I was always mechanical.

I fixed a water-wheel in the stream, where it made a petty cataract, and connected it by means of a small crank with the barrel of photographs.

My zoetrope thus worked off itself, and piled up Karma for all the village whether anyone happened to be looking at it or not.
The monks, who were really excellent fellows when not engaged in cutting throats in the interest of the faith, regarded this device as a great and glorious religious invention.

They went down on their knees to it, and were profoundly respectful.

They also bowed to me so deeply, when I first exhibited it, that I began to be puffed up with spiritual pride.
Lady Meadowcroft recalled me to my better self by murmuring, with a sigh: "I suppose we really can't draw a line now; but it DOES seem to me like encouraging idolatry!" "Purely mechanical encouragement," I answered, gazing at my handicraft with an inventor's pardonable pride.