ዘመኑ ባፈራው የቴክኖሎጂ ግብአት በመጠቀም ለህብረተሰባችን ስራ ለሁሉም በሚል ግብ የተሻለ የስራ አማራጭ፣ ለተሻለ ኑሮ፣ ለተሻለ የገበያ ትስስር ፣ ለተቀናጀ የገበያ ተደራሽነት ገዥን ከደንበኛ የማስተሳሰሪያ የቴክኖሎጂ አማራጭ ይዘን መተናል በሁሉም የስራ መስክ በሁሉም የስራ እርከን ስራ ለሚገኙ ባለሙያዎች እና ድርጅቶች የስራ አጋጣሚን መፍጠር
ዘመኑ ባፈራው የቴክኖሎጂ ግብአት በመጠቀም ለህብረተሰባችን ስራ ለሁሉም በሚል ግብ የተሻለ የስራ አማራጭ፣ ለተሻለ ኑሮ፣ ለተሻለ የገበያ ትስስር ፣ ለተቀናጀ የገበያ ተደራሽነት ገዥን ከደንበኛ የማስተሳሰሪያ የቴክኖሎጂ አማራጭ ይዘን መተናል በሁሉም የስራ መስክ በሁሉም የስራ እርከን ስራ ለሚገኙ ባለሙያዎች እና ድርጅቶች የስራ አጋጣሚን መፍጠር
ዘመኑ ባፈራው የቴክኖሎጂ ግብአት በመጠቀም ለህብረተሰባችን ስራ ለሁሉም በሚል ግብ የተሻለ የስራ አማራጭ፣ ለተሻለ ኑሮ፣ ለተሻለ የገበያ ትስስር ፣ ለተቀናጀ የገበያ ተደራሽነት ገዥን ከደንበኛ የማስተሳሰሪያ የቴክኖሎጂ አማራጭ ይዘን መተናል በሁሉም የስራ መስክ በሁሉም የስራ እርከን ስራ ለሚገኙ ባለሙያዎች እና ድርጅቶች የስራ አጋጣሚን መፍጠር
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ዘመኑ ባፈራው የቴክኖሎጂ ግብአት በመጠቀም ለህብረተሰባችን ስራ ለሁሉም በሚል ግብ የተሻለ የስራ አማራጭ፣ ለተሻለ ኑሮ፣ ለተሻለ የገበያ ትስስር ፣ ለተቀናጀ የገበያ ተደራሽነት ገዥን ከደንበኛ የማስተሳሰሪያ የቴክኖሎጂ አማራጭ ይዘን መተናል በሁሉም የስራ መስክ በሁሉም የስራ እርከን ስራ ለሚገኙ ባለሙያዎች እና ድርጅቶች የስራ አጋጣሚን መፍጠር
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👁 :100
Of late years numerous studies have been published on the conception of matter, especially by physicists, chemists, and mathematicians. Among these recent contributions to science I will quote the articles of Duhem on the Evolution of Mechanics published in 1903 in the Revue générale des Sciences, and other articles by the same author, in 1904, in the Revue de Philosophie. Duhem's views have attracted much attention, and have dealt a serious blow at the whole theory of the mechanics of matter. Let me also quote that excellent work of Dastre, La Vie et la Mort, wherein the author makes so interesting an application to biology of the new theories on energetics; the discussion between Ostwald and Brillouin on matter, in which two rival conceptions find themselves engaged in a veritable hand-to-hand struggle (Revue générale des Sciences, Nov. and Dec. 1895); the curious work of Dantec on les Lois Naturelles, in which the author ingeniously points out the different[11] sensorial districts into which science is divided, although, through a defect in logic, he accepts mechanics as the final explanation of things. And last, it is impossible to pass over, in silence, the rare works of Lord Kelvin, so full, for French readers, of unexpected suggestions, for they show us the entirely practical and empirical value which the English attach to mechanical models.
My object is not to go through these great studies in detail. It is the part of mathematical and physical philosophers to develop their ideas on the inmost nature of matter, while seeking to establish theories capable of giving a satisfactory explanation of physical phenomena. This is the point of view they take up by preference, and no doubt they are right in so doing. The proper rôle of the natural sciences is to look at phenomena taken by themselves and apart from the observer.
My own intention, in setting forth these same theories on matter, is to give prominence to a totally different point of view. Instead of considering physical phenomena in themselves, we shall seek to know what idea one ought to form of their nature when one takes into account that they are observed phenomena. While the physicist withdraws from consideration the part of the observer in the verification of physical phenomena, our rôle is to renounce this abstrac[12]tion, to re-establish things in their original complexity, and to ascertain in what the conception of matter consists when it is borne in mind that all material phenomena are known only in their relation to ourselves, to our bodies, our nerves, and our intelligence.
This at once leads us to follow, in the exposition of the facts, an order which the physicist abandons. Since we seek to know what is the physical phenomenon we perceive, we must first enunciate this proposition, which will govern the whole of our discussion: to wit—
Of the outer world we know nothing except our sensations.
Before demonstrating this proposition, let us develop it by an example which will at least give us some idea of its import. Let us take as example one of those investigations in which, with the least possible recourse to reasoning, the most perfected processes of observation are employed, and in which one imagines that one is penetrating almost into the very heart of nature. We are, let us suppose, dissecting an animal. After killing it, we lay bare its viscera, examine their colour, form, dimensions, and connections; then we dissect the organs in order to ascertain their internal nature, their texture, structure, and function; then, not content with ocular anatomy, we have recourse to the perfected pro[13]cesses of histology: we take a fragment of the tissues weighing a few milligrammes, we fix it, we mount it, we make it into strips of no more than a thousandth of a millimetre thick, we colour it and place it under the microscope, we examine it with the most powerful lenses, we sketch it, and we explain it. All this work of complicated and refined observation, sometimes lasting months and years, results in a monograph containing minute descriptions of organs, of cells, and of intra-cellular structures, the whole represented and defined in words and pictures. Now, these descriptions and drawings are the display of the various sensations which the zoologist has experienced in the course of his labours; to those sensations are added the very numerous interpretations derived from the memory, reasoning, and often, also, from the imagination on the part of the scholar, the last a source at once of errors and of discoveries. But everything properly experimental in the work of the zoologist proceeds from the sensations he has felt or might have felt, and in the particular case treated of, these sensations are almost solely visual.
