"It's on the single picture principle," he said. "One picture at a time and then they're reeled off as if they were taken continuously, like views of the opening of Parliament and so forth. Suppose this is the box of bricks and you want that brick to come out of it by itself and stand itself on end. You take a piece of thread so fine as to be invisible and fasten it to the brick. Then you lift the brick an infinitesimal way and that is photographed; a little more, and another photograph; a little more, and another; and so on. Perhaps before that brick is on end sixty separate pictures have had to be made, and so on with the others. The film may take five minutes to exhibit; and it has required two weeks of ten-hour days to make. "Historical scenes are still popular in some places," he said. "But you have to be careful how you do them. The public doesn't want them exact, but exact in the way it has always thought of them. For instance, I wanted to do an execution of Mary Queen of Scots, so I went to the British Museum to see contemporary pictures. But do you think I could use them? Not a bit of it. The public, accustomed to think of Mary as they have seen her in so many modern paintings, wouldn't have stood it. So I went to the modern painters instead and got some good ideas. But it isn't the real thing. Executions are always popular. The women like it. And a sad story--Jane Shore, Amy Robsart, the Princes in the Tower, Charles the First--you can't go wrong with those. "But as a matter of fact, I hold that whatever you give the public now will do, because they've got the cinema habit. The films change every Monday and Thursday in most halls. Well, every Monday and every Thursday you see the same people roll up. If it's a good set, they tell their friends it's good and perhaps come again themselves. If it's a bad set they say nothing but hope for better luck next time. The one thing they can't do is to stay away. The cinema's got them." As I looked over this strange place and heard Mr. Furley's explanations, ideas as to the further possibilities of the cinema crowded into my mind. Its educational advantages, for example, are remarkable, and a day will certainly come when most schools will have a machine for exhibiting films. The most delicate physiological processes can be recorded: the evolution of the butterfly from the egg; the hatching of chickens; and so forth--all making a biology lesson as fascinating as a romance. Every science can in fact be humanized by this invention, and school children actually see the world in the act of growing. My own particular hobby just now, too--folk dancing--how easily the cinema could help that, by reproducing the steps and movements so exactly as to make teachers almost unnecessary.