Page:Cyclopedia of illustrations for public speakers, containing facts, incidents, stories, experiences, anecdotes, selections, etc., for illustrative purposes, with cross-references; (IA cyclopediaofillu00scotrich).pdf/473



numbers, but 6, 7, and 8, had been lost to him; and when asked to write them his only result, after many attempts, was to begin to write the words six, seven, and eight, not being able to finish these, as the first and last contained letters (x and g) which he did not know.

He could not add 7 and 5, or any two numbers whereof 6, 7, or 8 formed a part, for he could not call them to mind. Other numbers he knew well. He could no longer tell time by the watch.

For a week after the beginning of this curious condition he did not recognize his surroundings. On going out for the first time the streets of the city no longer seemed familiar; on coming back he did not know his own house. After a few weeks, however, all his memories had returned excepting those of the letters and figures named; but as the loss of these put a stop to his reading, and to all his business life, the small defect of memory was to him a serious thing.

Experience has shown that such a defect is due to a small area of disease in one part of the brain.—Harper's Weekly.

(2007)

Memory Elusive—See. MEMORY FACULTY IN FISHES  Experiments recently made at Tortugas show that fishes have the faculty of remembering for at least twenty-four hours. The fish studied at Tortugas are gray perch, whose favorite food is the little silver sardine. The experimenters painted some of the silver sardines light red; then they offered them to the gray perch mixed with the unpainted sardines. The perch snatched the silver sardines and ate them, then very deliberately and cautiously they nibbled at the painted sardines. Finding that the fish were the same whether red or silver, they devoured the red fish. Having given proof of their intelligence, they were permitted to rest twenty-four hours. The experimenters offered them silver sardines, sardines painted red, and sardines painted blue. The perch quickly devoured the silver fish, then, without an instant's hesitation, they devoured the red fish. Finally, gliding cautiously up to the blue fish, they took a bite and darted away. As the taste was favorable they returned to the blue fish, nibbled again, and devoured them. The experimenters then tied sea-thistles to the blue sardines. The perch nibbled, then, disagreeably surprized, darted away. For twenty-four hours not a fish approached the painted blue fishes. They remembered the sea-thistles. But their memory is short; the day following again they snatched the blue fish.—Harper's Weekly.

(2008)

MEMORY, MOURNFUL

Renan, in one of his books, recalls an old French legend of a buried city on the coast of Brittany. With its homes, public buildings, churches and thronged streets, it sank instantly into the sea. The legend says that the city's life goes on as before down beneath the waves. The fishermen, when in calm weather they row over the place, sometimes think they can see the gleaming tips of the church-spires deep in the water, and fancy they can hear the chiming of the bells in the old belfries, and even the murmur of the city's noises. There are men who in their later years seem to have an experience like this. Their life of youthful hopes, dreams, successes and joys has been sunk out of sight, submerged in misfortunes and adversities and has vanished altogether. All that remains is a memory. In their discouragement they seem to hear the echoes of the old songs of hope and gladness, and to catch visions of the old beauty and splendor, but that is all. They have nothing real left. They have grown hopeless and bitter.

(2009)

MEMORY RENEWED

Instances are on record in which those who had heard passages from a foreign and perfectly unintelligible tongue, which seemed, of course, to have passed at once from out their recollection, as the breath fades off from the polished mirror—have afterward recalled these in delirium or death, or at some moment of extraordinary excitement, with the utmost clearness and fulness of detail. And the instances are frequent, within our observation, in which aged men recall with vivid distinctness the poetry they recited, the problems they studied, the games they played, in the freshness of youth, or the arguments they made in the prime of their manhood; altho a thousand intervening events had taken a prominence before them since that, these never had seemed to have submerged those forever in their thoughts—

(2010)