This observation might be repeated with regard to all objects of the outer world which enter into relation with us. Whether the knowledge of them be of the common-place or of a scientific order matters little. Sensation is its limit, and[14] all objects are known to us by the sensations they produce in us, and are known to us solely in this manner. A landscape is nothing but a cluster of sensations. The outward form of a body is simply sensation; and the innermost and most delicate material structure, the last visible elements of a cell, for example, are all, in so far as we observe them with the microscope, nothing but sensation.
This being understood, the question is, why we have just admitted—with the majority of authors—that we cannot really know a single object as it is in itself, and in its own nature, otherwise than by the intermediary of the sensations it provokes in us? This comes back to saying that we here require explanations on the two following points: why do we admit that we do not really perceive the objects, but only something intermediate between them and us; and why do we call this something intermediate a sensation? On this second point I will offer, for the time being, one simple remark: we use the term sensation for lack of any other to express the intermediate character of our perception of objects; and this use does not, on our part, imply any hypothesis. Especially do we leave completely in suspense the question whether sensation is a material phenomenon or a state of being of the mind. These are questions we will deal with later. For the present it must be[15] understood that the word sensation is simply a term for the something intermediate between the object and our faculty of cognition.[3] We have, therefore, simply to state why we have admitted that the external perception of objects is produced mediately or by procuration.
There are a few philosophers, and those not of the lowest rank, who have thought that this intermediate character of all perception was so evident that there was no need to insist further upon it. John Stuart Mill, who was certainly and perhaps more than anything a careful logician, commences an exposition of the idealist thesis to which he was so much attached, by carelessly saying: "It goes without saying that objects are known to us through the intermediary of our senses.... The senses are equivalent to our sensations;"[4] and on those propositions he rears his whole system, "It goes without saying ..." is a trifle thoughtless. I certainly think he was wrong in not testing more carefully the solidity of his starting point.
In the first place, this limit set to our knowledge of the objects which stimulate our sensations is only accepted without difficulty by well-informed [16]persons; it much astonishes the uninstructed when first explained to them. And this astonishment, although it may seem so, is not a point that can be neglected, for it proves that, in the first and simple state of our knowledge, we believe we directly perceive objects as they are. Now, if we, the cultured class, have, for the most part,[5] abandoned this primitive belief, we have only done so on certain implicit conditions, of which we must take cognisance. This is what I shall now demonstrate as clearly as I can.
Take the case of an unlearned person. To prove to him that he knows sensations alone and not the bodies which excite them, a very striking argument may be employed which requires no subtle reasoning and which appeals to his observation. This is to inform him, supposing he is not aware of the fact, that, every time he has the perception of an exterior object, there is something interposed between the object and himself, and that that something is his nervous system.
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👁 :1
US President Donald Trump has said Microsoft is in discussions to acquire TikTok and that he would like to see a "bidding war" over the sale of the social media app.
When asked by reporters whether the US tech giant was preparing a bid, Trump replied: "I would say yes" - before adding that there was "great interest in TikTok" from several companies.
Both Trump and his predecessor Joe Biden have been trying for years to force TikTok's Chinese parent company, ByteDance, to sell its US operations on national security grounds.
It comes as Trump signed an executive order last week to delay a Biden Administration ban on TikTok that briefly took the app offline for its 170m users in the United States.Despite granting TikTok a 75-day reprieve from the ban, Trump had been the first president to start pressuring ByteDance to sell its app.
In August 2020, ByteDance approached Microsoft as a possible buyer - something which the US company's chief executive later described as "the strangest thing".
Later, TikTok chose rival Oracle as a potential partner - although that deal also never happened.
Trump has previously said that he was in discussions with several parties about purchasing TikTok and expects to make a decision on the app's future within the next 30 days.
A spokesperson for Microsoft said the company had "nothing to share at this time". The BBC has also reached out to TikTok for comment.
Earlier on Monday, the US president had addressed a gathering of Republican politicians in Florida and spoke about the proposed sale of TikTok.
"We'll see what happens. We're going to have a lot of people bidding on it," he said.
"If we can save all that voice and all the jobs, and China won't be involved, we don't want China involved, but we'll see what happens," he added.
Previous names linked with buying TikTok include billionaire Frank McCourt and the Canadian businessman Kevin O'Leary - a celebrity investor on Shark Tank, the US version of Dragon's Den.
The biggest YouTuber in the world Jimmy Donaldson - AKA MrBeast - has also claimed he is in the running after a number of investors contacted him following an earlier tweet signalling his interest
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👁 :
he speed at which the new Chinese AI app DeepSeek has shaken the technology industry, the markets and the bullish sense of American superiority in the field of artificial intelligence (AI) has been nothing short of stunning.
Venture capitalist Marc Andreessen may have said it best. "DeepSeek-R1 is AI's Sputnik moment," he posted to X on Sunday, referring to the satellite which kicked off the space race.
DeepSeek was the most downloaded free app on Apple's US App Store over the weekend. By Monday, the new AI chatbot had triggered a massive sell-off of major tech stocks which were in freefall as fears mounted over America's leadership in the sector.
Shares of AI chip designer and recent Wall Street darling Nvidia, for example, had plunged by 17% by the time US markets closed on Monday. Or to put it in even starker terms, it lost nearly $600bn in market value which, according to Bloomberg, is the biggest drop in the history of the US stock market.
This extraordinary, historic spooking can largely be attributed to something as simple as cost. And a claim by DeepSeek's developers which prompted serious questions in Silicon Valley.
While ChatGPT-maker OpenAI has been haemorrhaging money - spending $5bn last year alone - DeepSeek's developers say it built this latest model for a mere $5.6m.
