" When you are writing out anything, when you are writing as you are now, for example (taking notes), you seem to think that the only thing you see is the thing you are writing. Well, it isn't so. You see and you know a great many more things. You see things out here and out there (referring to peripheral vision), and you hear the music that is now being played in the street, and you feel lots of things - the wind blowing through the windows, and the sounds in the house, and all sorts of things like that. Now while you are thinking of what you are writing these things go through your mind like images or sort of impressions. Some of them are not quite clear, hut they are all there. They are not connected thoughts, but each makes its own image or impression as the case may be. They are disconnected from one another. All this is going on all the time."

1 The Dissociation of a Personality, 1906, p. 328, Longmans, Green & Co.

If we grasp the significance of what has just been written, namely, that everything we experience is recorded in the mind whether or not we consciously note the experience, we will understand many things which strike some of us as peculiar or miraculous. For instance, I may find a strange bit of music running through my mind, or I may hear the music in a dream. Later I may hear the music at a play, and believe that outside the dream I never heard it before. Or I may see in a dream the location of an article I had lost. But knowing that I must have heard the music before, probably while absorbed in other matters, and that my eye must have transiently noted the article as it dropped, though consciousness gave it little or no attention, I no longer wonder at these dream-performances, save insofar as they demonstrate the camera-like properties of the mind, the latter differing from the ordinary camera in that it has many "lenses" is recording all the time, and its records are indestructible.1

A fact which it may be well to mention here, and which is illustrated in the above paragraph, is that recognition is not an essential for memory. It is often slated that, for a permanent memory to be made, there must be 1. An experience to be recorded; 2. That the experience must be registered in the mind; 3. That the experience must be conserved in the mind; 4. That the experience must be reproduced; 5. That the experience must be recognized when it is recalled. However, we find any number of instances of memories coming to consciousness which seem to be products of imagination solely, possibly evidences of telepathy, since the individuals are unable to recognize them. Yet it has been shown often enough that these unrecognized memories were actual, but "forgotten," incidents in the lives of the individuals; recognition, therefore, is not a factor of great importance.

It has been stated that everything we experience by way of the senses is recorded in the mind, and that our experiences are permanently recorded. Since it is impossible to recall a great many experiences, especially

1 Sir Walter Scott, in The Antiquary (Chap. XIV), gives a good illustration. Lovel tells Oldbuck that he had a dream in which he saw the laird's ancestor pointing to a motto, written in a foreign language, and which he did not remember to have seen before. After calling Lovel's attention to his abstraction during a conversation, on the previous day, between Sir Arthur and Old-buck, the latter says: "I remember producing to Sir Arthur a book printed by my ancestor, and making him observe the motto; your mind was bent elsewhere, but your ear had mechanically received and retained the sounds, and your busy fancy, stirred by Grizel's legend I presume, had introduced this scrap of German into your dream." those which happened long ago, and since we are often unable to identify some of our actual experiences when they do come to mind (consciousness), we may wonder how these assertions can be proved. Of course, absolute proof is not possible; and it must be confessed that some psychologists doubt that all mental impressions are permanently conserved. However, we are not without a number of examples to support the statements. And apart from certain technical methods made use of by psychologists in ferreting out "forgotten" experiences of the past, we find our illustrations chiefly from what persons have said while delirious, under the influence of drugs, anesthetics; also from dreams. It might be mentioned that heightening of the memory, whereby apparently obliterated memories are revived, is often referred to as exaltation of memory, or as hypermnesia.

Carpenter1 and Ribot2 quote several instances of memory exaltation. Among them is that of an old Welsh man-servant who had left Wales at an early age, and who had lived away from his family for fifty years. He had forgotten his native tongue so much that he was unable to converse with his Welsh-speaking relatives when they came to visit him. When past seventy, he had an attack of fever, and spoke Welsh fluently during his delirium. A clergyman of Philadelphia informed Dr. Rush that many of his German and Swedish par-ishioners, when near death, always prayed in their native language, though he felt certain that they had not employed these languages for fifty or sixty years. Ribot quotes Duval's case of an old Polish forester who had moved to German districts and who had not been known by his sons to have spoken a Polish word for thirty or forty years. During anesthesia, he spoke, prayed, and sang for nearly two hours, using only the Polish language.

1 Mental Physiology, 4th Edit., 1877, p. 430 et seq. 2Diseases of Memory, 1882, p. 179 et seq.

In these cases the individuals had once known the meaning of the language used during the period of hypermnesia. However, to show that it is not necessary that the individual have an understanding of the material that makes an impression on his mind, the case described by Coleridge might bear repetition. This case is quoted by Carpenter, also by James.1 Swift2 gives the case a little more fully than the authors just mentioned, and discusses many other instances of the return of lost memories. It might be added that Swift regards the theory that no experience is irretrievably lost as probably not true, though he concedes that there are remarkable instances which indicate that very much more is conserved than is commonly supposed.