I once met
an American elocutionist who could recite ten of Shakespeare's plays, and
he showed me the wonderful system of mnemonics by which he achieved the
miracle. But he was a mere recording machine--a dull fellow. The true
argosy of memory is not facts, but a perfume compounded of all the sunsets
we have ever seen, all the joys and friendships, pleasures and sorrows we
have ever known, all the emotions we have felt, all the brave and mean
things we have done, all the broken hopes we have suffered. To have lost
that argosy is to be dead, no matter how healthy an appetite we retain.
ON WEARING A FUR-LINED COAT
A friend of mine--one of those people who talk about money with an air of
familiarity that suggests that they have got an "out-crop" of the Rand reef
in their back-gardens--said to me the other day that I ought to buy a
fur-lined coat. There never was such a time as this for buying a fur-lined
coat or a sealskin jacket, said he. What with the war, and the "sales," and
the tradesmen's need of cash, they were simply being thrown at you.
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