That is a tiny fraction of the cost that AI giants like OpenAI, Google, and Anthropic have relied on to develop their own models.As this dramatic moment for the sector played out, there was a palpable silence in many corners of Silicon Valley when I contacted those who are usually happy to talk. Many observers, investors, and analysts appeared stunned.
Some wondered if this marked a buying opportunity. Others questioned the information DeepSeek was providing.
"I still think the truth is below the surface when it comes to actually what's going on," veteran analyst Gene Munster told me on Monday. He questioned the financials DeepSeek is citing, and wondered if the startup was being subsidised or whether its numbers were correct.
The chatbot is "surprisingly good, which just makes it hard to believe", he said.
Regardless, DeepSeek's sudden arrival is a "flex" by China and a "black eye for US tech," to use his own words.
It was just last week, after all, that OpenAI's Sam Altman and Oracle's Larry Ellison joined President Donald Trump for a news conference that really could have been a press release.
The event represented peak American bullishness on AI.They announced Stargate, a joint venture that promises up to $500bn in private investment for AI infrastructure: data centers in Texas and beyond, along with a promised 100,000 new jobs.
The US seemed to think its abundant data centers and control over the highest-end chips gave it a commanding lead in AI, despite China's dominance in rare-earth metals and engineering talent.
Some have even seen it as a foregone conclusion that America would dominate the AI race, despite some high-profile warnings from top executives who said the country's advantages should not be taken for granted.
The US may still go on to command the sector, but there is a sense that DeepSeek has shaken some of that swagger.
Trump's words after the Chinese app's sudden emergence in recent days were probably cold comfort to the likes of Altman and Ellison. He called this moment a "wake-up call" for the American tech industry, and said finding a way to do cheaper AI is ultimately a "good thing".
It is also worth noting that it was not just tech stocks that took a beating on Monday. Energy stocks did too. DeepSeek's arrival on the scene has upended many assumptions we have long held about what it takes to develop AI.
Maybe that nuclear renaissance - including firing up America's Three Mile Island energy plant once again - won't be needed. Maybe it does not take so much capital, compute, and power after all.
For now, the future of semiconductor giants like Nvidia remains unclear.DeepSeek says its model was developed with existing technology along with open source software that can be used and shared by anybody for free.
But WIRED reports that for years, DeepSeek founder Liang Wenfung's hedge fund High-Flyer has been stockpiling the chips that form the backbone of AI – known as GPUs, or graphics processing units.
The company has said its models deployed H800 chips made by Nvidia. US policy restricting sales of higher-powered chips to China might get a second-look under the new Trump administration.
OpenAI's Sam Altman was mostly quiet on X Monday. But very late in the day, he wrote that DeepSeek was "impressive… particularly around what they're able to deliver for the price".
"We will obviously deliver much better models and also it's legit invigorating to have a new competitor!" he wrote.
It was Sputnik that truly ushered in the space age. There, too, the US was caught off guard. How its tech sector responds to this apparent surprise from a Chinese company will be interesting - and it may have added serious fuel to the AI race.
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👁 :111
Earth isn't the only planet with extreme weather. From Venus' scorching heat to Neptune's extreme cold, here are the weirdest weather patterns in our solar system
Earth has one of the most interesting weather systems. Its atmosphere is ideal for moving hot and cold air around, and a hydrological cycle allows for precipitation. But throughout our solar system, there are other planets that have more extreme and also fascinating weather patterns worth exploring.
1. Mars
Mars has weather and in certain ways, it’s similar to that of Earth. For example, it has seasons and it has winds. But in other ways, it’s very different.
The orbit of the planet causes the mostly carbon atmosphere to go from freezing to much warmer and it serves to kick up a global dust storm that periodically sends the Red Planet into a tizzy.
The temperatures on Mars are also much more extreme than on Earth. NASA's Mars Perseverance rover, for example, has recorded temperatures ranging from negative 14 degrees Fahrenheit to negative 120 degrees Fahrenheit in a single da
2. Titan
Titan is Saturn's largest moon, but it also boasts some crazy weather patterns. For starters, it has a similar hydrological cycle to Earth. But instead of water, Titan has methane.
The natural gas freezes, liquifies, and turns to gas, says Jason Steffen, a professor of physics and astronomy at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. “Instead of having the triple point of water, it has the triple point of methane.”
Titan has a lot of the same kinds of weather patterns and erosion as Earth, with methane clouds that drop methane down to the surface of the moon and freeze into a solid.
3. Jupiter
Storms on Jupiter come and go, but Jupiter’s Great Red Spot has been there for at least 400 years.
“We know it because Galileo saw it,” says Steffen.
It’s a long-lived high-pressure storm that’s largely a mystery. The largest and most powerful storms ever recorded on Earth are around 1,000 miles across with winds of 200 MPH. The Great Red Spot is much larger: twice the size of Earth with winds of 400 MPH.
While we don’t know why it’s red or what it’s made of, we do know that a storm that size on planet Earth would be difficult to escape, hurricane warnings be damned.
4. Neptune
Neptune is extremely cold, with an average temperature of negative 353 degrees Fahrenheit, and it also has among the most extreme weather in the solar system. Its winds are super strong, nine times stronger than that of Earth, averaging 1,200 MPH.
In 1989, a storm was documented on Neptune and named the Great Dark Spot. It was large enough to envelop the Earth in its center. Though the storm is no longer present, others have sprung up since then in its place.
5. Venus
When you’re thinking extreme, you have to think of Venus, which is the hottest planet in our solar system despite not being the closest to the sun, says Sumangala Rao, an astronomer at San Diego State University. The surface temperature on Venus is 869 degrees Fahrenheit.
“It’s so hot that lead would melt on its surface,” says Rao. Nicknamed the “hellish inferno,” it’s super toasty because it has an atmosphere that’s 100 times thicker than Earth that’s dominated by carbon dioxide, a greenhouse gas that’s known on Earth for holding heat.
Clouds made of sulfuric acid blanket Venus and rain down on its surface, but because it’s so hot, liquid evaporates long before it hits the ground. There are also no temperature variations throughout the day. Day and night are one and the same: hot, hot, hot. While no life could survive on Venus, there is some research exploring whether it could survive in the planet’s sulfuric acid clouds, says Rao.
