faculty, present to our observation. But there are other varieties, of a less striking nature, the consideration of which may also suggest some useful reflections.

It was before remarked, that our ideas are frequently associated, in consequence of the associations which take place among their arbitrary signs. Indeed, in the case of all our general speculations, it is difficult to see in what other way our thoughts can be associated; for, I before endeavoured to shew, that, without the use of signs of one kind or another, it would be impossible for us to make classes or general objects of

our attention.

All the signs by which our thoughts are expressed, are addressed either to the eye or to the ear; and the impressions made on these organs, at the time when we first receive an idea, contribute to give us a firmer hold of it. Visible objects (as I observed in the Chapter on Conception) are remembered more easily than those of any of our other senses; and hence it is, that the bulk of mankind are more aided in their recollection by the impressions made on the eye, than by those made on the ear. Every person must have remarked, in studying the elements of geometry, how much his recollection of the theorems was aided by the diagrams which are connected with them and I have little doubt, that the difficulty which students commonly find to remember the propositions of the fifth book of Euclid, arises chiefly from this, that the magnitudes to which they relate are represented by straight lines, which do not make so strong an impression on the memory, as the figures which illustrate the propositions in the other five books.

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This advantage, which the objects of sight naturally have over those of hearing, in the distinctness and permanence of the impressions which they make on the memory, continues, and even increases, through life, in the case of the bulk of mankind; because their minds, being but little addicted to general and abstract disquisition, are habitually occupied, either with the immediate perception of such objects or with speculations in which the conception of them is more or less involved; which speculations, so far as they relate to individual things and individual events, may be carried on with little or no assistance from language.

The case is different with the philosopher, whose habits of abstraction and generalization lay him continually under a necessity of employing words as an instrument of thought. Such habits co-operating with that inattention, which he is apt to contract to things external, must have an obvious tendency to weaken the original powers of recollection and conception with respect to visible objects; and, at the same time, to strengthen the power of retaining propositions and reasonings expressed in language. The common system of education too, by exercising the memory so much in the acquisition of grammar rules, and of passages from the ancient authors, contributes greatly, in the case of men of letters, to cultivate a capacity for retaining words.

It is surprising of what a degree of culture our power of retaining a succession, even of insignificant sounds, is susceptible. Instances sometimes occur of men who are easily able to commit to memory a long poem, composed in a language of which they are wholly ignorant; and I have, myself known more than one instance of an individual, who, after having forgotten completely the classical studies of his childhood,

was yet able to repeat, with fluency, long passages from Homer and Virgil, without annexing an idea to the words that he uttered.

This susceptibility of memory with respect to words, is possessed by all men in a very remarkable degree in their early years, and is, indeed, necessary to enable them to acquire the use of language; but unless it be carefully cultivated afterwards by constant exercise, it gradually decays as we advance to maturity. The plan of education which is followed in this country, however imperfect in many respects, falls in happily with this arrangement of nature, and stores the mind richly, even in infancy, with intellectual treasures, which are to remain with it through life. The rules of grammar, which comprehend systems, more or less perfect, of the principles of the dead languages, take a permanent hold of the memory, when the understanding is yet unable to comprehend their import; and the classical remains of antiquity, which, at the time we acquire them, do little more than furnish a gratification to the ear, supply us with inexhaustible sources of the most refined enjoyment; and, as our various powers gradually unfold themselves, are poured forth, without effort, from the memory, to delight the imagination, and to improve the heart. It cannot be doubted, that a great variety of other articles of useful knowledge, particularly with respect to geographical and chronological details, might be communicated with advantage to children, in the form of memorial lines. It is only in childhood, that such details can be learned with facility; and if they were once acquired, and rendered perfectly familiar to the mind, our riper years would be spared much of that painful and uninteresting labour, which is perpetually distracting our intellectual powers, from those more important exertions, for which, in their mature state, they seem to be destined.

