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recorded. Certainly not alone for the reason that it was a noble work of art. It was because all intelligent and unprejudiced people instinctively recognized that the column had been reared as an emblem of patriotism. That column stood for something higher than the fame of an individual conqueror, and for something broader than any theory of government or reaction of parties. It stood for the glory and dignity of France. It typified the love of the native land—patriotism. Take, as another instance, the great Washington shaft at the capital. Long delayed, frequently jeered at before its completion, it now lifts its finished strength toward heaven in everlasting tribute to the great leader of the Revolution and the founder of our nation.—New York Star. (2004)  MEMORY  God's precepts should be as thoroughly stamped on the memory as the landscape mentioned below was on the artist's mind:   A publisher ordered from Gustave Doré a picture, sending him a photograph of some Alpine scenery to be copied. The artist went away without his model, and the publisher was much provoked; but he was astonished when Doré appeared next day with the desired picture, having made it from memory. A few seconds' examination of the photograph had sufficed to impress on his memory the slightest details and to enable him to reproduce them with not a rock or a tree lacking. (Text.)—, Cosmos. (2005)  "What did I do with that memorandum?" said a distinguished-looking man, speaking half to himself but with his eyes on the clerk, who stood waiting for his order in a large city grocery. "What I've done with that memorandum this time I really can not imagine. But you just wait a minute." He began searching his pockets. From each of them came scraps of paper, big and little, old letters with pencil notes on them, envelops similarly decorated, two or three small note-books, a theater program, and a number of pieces evidently torn from the margin of a newspaper and covered with writing. He examined the scraps one after another and restored each bunch to its separate pocket. The clerk waited, and a customer farther along the counter eyed the display with curiosity. "Gone," said the gentleman, with an air of finality. "I'll have to trust to memory." The clerk nodded. "Six eggs?" he said, with an interrogative inflection. "Right," said the gentleman. The clerk wrote it down. "A pound of butter?" he continued. "A pound of butter," agreed the gentleman. "Bread?" "Three loaves." "Coffee?" The gentleman hesitated. "No," he said, with decision. "Coffee enough on hand to last the rest of the week." He smiled contentedly, watched the clerk write a name and address at the top of the order, and then went out of the shop whistling. "How did you know what he wanted?" asked the other customer of the clerk. "He lives just around the corner in an apartment, and he and his wife get their own breakfasts. Always the same things—never any change—but he always has to have it written down." "Do you know who he is?" "His name is Bertini, I think. He's a kind of professor. I believe he has a kind of memory system he teaches to people who can't remember things." The other customer smiled, but the clerk was quite serious. He had no sense of humor.—The Youth's Companion.
 * mired Napoleon, whose triumphs the column

(2006)

See.

MEMORY AND DISEASE

Many strange defects of memory are known to exist, and of these an interesting example may be given.

A business man of keen mind and good general memory, who was not paralyzed in any way, and was perfectly able to comprehend and engage in conversation, suddenly lost a part of his power of reading and of mathematical calculation.

The letters d, g, q, x, and y, tho seen perfectly, were in this case no longer recognized, and conveyed no more idea to him than Chinese characters would to most of us. He had difficulty in reading—was obliged to spell out all words, and could read no words containing three letters.

He could write the letters which he could read, but could not write the five letters mentioned. He could read and write certain