Reference
Article Sources
Our writers at Discovermagazine.com use peer-reviewed studies and high-quality sources for our articles, and our editor’s review for scientific accuracy and editorial standards. Review the sources used below for this article:
• NASA. Is There Weather on Mars? We Asked a NASA Technologist: Episode 4
• Professor of physics and astronomy at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. Jason Steffen
• NASA. Jupiter’s Great Red Spot: A Swirling Mystery
• NASA. Neptune Facts
• Astronomer at San Diego State University. Sumangala Rao
________________________________________
Sara Novak is a science journalist based in South Carolina. In addition to writing for Discover, her work appears in Scientific American, Popular Science, New Scientist, Sierra Magazine, Astronomy Magazine, and many more. She graduated with a bachelor’s degree in Journalism from the Grady School of Journalism at the University of Georgia. She's also a candidate for a master’s degree in science writing from Johns Hopkins University, (expected graduation 2023).
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• nasa
👁 :75
I was born in Dunfermline, in the attic of the small one-story house, corner of Moodie Street and Priory Lane, on the 25th of November, 1835, and, as the saying is, "of poor but honest parents, of good kith and kin." Dunfermline had long been noted as the center of the damask trade in Scotland. My father, William Carnegie, was a damask weaver, the son of Andrew Carnegie after whom I was named.
My Grandfather Carnegie was well known throughout the district for his wit and humor, his genial nature and irrepressible spirits. He was head of the lively ones of his day, and known far and near as the chief of their joyous club—"Patiemuir College." Upon my return to Dunfermline, after an absence of fourteen years, I remember being approached by an old man who had been told that I was the grandson of the "Professor," my grandfather's title among his cronies. He was the very picture of palsied.
THE Keystone Works have always been my pet as being the parent of all the other works. But they had not been long in existence before the advantage of wrought- over cast-iron became manifest. Accordingly, to insure uniform quality, and also to make certain shapes which were not then to be obtained, we determined to embark in the manufacture of iron. My brother and I became interested with Thomas N. Miller, Henry Phipps, and Andrew Kloman in a small iron mill. Miller was the first to embark with Kloman and he brought Phipps in, lending him eight hundred dollars to buy a one-sixth interest, in November, 1861.
I must not fail to record that Mr. Miller was the pioneer of our iron manufacturing projects. We were all indebted to Tom, who still lives (July 20, 1911) and sheds upon us the sweetness and light of a most lovable nature, a friend who grows more precious as the years roll by. He has softened by age, and even his outbursts against theology as antagonistic to true religion are in his fine old age much less alarming. We are all prone to grow philosophic in age, and perhaps this is well. [In re-reading this—July 19, 1912—in our retreat upon the high moors at Aultnagar, I drop a tear for my bosom friend, dear Tom Miller, who died in Pittsburgh last winter. Mrs. Carnegie and I attended his funeral. Henceforth life lacks something, lacks much—my first partner in early years, my dearest friend in old age. May I go where he is, wherever that may be.
Andrew Kloman had a small steel-hammer in Allegheny City. As a superintendent of the Pennsylvania Railroad I had found that he made the best axles. He was a great mechanic—one who had discovered, what was then unknown in Pittsburgh, that whatever was worth doing with machinery was worth doing well. His German mind made him thorough. What he constructed cost enormously, but when once started it did the work it was intended to do from year's end to year's end. In those early days it was a question with axles generally whether they would run any specified time or break. There was no analysis of material, no scientific treatment of it.
How much this German created! He was the first man to introduce the cold saw that cut cold iron the exact lengths. He invented upsetting machines to make bridge links, and also built the first "universal" mill in America. All these were erected at our works. When Captain Eads could not obtain the couplings for the St. Louis Bridge arches (the contractors failing to make them) and matters were at a standstill, Kloman told us that he could make them and why the others had failed. He succeeded in making them. Up to that date they were the largest semicircles that had ever been rolled. Our confidence in Mr. Kloman may be judged from the fact that when he said he could make them we unhesitatingly contracted to furnish them.
I was now plunged at once into the company of coarse men, for the office was temporarily only a portion of the shops and the headquarters for the freight conductors, brakemen, and firemen. All of them had access to the same room with Superintendent Scott and myself, and they availed themselves of it. This was a different world, indeed, from that to which I had been accustomed. I was not happy about it. I ate, necessarily, of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil for the first time. But there were still the sweet and pure surroundings of home, where nothing coarse or wicked ever entered, and besides, there was the world in which I dwelt with my companions, all of them refined young men, striving to improve themselves and become respected citizens. I passed through this phase of my life detesting what was foreign to my nature and my early education. The experience with coarse men was probably beneficial because it gave me a "scunner" (disgust), to use a Scotism, at chewing or smoking tobacco, also at swearing or the use of improper language, which fortunately remained with me through life.
LOOKING back to-day it seems incredible that only forty years ago (1870) chemistry in the United States was an almost unknown agent in connection with the manufacture of pig iron. It was the agency, above all others, most needful in the manufacture of iron and steel. The blast-furnace manager of that day was usually a rude bully, generally a foreigner, who in addition to his other acquirements was able to knock down a man now and then as a lesson to the other unruly spirits under him. He was supposed to diagnose the condition of the furnace by instinct, to possess some almost supernatural power of divination, like his congener in the country districts who was reputed to be able to locate an oil well or water supply by means of a hazel rod. He was a veritable quack doctor who applied whatever remedies occurred to him for the troubles of his patient.
The Lucy Furnace was out of one trouble and into another, owing to the great variety of ores, limestone, and coke which were then supplied with little or no regard to their component parts. This state of affairs became intolerable to us. We finally decided to dispense with the rule-of-thumb-and-intuition manager, and to place a young man in charge of the furnace. We had a young shipping clerk, Henry M. Curry, who had distinguished himself, and it was resolved to make him manager.
