimal price. Everybody had at homea phonograph box of standard size and adjustments, to which allphonographic cylinders were gauged. I suggested that the phonograph, at any rate, could scarcely have replaced picture-books. But here, itseemed, I was mistaken, for it appeared that illustrations wereadapted to phonographed books by the simple plan of arranging them ina continuous panorama, which by a connecting gear was made to unrollbehind the glass front of the phonograph case as the course of thenarrative demanded. 

"But, bless my soul!" I exclaimed, "everybody surely is not content toborrow their books? They must want to have books of their own, to keepin their libraries. "

"Of course, " said Hamage. "What I said about borrowing books appliesonly to current literature of the ephemeral sort. Everybody wants booksof permanent value in his library. Over yonder is the department of theestablishment set apart for book-buyers. "

The counter which he indicated being less crowded than those of theborrowing department, I expressed a desire to examine some of thephonographed books. As we were waiting for attendance, I observed thatsome of the customers seemed very particular about their purchases, andinsisted upon testing several phonographs bearing the same title beforemaking a selection. As the phonographs seemed exact counterpartsin appearance, I did not understand this till Hamage explained thatdifferences as to style and quality of elocution left quite as great arange of choice in phonographed books as varieties in type, paper, andbinding did in printed ones. This I presently found to be the case whenthe clerk, under Ham-age's direction, began waiting on me. In successionI tried half a dozen editions of Tennyson by as many differentelocutionists, and by the time I had heard

 "Where Claribel low lieth"

rendered by a soprano, a contralto, a bass, and a baritone, each withthe full effect of its quality and the personal equation besides, I wasquite ready to admit that selecting phonographed books for one's librarywas as much more difficult as it was incomparably more fascinating thansuiting one's self with printed editions. Indeed, Hamage admitted thatnowadays nobody with any taste for literature--if the word may forconvenience be retained--thought of contenting himself with less thanhalf a dozen renderings of the great poets and dramatists. "By theway, " he said to the clerk, "won't you just let my friend try theBooth-Barrett Company's 'Othello'? It is, you understand, " he addedto me, "the exact phonographic reproduction of the play as actuallyrendered by the company. "

Upon his suggestion, the attendant had taken down a phonograph case andplaced it on the counter. The front was an imitation of a theatre withthe curtain down. As I placed the transmitter to my ears, the clerktouched a spring and the curtain rolled up, displaying a perfect pictureof the stage in the opening scene. Simultaneously the action of the playbegan, as if the pictured men upon the stage were talking. Here was noquestion of losing half that was said and guessing the rest. Not a word, not a syllable, not a whispered aside of the actors, was lost; and asthe play proceeded the pictures changed, showing every important changeof attitude on the part of the actors. Of course the figures, beingpictures, did not move, but their presentation in so many successiveattitudes presented the effect of movement, and made it quite possibleto imagine that the voices in my ears were really theirs. I amexceedingly fond of the drama, but the amount of effort and physicalinconvenience necessary to witness a play has rendered my indulgence inthis pleasure infrequent. Others might not have agreed with me, but Iconfess that none of the ingenious applications of the phonograph whichI had seen seemed to be so well worth while as this. 

Hamage had left me to make his purchases, and found me on his returnstill sitting spellbound. 

"Come, come, " he said, laughing, "I have Shakespeare complete at home, and you shall sit up all night, if you choose, hearing plays. But comealong now, I want to take you upstairs before we go. "

He had several bundles. One, he told me, was a new novel for hiswife, with some fairy stories for the children, --all, of course, phonographs. Besides, he had bought an indispensable for his little boy. 

"There is no class, " he said, "whose burdens the phonograph has done somuch to lighten as parents. Mothers no longer have to make themselveshoarse telling the children stories on rainy days to keep them out ofmischief. It is only necessary to plant the most roguish lad before aphonograph of some nursery classic, to be sure of his whereabouts andhis behavior till the machine runs down, when another set of cylinderscan be introduced, and the entertainment carried on. As for the babies, Patti sings mine to sleep at bedtime, and, if they wake up in the night, she is never too drowsy to do it over again. When the children growtoo big to be longer tied to their mother's apron-strings, they stillremain, thanks to the children's indispensable, though out of her sight, within sound of her voice. Whatever charges or instructions she desiresthem not to forget, whatever hours or duties she would have them be sureto remember, she depends on the indispensable to remind them of. "

At this I cried out. "It is all very well for the mothers, " I said, "but the lot of the orphan must seem enviable to a boy compelled to wearabout such an instrument of his own subjugation. If boys were whatthey were in my day, the rate at which their indispensables would getunaccountably lost or broken would be alarming. "

Hamage laughed, and admitted that the one he was carrying home was thefourth he had bought for his boy within a month. He agreed with me thatit was hard to see how a boy was to get his growth under quite so muchgovernment; but his wife, and indeed the ladies generally, insisted thatthe application of the phonograph to family government was the greatestinvention of the age. 

Then I asked a question which had repeatedly occurred to me that day, --What had become of the printers?

"Naturally, " replied Hamage, "they have had a rather hard time of it. Some classes of books, however, are still printed, and probably willcontinue to be for some time, although reading, as well as writing, isgetting to be an increasingly rare accomplishment. "

"Do you mean that your schools do not teach reading and writing?" Iexclaimed. 

