at factory) was making a man of somebody.
One could see the spirit of the man who invented the machine, and the
spirit of the man who worked with it, and the spirit of the man who
owned it and who placed it there with the man, all softly, powerfully
running together. There were exceptions, and every now and then one
came, of course, upon the man who seemed to be simply another and
somewhat different contrivance or attachment to his machine--some part
that had been left over and thought of last, and had not been done as
well as the others; but the factory, taken as a whole, from the
manager's offices and the great counting-room, and from the tall
chimneys to the dump, seemed to me to have something fresh and human and
unwonted about it. It seemed to be a factory that had a look, a look of
its own. It was like a vast countenance. It had features, an expression.
It had an air--well, one must say it, of course, if one is driven to it:
the factory had a soul, and was humming it. Any one could have seen why
by going into his office and talking a little while with the owner, or
by even not talking to him--by seeing him look up from his desk. After
walking through several miles of his personality, and up and down and
down and up the corridors of his mind, one did not really need to meet
him except as a matter of form and as a finishing touch. One had been
visiting with him all along: to look in his face was merely to sum it
up, to see it all, the whole place, over again in one look. One did not
need to be surprised; one might have known what such a man would be
like--that such a factory could only be conceived and wrought by a man
of genius, a kind of lighted-up man. A man who had put not only
skylights in his buildings, but skylights in his men, would have to have
a skylight in himself (a skylight with a motor attachment, of course).

If one were to try to think in nature or in art of something that would
be like him--well, some kind of transcendental engine, I should say,
running softly, smoothly outdoors in a great sunshine, would have given
one a good idea of him. But, however this may be, it certainly would
have been quite impossible to go through his factory and ever say again
that machines do not and could not have souls, or at least over-souls,
and that men who worked with machines did not and could not have souls
as fast as they were allowed to.

A few days later I went through another factory, and I came out weary
an