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We suggest that you now test your own reproductive imagination with a view to determining your points of strength or weakness in this respect. And in doing so please bear in mind that the following questions are not asked with a view to determining what you know about the subject of the question, but simply how vividly that is to say, with what life-like clearness the mental image is presented to your mind, how close it comes to a present reality.
Tests for Visual Imagery
Go into a quiet room, close your eyes and try to bar from your mind every distraction. Now then, ask yourself these questions:
Visual:
1. Can you remember just how your bedroom looked when you left it this morning—the appearance of each separate article of furniture and decoration, the design and color of the carpet, the color of the walls, the arrangement of toilet articles upon the dresser, and so on? Can you see the whole room just as clearly as if you were in it at this moment? Or is your mental picture blurred and doubtful?
2. How clearly can you see the space that intervenes between your house and some far-distant object? Have you a clear impression of the visual elements that determine this distance?
3. Can you see a bird flying through the air? an automobile rushing down the street?
4. Can you imagine a red surface? a green surface? Try each primary color; which is most distinct to your mind’s eye?
5. Can you see a smooth surface? a rough surface? a curved surface? a flat surface? a cube? Does the cube look solid?
6. When you memorize a poem do you remember just how each word looked on the printed page?
Tests for Auditory and Olfactory Imagery
Auditory:
1. Can you in imagination hear your door-bell ringing?
2. Can you form an auditory image of thunder? of waves breaking on a rocky shore? of a passing street-car?
3. Can you mentally hear the squeak of a mouse? the twitter of a bird? the breathing of a sleeping child?
4. Do these images come to you with the distinctness of reality?
5. Can you distinctly remember a voice you have not heard for a long time?
6. Can you recall the tones of an entire selection of music played on the piano?
Tests for Imagery of Taste and Touch
Smell:
Can you distinctly recall the odor of strong cheese? of violets? of roses? of coffee? of your favorite cigar? Is it clear to your mind that it is the odor you are recalling and not the taste?
Taste:
1. Can you remember just how butter tastes? an apple?
2. Try to imagine that you are sucking a lemon. Does it pucker your mouth? Does it seem like a real lemon?
3. Can you imagine the taste of sugar? of salt? of pepper?
Pain and Touch:
1. Can you in imagination live over again any past physical suffering?
2. Can you recall the feeling of woolen underwear? of bedclothes resting upon you?
3. Can you re-experience a feeling of exhaustion? of exhilaration?
Tests for Imagery of Heat and Cold
Heat and Cold.
Can you imagine a feeling of warmth? of cold? Does your recollection of the feeling of ice differ from your memory of a burn?
Go through the above list of questions, carefully noting down your answers. You will discover some personal peculiarities in yourself you never dreamed existed.
Try these questions on other members of your own family. You will be surprised at the varying results. You will perceive the reason for many innate differences of ability to do and to enjoy.
How to Cultivate Mental Imagery
Think what an immense part imagination plays in the world of business, and you will see how important it is to know your own type of sense-imagery.
To some extent the power of forming mental images can be cultivated so as to improve one’s fitness for different kinds of employment. Such self-culture rests upon improvement in the vividness of your sense-perceptions. It suffices for your present purpose to know that to cultivate your power of sense-imagery in any respect you must (1) Keep the appropriate sense-organs in good condition, and when sense-perceptions of the kind in question come to you, give your undivided attention to your consciousness of them.
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Poirot’s abrupt departure had intrigued us all greatly. Sunday morning wore away, and still he did not reappear. But about three o’clock a ferocious and prolonged hooting outside drove us to the window, to see Poirot alighting from a car, accompanied by Japp and Summerhaye. The little man was transformed. He radiated an absurd complacency. He bowed with exaggerated respect to Mary Cavendish.
“Madame, I have your permission to hold a little réunion in the salon? It is necessary for everyone to attend.”
Mary smiled sadly.
“You know, Monsieur Poirot, that you have carte blanche in every way.”
“You are too amiable, madame.”
Still beaming, Poirot marshalled us all into the drawing-room, bringing forward chairs as he did so.
“Miss Howard—here. Mademoiselle Cynthia. Monsieur Lawrence. The good Dorcas. And Annie. Bien! We must delay our proceedings a few minutes until Mr. Inglethorp arrives. I have sent him a note.”
Miss Howard rose immediately from her seat.
“If that man comes into the house, I leave it!”
“No, no!” Poirot went up to her and pleaded in a low voice.
Finally Miss Howard consented to return to her chair. A few minutes later Alfred Inglethorp entered the room.
The company once assembled, Poirot rose from his seat with the air of a popular lecturer, and bowed politely to his audience.
“Messieurs, mesdames, as you all know, I was called in by Monsieur John Cavendish to investigate this case. I at once examined the bedroom of the deceased which, by the advice of the doctors, had been kept locked, and was consequently exactly as it had been when the tragedy occurred. I found: first, a fragment of green material; second, a stain on the carpet near the window, still damp; thirdly, an empty box of bromide powders.
“To take the fragment of green material first, I found it caught in the bolt of the communicating door between that room and the adjoining one occupied by Mademoiselle Cynthia. I handed the fragment over to the police who did not consider it of much importance. Nor did they recognize it for what it was—a piece torn from a green land armlet.”
There was a little stir of excitement.
“Now there was only one person at Styles who worked on the land—Mrs. Cavendish. Therefore it must have been Mrs. Cavendish who entered the deceased’s room through the door communicating with Mademoiselle Cynthia’s room.”
“But that door was bolted on the inside!” I cried.
“When I examined the room, yes. But in the first place we have only her word for it, since it was she who tried that particular door and reported it fastened. In the ensuing confusion she would have had ample opportunity to shoot the bolt across. I took an early opportunity of verifying my conjectures. To begin with, the fragment corresponds exactly with a tear in Mrs. Cavendish’s armlet. Also, at the inquest, Mrs. Cavendish declared that she had heard, from her own room, the fall of the table by the bed. I took an early opportunity of testing that statement by stationing my friend Monsieur Hastings in the left wing of the building, just outside Mrs. Cavendish’s door. I myself, in company with the police, went to the deceased’s room, and whilst there I, apparently accidentally, knocked over the table in question, but found that, as I had expected, Monsieur Hastings had heard no sound at all. This confirmed my belief that Mrs. Cavendish was not speaking the truth when she declared that she had been dressing in her room at the time of the tragedy. In fact, I was convinced that, far from having been in her own room, Mrs. Cavendish was actually in the deceased’s room when the alarm was given.”
