o, they will kill you." "What does that signify?" said
Junot; "you know me little to imagine I would be pained at such an
occurrence, and, as for me, it is all one--come, I go as I am; is it not
so?" And he set off singing.

After he was gone, the superior officer asked, "What is the name of that
young man?" "Junot," replied the other. The commanding officer then
wrote his name in his pocket-book. "He will make his way," he replied.
This judgment was already of decisive importance to Junot, for the
reader must readily have divined that the officer of artillery was
Napoleon.

A few days after, being on his rounds at the same battery, Bonaparte
asked for some one who could write well. Junot stepped out of the ranks
and presented himself. Bonaparte recognised him as the sergeant who had
already fixed his attention. He expressed his satisfaction at seeing
him, and desired him to place himself so as to write under his
dictation. Hardly was the letter done, when a bomb, projected from the
English batteries, fell at the distance of ten yards, and, exploding,
covered all present with gravel and dust. "Well," said Junot, laughing,
"we shall at least not require sand to dry the ink."

Bonaparte fixed his eyes on the young sergeant; he was calm, and had
not even quivered at the explosion. That event decided his fortune.
He remained attached to the commander of artillery, and returned no
more to his corps. At a subsequent time, when the town surrendered, and
Bonaparte was appointed General, Junot asked no other recompense for his
brave conduct during the siege, but to be named his aide-de-camp. He and
Muiron were the first who served him in that capacity.--_Memoirs of the
Duchess of Abrantes._

* * * * *

EFFECT OF DISEASE ON MEMORY.

Failure of memory takes place in a variety of ways. It is sometimes
general, and extends to every subject; but it is frequently far more
manifest on some subjects than on others. Salmuth mentions a case in
which the affected person had forgotten to pronounce words, but could
nevertheless write them. Mr. J. Hunter was suddenly attacked with a
singular affection of this kind in December 1789, when on a visit at the
house of a friend in town. "He did not know in what part of the house he
was, not even the name of the street when told it, nor where his own house
was: he had not a conception of any thing existing beyond the room he was
in, and yet was perfectly con