444 GUSTAV SPILLER no special knowledge as to how to bring about the minimum of attention to our work. Necessity grinds very small, smaller by far than we expect. We cannot be too clear as to the character of these important changes. Let us then see to what extent our ideas shrink. We have seen interest fade, difficulties vanish, problems dis- appear, preliminaries dispensed with. Next, the child forgets the formal aspect of the writing process. When his studies commenced he learnt that he must hold the pen in a certain manner if he wished to write with ease, that the arm should not be placed as the reinless fancy prompted, and the like. He knew, broadly speaking, why he did things and how he did them. This knowledge of the how and the why of the process was doomed from the beginning. Gradually losing his interest in writing, having no longer any need to refer to that knowledge, and being eager to attend to other subjects, he slowly forgets the how and the why. At first there was a -conscious bond of time and order ; but now all ties are gone. He cannot tell relationship, time, or succession. Each point is recollected independently of every other point. He cannot even indicate the what, though he knows what to do. The what has departed as an idea, and exists as a remembered act. As the child progressed there was no need to recall the what, the how, the why, or any other system of relationships, -and so these are forgotten. We detect here no substituted or added constituent, only certain once-existing factors have been removed. All that could be dispensed with has been cast aside. Necessity has dissolved the connexions which once pre- vailed. Hence the child cannot freely remember the process of writing, or its relations, or its successive steps. When a portion is conspicuous, as the holding of the pen, he easily imagines the attitude. But when called upon to give a description from memory of the whole process static and dynamic he, like the mass of men, breaks down in the .attempt. Even most of what is supposed to be remembered proves erroneous. We usually recollect things well, because they are inter- connected in our thought. So many experiences resemble them, and they are related to so much else, that they remain in continuous touch with the general current of thought. Most objects have points in common with other objects, so that even when we, to all appearance, do not think of them, we yet have portions of them in mind. As we move hither and thither in thought we often come across stray notions, just as we meet friends otherwise than by appointment, and