"Oh, yes, they are still taught; but as the pupils need them littleafter leaving school, --or even in school, for that matter, all theirtext-books being phonographic, --they usually keep the acquirementsabout as long as a college graduate does his Greek. There is a strongmovement already on foot to drop reading and writing entirely from theschool course, but probably a compromise will be made for the presentby substituting a shorthand or phonetic system, based upon the directinterpretation of the sound-waves themselves. This is, of course, theonly logical method for the visual interpretation of sound. Studentsand men of research, however, will always need to understand how toread print, as much of the old literature will probably never repayphonographing. "

"But, " I said, "I notice that you still use printed phrases, assuperscriptions, titles, and so forth. "

"So we do, " replied Hamage, "but phonographic substitutes could beeasily devised in these cases, and no doubt will soon have to besupplied in deference to the growing number of those who cannot read. "

"Did I understand you, " I asked, "that the text-books in your schoolseven are phonographs?"

"Certainly, " replied Hamage; "our children are taught by phonographs, recite to phonographs, and are examined by phonographs. "

"Bless my soul!" I ejaculated. 

"By all means, " replied Hamage; "but there is really nothing to beastonished at. People learn and remember by impressions of sound insteadof sight, that is all. The printer is, by the way, not the only artisanwhose occupation phonography has destroyed. Since the disuse of print, opticians have mostly gone to the poor-house. The sense of sightwas indeed terribly overburdened previous to the introduction of thephonograph, and, now that the sense of hearing is beginning to assumeits proper share of work, it would be strange if an improvement inthe condition of the people's eyes were not noticeable. Physiologists, moreover, promise us not only an improved vision, but a generallyimproved physique, especially in respect to bodily carriage, nowthat reading, writing, and study no longer involves, as formerly, the sedentary attitude with twisted spine and stooping shoulders. Thephonograph has at last made it possible to expand the mind withoutcramping the body. "

"It is a striking comment on the revolution wrought by the generalintroduction of the phonograph, " I observed, "that whereas themisfortune of blindness used formerly to be the infirmity which mostcompletely cut a man off from the world of books, which remained open tothe deaf, the case is now precisely reversed. "

"Yes, " said Hamage, "it is certainly a curious reversal, but not socomplete as you fancy. By the new improvements in the intensifier, it isexpected to enable all, except the stone-deaf, to enjoy the phonograph, even when connected, as on railroad trains, with a common telephonicwire. The stone-deaf will of course be dependent upon printed booksprepared for their benefit, as raised-letter books used to be for theblind. "

As we entered the elevator to ascend to the upper floors of theestablishment, Hamage explained that he wanted me to see, before I left, the process of phonographing books, which was the modern substitute forprinting them. Of course, he said, the phonographs of dramatic workswere taken at the theatres during the representations of plays, andthose of public orations and sermons are either similarly obtained, or, if a revised version is desired, the orator re-delivers his address inthe improved form to a phonograph; but the great mass of publicationswere phonographed by professional elocutionists employed by the largepublishing houses, of which this was one. He was acquainted with one ofthese elocutionists, and was taking me to his room. 

We were so fortunate as to find him disengaged. Something, he said, hadbroken about the machinery, and he was idle while it was being repaired. His work-room was an odd kind of place. It was shaped something like theinterior of a rather short egg. His place was on a sort of pulpit in themiddle of the small end, while at the opposite end, directly before him, and for some distance along the sides toward the middle, were arrangedtiers of phonographs. These were his audience, but by no means all ofit. By telephonic communication he was able to address simultaneouslyother congregations of phonographs in other chambers at any distance. Hesaid that in one instance, where the demand for a popular book was verygreat, he had charged five thousand phonographs at once with it. 

I suggested that the saying of printers, pressmen, bookbinders, andcostly machinery, together with the comparative indestructibility ofphonographed as compared with printed books, must make them very cheap. 

"They would be, " said Hamage, "if popular elocutionists, such asPlaywell here, did not charge so like fun for their services. The publichas taken it into its head that he is the only first-class elocutionist, and won't buy anybody else's work. Consequently the authors stipulatethat he shall interpret their productions, and the publishers, betweenthe public and the authors, are at his mercy. "

Playwell laughed. "I must make my hay while the sun shines, " he said. "Some other elocutionist will be the fashion next year, and then I shallonly get hack-work to do. Besides, there is really a great deal morework in my business than people will believe. For example, after I getan author's copy"--

"Written?" I interjected. 

"Sometimes it is written phonetically, but most authors dictate to aphonograph. Well, when I get it, I take it home and study it, perhaps acouple of days, perhaps a couple of weeks, sometimes, if it is really animportant work, a month or two, in order to get into sympathy with theideas, and decide on the proper style of rendering. All this is hardwork, and has to be paid for. "

At this point our conversation was broken off by Hamage, who declaredthat, if we were to catch the last train out of town before noon, we hadno time to lose. 

Of the trip out to Hamage's place I recall nothing. I was, in fact, aroused from a sound nap by the stopping of the train and the bustleof the departing passengers. Hamage had disappeared. As I groped about, gathering up my belongings, and vaguely wondering what had become ofmy companion, he rushed into the car, and, grasping my hand, gave me anenthusiastic welcome. I opened my mouth to demand what sort of a jokethis belated greeting might be intended for, but, on second thought, Iconcluded not to raise the point. The fact is, when I came to observethat the time was not noon, but late in the evening, and that the trainwas the one I had left home on, and that I had not even changed myseat in the car since then, it occurred to me that Hamage might notunderstand allusions to the forenoon we had spent together. Later thatsame evening, however, the consternation of my host and hostess at myfrequent and violent explosions of apparently causeless hilarity left meno choice but to make a clean breast of my preposterous experience. The moral they drew from it was the charming one that, if I would butoftener come to see them, a railroad trip would not so upset my wits.