This tendency of literary habits in general, and more particularly of philosophical pursuits, to exercise the thoughts about words, can scarcely fail to have some effect in weakening the powers of recollection and conception with respect to sensible objects; and, in fact, I believe it will be found, that whatever advantage the philosopher may possess over men of little education, in stating general propositions and general reasonings, he is commonly inferior to them in point of minuteness and accuracy, when he attempts to describe any object which he has seen, or any event which he has witnessed; supposing the curiosity of both, in such cases, to be interested in an equal degree. I acknowledge, indeed, that the undivided attention, which men unaccustomed to reflection are able to give to the objects of their perceptions, is, in part the cause of the liveliness and correctness of their conceptions.

With this diversity in the intellectual habits of cultivated and of uncultivated minds, there is another variety of memory which seems to have some connexion. In recognizing visible objects, the memory of one man proceeds on the general appearance, that of another attaches itself to some minute and distinguishing marks. A peasant knows the various kinds of trees from their general habits; a botanist, from those characteristical circumstances on which his classification proceeds. The last kind of memory is, I think, most common among literary men, and it arises from their habit of recollecting by means of words.

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It is evidently much easier to express by a description, a number of botanical marks, than the general habit of a tree; and the same remark is applicable to other cases of a similar nature. But to whatever cause

we ascribe it, there can be no doubt of the fact, that many individuals are to be found, and chiefly among men of letters, who, although they have no memory for the general appearance of objects, are yet able to retain with correctness, an immense number of technical discriminations.

Each of these kinds of memory has its peculiar advantages and inconveniences, which the dread of being tedious induces me to leave to the investigation of my readers.

SECTION III.

On the Improvement of Memory.-Analysis of the principles on which the Culture of Memory depends.

The improvement of which the mind is susceptible by culture, is more remarkable, perhaps, in the case of Memory, thau in that of any other of our faculties. The fact has been often taken notice of in general terms; but I am doubtful if the particular mode, in which culture operates on this part of our constitution, has been yet examined by philosophers with the attention which it deserves.

Of one sort of culture, indeed, of which Memory is susceptible in a very striking degree, no explanation can be given; I mean the improvement which the original faculty acquires by mere exercise; or in other words, the tendency which practice has to increase our natural facility of association. This effect of practice upor the memory seems to be an ultimate law of our nature, or rather, to be a particular instance of that general law, that all our powers, both of body and mind, may be strengthened by applying them to their proper purposes.

Besides, however, the improvement which memory admits of, in consequence of the effects of exercise on the original faculty, it may be greatly aided in its operations, by those expedients which reason and experience suggest for employing it to the best advantage. These expedients furnish a curious subject of philosophical examination: perhaps, too, the inquiry may not be altogether without use; for, although our principal resources for assisting the memory, be suggested by nature, yet it is reasonable to think, that in this, as in similar cases, by following out systematically the hints which she suggests to us, a farther preparation may be made for our intellectual improvement.

Every person must have remarked, in entering upon any new species of study, the difficulty of treasuring up in the memory its elementary principles, and the growing facility which he acquires in this respect, as his knowledge becomes more extensive. By analyzing the different causes which concur in producing this facility, we may, perhaps, be led to some conclusions which may admit of a practical application.

1. In every science, the ideas about which it is particularly conversant are connected together by some particular associating principle; in one science, for example, by associations founded on the relation of cause and effect; in another, by associations founded on the necessary

relations of mathematical truths; in a third, by associations founded on contiguity in place or time. Hence one cause of the gradual improvement of memory with respect to the familiar objects of our knowledge; for whatever be the prevailing associating principle among the ideas about which we are habitually occupied, it must necessarily acquire additional strength from our favourite study.

2. In proportion as a science becomes more familiar to us, we acquire a greater command of attention with respect to the objects about which it is conversant for the information which we already possess, gives us an interest in every new truth, and every new fact, which have any relation to it. In most cases, our habits of inattention may be traced to a want of curiosity; and therefore such habits are to be corrected, not by endeavouring to force the attention in particular instances, but by gradually learning to place the ideas which we wish to remember, in an interesting point of view.