I shot a quick glance at Mary. She was very pale, but smiling.
“I proceeded to reason on that assumption. Mrs. Cavendish is in her mother-in-law’s room. We will say that she is seeking for something and has not yet found it. Suddenly Mrs. Inglethorp awakens and is seized with an alarming paroxysm. She flings out her arm, overturning the bed table, and then pulls desperately at the bell. Mrs. Cavendish, startled, drops her candle, scattering the grease on the carpet. She picks it up, and retreats quickly to Mademoiselle Cynthia’s room, closing the door behind her. She hurries out into the passage, for the servants must not find her where she is. But it is too late! Already footsteps are echoing along the gallery which connects the two wings. What can she do? Quick as thought, she hurries back to the young girl’s room, and starts shaking her awake. The hastily aroused household come trooping down the passage. They are all busily battering at Mrs. Inglethorp’s door. It occurs to nobody that Mrs. Cavendish has not arrived with the rest, but—and this is significant—I can find no one who saw her come from the other wing.” He looked at Mary Cavendish. “Am I right, madame?”
She bowed her head.
“Quite right, monsieur. You understand that, if I had thought I would do my husband any good by revealing these facts, I would have done so. But it did not seem to me to bear upon the question of his guilt or innocence.”
“In a sense, that is correct, madame. But it cleared my mind of many misconceptions, and left me free to see other facts in their true significance.”
“The will!” cried Lawrence. “Then it was you, Mary, who destroyed the will?”
She shook her head, and Poirot shook his also.
“No,” he said quietly. “There is only one person who could possibly have destroyed that will—Mrs. Inglethorp herself!”
“Impossible!” I exclaimed. “She had only made it out that very afternoon!”
“Nevertheless, mon ami, it was Mrs. Inglethorp. Because, in no other way can you account for the fact that, on one of the hottest days of the year, Mrs. Inglethorp ordered a fire to be lighted in her room.”
I gave a gasp. What idiots we had been never to think of that fire as being incongruous! Poirot was continuing:
“The temperature on that day, messieurs, was 80 degrees in the shade. Yet Mrs. Inglethorp ordered a fire! Why? Because she wished to destroy something, and could think of no other way. You will remember that, in consequence of the War economics practiced at Styles, no waste paper was thrown away. There was therefore no means of destroying a thick document such as a will. The moment I heard of a fire being lighted in Mrs. Inglethorp’s room, I leaped to the conclusion that it was to destroy some important document—possibly a will. So the discovery of the charred fragment in the grate was no surprise to me. I did not, of course, know at the time that the will in question had only been made this afternoon, and I will admit that, when I learnt that fact, I fell into a grievous error. I came to the conclusion that Mrs. Inglethorp’s determination to destroy her will arose as a direct consequence of the quarrel she had that afternoon, and that therefore the quarrel took place after, and not before the making of the will.
“Here, as we know, I was wrong, and I was forced to abandon that idea. I faced the problem from a new standpoint. Now, at four o’clock, Dorcas overheard her mistress saying angrily: ‘You need not think that any fear of publicity, or scandal between husband and wife will deter me.” I conjectured, and conjectured rightly, that these words were addressed, not to her husband, but to Mr. John Cavendish. At five o’clock, an hour later, she uses almost the same words, but the standpoint is different. She admits to Dorcas, ‘I don’t know what to do; scandal between husband and wife is a dreadful thing.’ At four o’clock she has been angry, but completely mistress of herself. At five o’clock she is in violent distress, and speaks of having had a great shock.
“Looking at the matter psychologically, I drew one deduction which I was convinced was correct. The second ‘scandal’ she spoke of was not the same as the first—and it concerned herself!
“Let us reconstruct. At four o’clock, Mrs. Inglethorp quarrels with her son, and threatens to denounce him to his wife—who, by the way, overheard the greater part of the conversation. At four-thirty, Mrs. Inglethorp, in consequence of a conversation on the validity of wills, makes a will in favour of her husband, which the two gardeners witness. At five o’clock, Dorcas finds her mistress in a state of considerable agitation, with a slip of paper—‘a letter,’ Dorcas thinks—in her hand, and it is then that she orders the fire in her room to be lighted. Presumably, then, between four-thirty and five o’clock, something has occurred to occasion a complete revolution of feeling, since she is now as anxious to destroy the will, as she was before to make it. What was that something?
“As far as we know, she was quite alone during that half-hour. Nobody entered or left that boudoir. What then occasioned this sudden change of sentiment?
“One can only guess, but I believe my guess to be correct. Mrs. Inglethorp had no stamps in her desk. We know this, because later she asked Dorcas to bring her some. Now in the opposite corner of the room stood her husband’s desk—locked. She was anxious to find some stamps, and, according to my theory, she tried her own keys in the desk. That one of them fitted I know. She therefore opened the desk, and in searching for the stamps she came across something else—that slip of paper which Dorcas saw in her hand, and which assuredly was never meant for Mrs. Inglethorp’s eyes. On the other hand, Mrs. Cavendish believed that the slip of paper to which her mother-in-law clung so tenaciously was a written proof of her own husband’s infidelity. She demanded it from Mrs. Inglethorp who assured her, quite truly, that it had nothing to do with that matter. Mrs. Cavendish did not believe her. She thought that Mrs. Inglethorp was shielding her stepson. Now Mrs. Cavendish is a very resolute woman, and, behind her mask of reserve, she was madly jealous of her husband. She determined to get hold of that paper at all costs, and in this resolution chance came to her aid. She happened to pick up the key of Mrs. Inglethorp’s despatch-case, which had been lost that morning. She knew that her mother-in-law invariably kept all important papers in this particular case.
