will always occur to us along with this conception, and this conception will always occur to us along with this word. We have afterwards to repeat the same process in learning every new language; yet if we learn a language for passive and not for active use—that is, to read, but not to speak, as, for example, most of us learn Greek—then the connection is one-sided, for the conception occurs to us along with the word, but the word does not always occur to us along with the conception. The same procedure as in language becomes apparent in the particular case, in the learning of every new proper name. But sometimes we do not trust ourselves to connect directly the name of _this_ person, or town, river, mountain, plant, animal, &c., with the thought of each so firmly that it will call each of them up of itself; and then we assist ourselves mnemonically, and connect the image of the person or thing with any perceptible quality the name of which occurs in that of the person or thing. Yet this is only a temporary prop to lean on; later we let it drop, for the association of thoughts becomes an immediate support. The search of memory for a clue shows itself in a peculiar manner in the case of a dream which we have forgotten on awaking, for in this case we seek in vain for that which a few minutes before occupied our minds with the strength of the clearest present, but now has entirely disappeared. We grasp at any lingering impression by which may hang the clue that by virtue of association would call that dream back again into our consciousness. According to Kieser, “_Tellurismus_,” Bd. ii. § 271, memory even of what passed in magnetic-somnambular sleep may possibly sometimes be aroused by a sensible sign found when awake. It depends upon the same impossibility of the appearance of a thought without its occasion that if we propose to do anything at a definite time, this can only take place if we either think of nothing else till then, or if at the determined time we are _reminded_ of it by something, which may either be an external impression arranged beforehand or a thought which is itself again brought about in the regular way. Both, then, belong to the class of motives. Every morning when we awake our consciousness is a _tabula rasa_, which, however, quickly fills itself again. First it is the surroundings of the previous evening which now reappear, and remind us of what we thought in these surroundings; to this the events of the previous day link themselves on; and so one thought rapidly recalls the others, till all that occupied us yesterday is there again. Upon the fact that this takes place properly depends the health of the mind, as opposed to madness, which, as is shown in the third book, consists in the existence of great blanks in the memory of past events. But how completely sleep breaks the thread of memory, so that each morning it has to be taken up again, we see in particular cases of the incompleteness of this operation.