3. When we first enter on any new literary pursuit, we are unable to make a proper discrimination in point of utility and importance, among the ideas which are presented to us, and by attempting to grasp at every thing, we fail in making those moderate acquisitions which are suited to the limited powers of the human mind. As our information extends, our selection becomes more judicious and more confined: and our knowledge of useful and connected truths advances rapidly, from our ceasing to distract the attention with such as are detached and insignificant.

4. Every object of our knowledge is related to a variety of others ; and may be presented to the thoughts, sometimes by one, principle of association, and sometimes by another. In proportion, therefore, to the multiplication of mutual relations among our ideas, (which is the natural result of growing information, and in particular, of habits of philosophical study,) the greater will be the number of occasions on which they will recur to the recollection, and the firmer will be the root which each idea, in particular, will take in the memory.

It follows, too, from this observation, that the facility of retaining a new fact, or a new idea, will depend on the number of relations which it bears to the former objects of our knowledge; and, on the other hand, that every such acquisition, so far from loading the memory, gives us a firmer hold of all that part of our previous information with which it is in any degree connected.

It may not, perhaps, be improper to take this opportunity of observing, although the remark be not immediately connected with our present subject, that the accession made to the stock of our knowledge, by the new facts and ideas which we acquire, is not to be estimated merely by the number of these facts and ideas considered individually; but by the number of relations which they bear to one another, and to all the different particulars which were previously in the mind; for "new knowledge," (as Mr. Maclaurin has well remarked,*)" does not con"sist so much in our having access to a new object, as in comparing it "with others already known, observing its relations to them, or discerning what it has in common with them, and wherein their disparity "consists: and, therefore, our knowledge is vastly greater than the

* See the Conclusion of his view of NEWTON's Discoveries.

"sum of what all its objects separately could afford; and when a new "object comes within our reach, the addition to our knowledge is the greater, the more we already know; so that it increases, not as the "new objects increase, but in a much higher proportion."

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5. In the last place, the natural powers of memory are, in the case of the philosopher, greatly aided by his peculiar habits of classification and arrangement. As this is by far the most important improvement of which memory is susceptible, I shall consider it more particularly than any of the others I have mentioned.

The advantages, which the memory derives from a proper classification of our ideas, may be best conceived by attending to its effects, in enabling us to conduct, with ease, the common business of life. In what inextricable confusion would the lawyer or the merchant be immediately involved, if he were to deposit in his cabinet, promiscuously, the various written documents which daily and hourly pass through his hands? Nor could this confusion be prevented by the natural powers of memory, however vigorous they might happen to be. By a proper distribution of these documents, and a judicious reference of them to a few general titles, a very ordinary memory is enabled to accomplish more, than the most retentive, unassisted by method. We know, with certainty, where to find any article we may have occasion for, if it be in our possession; and the search is confined within reasonable limits, instead of being allowed to wander at random amidst a chaos of particulars.

Or, to take an instance still more immediately applicable to our purpose: suppose that a man of letters were to record, in a common place book, without any method, all the various ideas and facts which occurred to him in the course of his studies; what difficulties would he perpetually experience in applying his acquisitions to use? and how completely and easily might these difficulties be obviated by referring the particulars of his information to certain general heads? It is obvious, too, that. by doing so, he would not only have his knowledge much more completely under his command, but as the particulars classed together would all have some connexion, more or less, with each other, he would be enabled to trace with advantage those mutual relations among his ideas, which it is the object of philosophy to ascertain.

A common place book, conducted without any method, is an exact picture of the memory of a man whose inquiries are not directed by philosophy. And the advantages of order in treasuring up our ideas in the mind, are perfectly analogous to its effects when they are recorded in writing.

Nor is this all. In order to retain our knowledge distinctly and permanently, it is necessary that we should frequently recall it to our recollection. But how can this be done without the aid of arrangement ? Or supposing that it were possible, how much time and labour would be necessary for bringing under our review the various particulars of which our information is composed ? In proportion as it is properly systematized, this time and labour are abridged. The mind dwells habitually, not on detached facts, but on a comparatively small number of general principles; and, by means of these, it can summon up, as occasions may require, an infinite number of particulars associated with