“Mrs. Cavendish, therefore, made her plans as only a woman driven desperate through jealousy could have done. Some time in the evening she unbolted the door leading into Mademoiselle Cynthia’s room. Possibly she applied oil to the hinges, for I found that it opened quite noiselessly when I tried it. She put off her project until the early hours of the morning as being safer, since the servants were accustomed to hearing her move about her room at that time. She dressed completely in her land kit, and made her way quietly through Mademoiselle Cynthia’s room into that of Mrs. Inglethorp.”
He paused a moment, and Cynthia interrupted:
“But I should have woken up if anyone had come through my room?”
“Not if you were drugged, mademoiselle.”
“Drugged?”
“Mais, oui!”
“You remember”—he addressed us collectively again—“that through all the tumult and noise next door Mademoiselle Cynthia slept. That admitted of two possibilities. Either her sleep was feigned—which I did not believe—or her unconsciousness was induced by artificial means.
“With this latter idea in my mind, I examined all the coffee-cups most carefully, remembering that it was Mrs. Cavendish who had brought Mademoiselle Cynthia her coffee the night before. I took a sample from each cup, and had them analysed—with no result. I had counted the cups carefully, in the event of one having been removed. Six persons had taken coffee, and six cups were duly found. I had to confess myself mistaken.
“Then I discovered that I had been guilty of a very grave oversight. Coffee had been brought in for seven persons, not six, for Dr. Bauerstein had been there that evening. This changed the face of the whole affair, for there was now one cup missing. The servants noticed nothing, since Annie, the housemaid, who took in the coffee, brought in seven cups, not knowing that Mr. Inglethorp never drank it, whereas Dorcas, who cleared them away the following morning, found six as usual—or strictly speaking she found five, the sixth being the one found broken in Mrs. Inglethorp’s room.
“I was confident that the missing cup was that of Mademoiselle Cynthia. I had an additional reason for that belief in the fact that all the cups found contained sugar, which Mademoiselle Cynthia never took in her coffee. My attention was attracted by the story of Annie about some ‘salt’ on the tray of cocoa which she took every night to Mrs. Inglethorp’s room. I accordingly secured a sample of that cocoa, and sent it to be analysed.”
“But that had already been done by Dr. Bauerstein,” said Lawrence quickly.
“Not exactly. The analyst was asked by him to report whether strychnine was, or was not, present. He did not have it tested, as I did, for a narcotic.”
“For a narcotic?”
“Yes. Here is the analyst’s report. Mrs. Cavendish administered a safe, but effectual, narcotic to both Mrs. Inglethorp and Mademoiselle Cynthia. And it is possible that she had a mauvais quart d’heure in consequence! Imagine her feelings when her mother-in-law is suddenly taken ill and dies, and immediately after she hears the word ‘Poison’! She has believed that the sleeping draught she administered was perfectly harmless, but there is no doubt that for one terrible moment she must have feared that Mrs. Inglethorp’s death lay at her door. She is seized with panic, and under its influence she hurries downstairs, and quickly drops the coffee-cup and saucer used by Mademoiselle Cynthia into a large brass vase, where it is discovered later by Monsieur Lawrence. The remains of the cocoa she dare not touch. Too many eyes are upon her. Guess at her relief when strychnine is mentioned, and she discovers that after all the tragedy is not her doing.
“We are now able to account for the symptoms of strychnine poisoning being so long in making their appearance. A narcotic taken with strychnine will delay the action of the poison for some hours.”
Poirot paused. Mary looked up at him, the colour slowly rising in her face.
“All you have said is quite true, Monsieur Poirot. It was the most awful hour of my life. I shall never forget it. But you are wonderful. I understand now——”
“What I meant when I told you that you could safely confess to Papa Poirot, eh? But you would not trust me.”
“I see everything now,” said Lawrence. “The drugged cocoa, taken on top of the poisoned coffee, amply accounts for the delay.”
“Exactly. But was the coffee poisoned, or was it not? We come to a little difficulty here, since Mrs. Inglethorp never drank it.”
“What?” The cry of surprise was universal.
“No. You will remember my speaking of a stain on the carpet in Mrs. Inglethorp’s room? There were some peculiar points about that stain. It was still damp, it exhaled a strong odour of coffee, and imbedded in the nap of the carpet I found some little splinters of china. What had happened was plain to me, for not two minutes before I had placed my little case on the table near the window, and the table, tilting up, had deposited it upon the floor on precisely the identical spot. In exactly the same way, Mrs. Inglethorp had laid down her cup of coffee on reaching her room the night before, and the treacherous table had played her the same trick.
“What happened next is mere guess work on my part, but I should say that Mrs. Inglethorp picked up the broken cup and placed it on the table by the bed. Feeling in need of a stimulant of some kind, she heated up her cocoa, and drank it off then and there. Now we are faced with a new problem. We know the cocoa contained no strychnine. The coffee was never drunk. Yet the strychnine must have been administered between seven and nine o’clock that evening. What third medium was there—a medium so suitable for disguising the taste of strychnine that it is extraordinary no one has thought of it?” Poirot looked round the room, and then answered himself impressively. “Her medicine!”
“Do you mean that the murderer introduced the strychnine into her tonic?” I cried.
“There was no need to introduce it. It was already there—in the mixture. The strychnine that killed Mrs. Inglethorp was the identical strychnine prescribed by Dr. Wilkins. To make that clear to you, I will read you an extract from a book on dispensing which I found in the Dispensary of the Red Cross Hospital at Tadminster:
“‘The following prescription has become famous in text books:
Strychninae Sulph. . . . . . 1 gr.
Potass Bromide . . . . . . . 3vi
Aqua ad. . . . . . . . . . . . . 3viii
Fiat Mistura
This solution deposits in a few hours the greater part of the strychnine salt as an insoluble bromide in transparent crystals. A lady in England lost her life by taking a similar mixture: the precipitated strychnine collected at the bottom, and in taking the last dose she swallowed nearly all of it!
