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When the child knows how to read, he can make a first application of this knowledge to the reading of the names of musical notes. In connection with the material for sensory education, consisting of the series of bells, we use a didactic material, which serves as an introduction to musical reading. For this purpose we have, in the first place, a wooden board, not very long, and painted pale green.
Why, it's a reflection on all us men of standing." "Nobody knows he is owner. And it pays twelve per cent," said the Italian mildly. He paused at the door. "Do we go in?" he asked. An acrid-soft odor as of primordial slime subtly intruded upon the sensory nerves of the visitor. The place breathed out decay; the decay of humanity, of cleanliness, of the honest decencies of life turned foul.
I wrote, in my later years, the following poem, "Samadhi," endeavoring to convey the glory of its cosmic state: Vanished the veils of light and shade, Lifted every vapor of sorrow, Sailed away all dawns of fleeting joy, Gone the dim sensory mirage. Love, hate, health, disease, life, death, Perished these false shadows on the screen of duality.
By it we are enabled to estimate differences of weight. If an attempt be made to raise this object, it offers resistance which the muscles must overcome. This is known as the muscular sense. It depends on sensory nerves originating in the muscles and carrying impressions from them to the nerve centers. The skin also judges, to a certain extent, of heat and cold.
The telegraph wire has been cut, and the current can no longer pass. The Spinal Cord as a Conductor of Impulses. The identity in structure of the spinal nerves, whether motor or sensory, and the vast number of nerves in the cord make it impossible to trace for any distance with the eye, even aided by the microscope and the most skillful dissection, the course of nerve fibers.
The Ode on a Grecian Urn, To Autumn, La Belle Dame sans Merci, Ode on Melancholy, Lamia, and Isabella, all show the unusual charm of Keats. He manifests the greatest strength in his unfinished fragment Hyperion, "the Götterdämmerung of the early Grecian gods." The opening lines reveal the artistic perfection of form and the effectiveness of the sensory images with which he frames the scene:
Consciousness also accompanies or follows certain material states of the nerve centres, such as the waves which traverse the sensory nerves, which exercise reflex action in the cells, and which propagate themselves in the motor nerves. It is to the production, the distribution, and the integrity of this nervous influx that the consciousness is closely linked.
For the motor nerves are in this respect on a par with the sensory nerves; the pain felt when a limb is wounded has its seat in the brain; and, in the same way, it is not really our legs and arms which work and move, it is the brain, or, more strictly, that part of it which, through the medium of the spine, excites the nerves in the limbs and sets them in motion.
Not able to shake off the dream for a few minutes it was as if he were a very old and one night the sleep that was supposed to sort his thoughts, feelings, and sensory details into files of meaning and dates of occurrence had been ransacked and here he was on his hands and knees groping about the room trying to pick up scattered paper that had once been the files of himself.
In place of the abstract expressions "the time when I was happy," "the time when I was loved," which he had often used until then, and without much suffering, for his intelligence had not embodied in them anything of the past save fictitious extracts which preserved none of the reality, he now recovered everything that had fixed unalterably the peculiar, volatile essence of that lost happiness; he could see it all; the snowy, curled petals of the chrysanthemum which she had tossed after him into his carriage, which he had kept pressed to his lips, the address 'Maison Doree, embossed on the note-paper on which he had read "My hand trembles so as I write to you," the frowning contraction of her eyebrows when she said pleadingly: "You won't let it be very long before you send for me?"; he could smell the heated iron of the barber whom he used to have in to singe his hair while Loredan went to fetch the little working girl; could feel the torrents of rain which fell so often that spring, the ice-cold homeward drive in his victoria, by moonlight; all the network of mental habits, of seasonable impressions, of sensory reactions, which had extended over a series of weeks its uniform meshes, by which his body now found itself inextricably held.
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