“Now there was, of course, no bromide in Dr. Wilkins’ prescription, but you will remember that I mentioned an empty box of bromide powders. One or two of those powders introduced into the full bottle of medicine would effectually precipitate the strychnine, as the book describes, and cause it to be taken in the last dose. You will learn later that the person who usually poured out Mrs. Inglethorp’s medicine was always extremely careful not to shake the bottle, but to leave the sediment at the bottom of it undisturbed.
“Throughout the case, there have been evidences that the tragedy was intended to take place on Monday evening. On that day, Mrs. Inglethorp’s bell wire was neatly cut, and on Monday evening Mademoiselle Cynthia was spending the night with friends, so that Mrs. Inglethorp would have been quite alone in the right wing, completely shut off from help of any kind, and would have died, in all probability, before medical aid could have been summoned. But in her hurry to be in time for the village entertainment Mrs. Inglethorp forgot to take her medicine, and the next day she lunched away from home, so that the last—and fatal—dose was actually taken twenty-four hours later than had been anticipated by the murderer; and it is owing to that delay that the final proof—the last link of the chain—is now in my hands.”
Amid breathless excitement, he held out three thin strips of paper.
“A letter in the murderer’s own hand-writing, mes amis! Had it been a little clearer in its terms, it is possible that Mrs. Inglethorp, warned in time, would have escaped. As it was, she realized her danger, but not the manner of it.”
In the deathly silence, Poirot pieced together the slips of paper and, clearing his throat, read:
Dearest Evelyn:
‘You will be anxious at hearing nothing. It is all right—only it will be to-night instead of last night. You understand. There’s a good time coming once the old woman is dead and out of the way. No one can possibly bring home the crime to me. That idea of yours about the bromides was a stroke of genius! But we must be very circumspect. A false step——’
“Here, my friends, the letter breaks off. Doubtless the writer was interrupted; but there can be no question as to his identity. We all know this hand-writing and——”
A howl that was almost a scream broke the silence.
“You devil! How did you get it?”
A chair was overturned. Poirot skipped nimbly aside. A quick movement on his part, and his assailant fell with a crash.
“Messieurs, mesdames,” said Poirot, with a flourish, “let me introduce you to the murderer, Mr. Alfred Inglethorp!”
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People say: "One can't help one's thoughts." But one can. The control of the thinking machine is perfectly possible. And since nothing whatever happens to us outside our own brain; since nothing hurts us or gives us pleasure except within the brain, the supreme importance of being able to control what goes on in that mysterious brain is patent. This idea is one of the oldest platitudes, but it is a platitude whose profound truth and urgency most people live and die without realising. People complain of the lack of power to concentrate, not witting that they may acquire the power, if they choose.
And without the power to concentrate—that is to say, without the power to dictate to the brain its task and to ensure obedience—true life is impossible. Mind control is the first element of a full existence.
Hence, it seems to me, the first business of the day should be to put the mind through its paces. You look after your body, inside and out; you run grave danger in hacking hairs off your skin; you employ a whole army of individuals, from the milkman to the pig-killer, to enable you to bribe your stomach into decent behaviour. Why not devote a little attention to the far more delicate machinery of the mind, especially as you will require no extraneous aid? It is for this portion of the art and craft of living that I have reserved the time from the moment of quitting your door to the moment of arriving at your office.
"What? I am to cultivate my mind in the street, on the platform, in the train, and in the crowded street again?" Precisely. Nothing simpler! No tools required! Not even a book. Nevertheless, the affair is not easy.
When you leave your house, concentrate your mind on a subject (no matter what, to begin with). You will not have gone ten yards before your mind has skipped away under your very eyes and is larking round the corner with another subject.
Bring it back by the scruff of the neck. Ere you have reached the station you will have brought it back about forty times. Do not despair. Continue. Keep it up. You will succeed. You cannot by any chance fail if you persevere. It is idle to pretend that your mind is incapable of concentration. Do you not remember that morning when you received a disquieting letter which demanded a very carefully-worded answer? How you kept your mind steadily on the subject of the answer, without a second's intermission, until you reached your office; whereupon you instantly sat down and wrote the answer? That was a case in which you were roused by circumstances to such a degree of vitality that you were able to dominate your mind like a tyrant. You would have no trifling. You insisted that its work should be done, and its work was done.
By the regular practice of concentration (as to which there is no secret—save the secret of perseverance) you can tyrannise over your mind (which is not the highest part of you) every hour of the day, and in no matter what place. The exercise is a very convenient one. If you got into your morning train with a pair of dumb-bells for your muscles or an encyclopaedia in ten volumes for your learning, you would probably excite remark. But as you walk in the street, or sit in the corner of the compartment behind a pipe, or "strap-hang" on the Subterranean, who is to know that you are engaged in the most important of daily acts? What asinine boor can laugh at you?
I do not care what you concentrate on, so long as you concentrate. It is the mere disciplining of the thinking machine that counts. But still, you may as well kill two birds with one stone, and concentrate on something useful. I suggest—it is only a suggestion—a little chapter of Marcus Aurelius or Epictetus.
Do not, I beg, shy at their names. For myself, I know nothing more "actual," more bursting with plain common-sense, applicable to the daily life of plain persons like you and me (who hate airs, pose, and nonsense) than Marcus Aurelius or Epictetus. Read a chapter—and so short they are, the chapters!—in the evening and concentrate on it the next morning Yes, my friend, it is useless for you to try to disguise the fact. I can hear your brain like a telephone at my ear. You are saying to yourself: "This fellow was doing pretty well up to his seventh chapter. He had begun to interest me faintly. But what he says about thinking in trains, and concentration, and so on, is not for me. It may be well enough for some folks, but it isn't in my line."
It is for you, I passionately repeat; it is for you. Indeed, you are the very man I am aiming at.
Throw away the suggestion, and you throw away the most precious suggestion that was ever offered to you. It is not my suggestion. It is the suggestion of the most sensible, practical, hard-headed men who have walked the earth. I only give it you at second-hand. Try it. Get your mind in hand. And see how the process cures half the evils of life—especially worry, that miserable, avoidable, shameful disease—worry!
