can afford nothing higher than pleasing sound, and fiction is of no other use than to display the treasures of memory. rich are exposed with less guilt by the officiousness of others. Every man, eminent for exuberance of fortune, is surrounded from morning to evening, and from evening to midnight, by The necessity of memory to the acquisition flatterers, whose art of adulation consists in ex- of knowledge is inevitably felt and universalciting artificial wants, and in forming newly allowed, so that scarcely any other of the schemes of profusion. Tom Tranquil, when he came to age, found himself in possession of a fortune of which the twentieth part might, perhaps, have made him rich. His temper is easy, and his affections soft; he receives every man with kindness, and hears him with credulity. His friends took care to settle him by giving him a wife, whom, having no particular inclination, he rather accepted than chose, because he was told that she was proper for him. mental faculties are commonly considered as necessary to a student: he that admires the proficiency of another, always attributes it to the happiness of this memory; and he that laments his own defects, concludes with a wish that his memory was better. It is evident that when the power of retention is weak, all the attempts at eminence of knowledge must be vain; and as few are willing to be doomed to perpetual ignorance, I may, perhaps, afford consolation to some that have fallen too easily into despondence, by observing that such weakness, is in my opinion, very rare, and that few have reason to complain of nature as unkindly sparing of the gifts of memory. forgetfulness, but culpable inattention; but in literary inquiries, failure is imputed rather to want of memory than of diligence. We consider ourselves as defective in memory, either because we remember less than we desire, or less than we suppose others to remember. He was now to live with dignity proportionate to his fortune. What his fortune requires or admits Tom does not know, for he has little skill in computation, and none of his friends think it their interest to improve it. If he was suffered to live by his own choice, he would In the common business of life, we find the leave every thing as he finds it, and pass memory of one like that of another, and hothrough the world distinguished only by inof-nestly impute omissions not to involuntary fensive gentleness. But the ministers of luxury have marked him out as one at whose expense they may exercise their arts. A companion, who had just learned the names of the Italian masters, runs from sale to sale, and buys pictures, for which Mr. Tranquil pays, without inquiring where they shall be hung. Another fills his garden with statues, which Tranquil wishes away but dares not remove. One of his friends is learning architecture, by building him a house, which he passed by and inquired to whom it belonged; another has been for three years digging canals, and raising mounts; cutting trees down in one place, and planting them in another, on which Tranquil looks a with serene indifference, without asking what will be the cost. Another projector tells him that a waterwork, like that of Versailles, will complete the beauties of his seat, and lays his draughts before him; Tranquil turns his eyes upon them, and the artist begins his explanations; Tranquil raises no objections but orders him to begin the work, that he may escape from talk which he does not understand. Thus a thousand hands are busy at his expense without adding to his pleasures. He pays and receives visits, and has loitered in public or in solitude, talking in summer of the town, and in winter of the country, without knowing that his fortune is impaired, till his steward told him this morning that he could pay the workmen no longer but by mortgaging a manor. No. 74.] SATUrday, Sept. 15, 1759. In the mythological pedigree of learning, memory is made the mother of the muses, by which the masters of ancient wisdom, perhaps, meant to show the necessity of storing the mind copiously with true notions, before the imagination should be suffered to form fictions or collect embellishments; for the works of an ignorant poet Memory is like all other human powers, with which no man can be satisfied who measures them by what he can conceive, or by what he can desire. He whose mind is most capacious, finds it much too narrow for his wishes; he that remembers most, remembers little compared with what he forgets. He, therefore, that, after the perusal of a book, finds few ideas remaining in his mind, is not to consider the disappointment as peculiar to himself, or to resign all hopes of improvement, because he does not retain what even the author has, perhaps, forgotten. He who compares his memory with that of others, is often too hasty to lament the inequality. Nature has sometimes, indeed, afforded examples of enormous, wonderful, and gigantic memory. Scaliger reports of himself, that, in his youth, he could repeat above a hundred verses having once read them; and Barthicus declares that he wrote his "Comment upon Cladian" without consulting the text. But not to have such degrees of memory is no more to be lamented than not to have the strength of Hercules, or the swiftness of Achilles. He that, in the distribution of good, has an equal share with common men, may justly be contented. Where there is no striking disparity, it is difficult to know of two which remembers most, and still more difficult to discover which reads with greater attention, which has renewed the first impression by more frequent repetitions, or by what acci dental combination of ideas either mind might have united any particular narrative or argu ment to its former stock. But memory, however impartially distributed so often deceives our trust, that almost every man attempts, by some artifice or other, to secure its fidelity. It is the practice of many readers to note, in the margin of their books, the most important passages, the strongest arguments, or the brightest sentiments. Thus they load their minds with superfluous attention, repress the vehemence of curiosity by useless deliberation, and by frequent interruption break the current of narration or the chain of reasoning, and at last close the volume, and forget the passages and marks together. Others I have found unalterably persuaded that nothing is certainly remembered but what is transcribed; and they have, therefore, passed weeks and months in transferring large quotations to a common-place book. Yet why any part of a book, which can be consulted at pleasure, should be copied, I was never able to discover. The hand has no closer correspondence with the memory than the eye. The act of writing itself distracts the thoughts, and what is read twice, is commonly better remembered than what is transcribed. The method, therefore, consumes time without assisting which, before he considered it, he resolved to comply; and next morning retired to a garden planted for the recreation of the students, and entering a solitary walk began to meditate upon his future life. "If I am thus eminent," said he, "in the regions of literature, I shall be yet more con spicuous in any other place; if I should now devote myself to study and retirement, I must pass my life in silence, unacquainted with the delights of wealth, the influence of power, the pomp of greatness and the charms of elegance, with all that man envies and desires, with all that keeps the world in motion, by the hope of gaining or the fear of losing it. I will therefore, depart to Tauris, where the Persian monarch resides in all the splendour of absolute dominion: my reputation will fly before me, my arrival will be congratulated by my kinsmen and friends; I shall see the eyes of those who predicted my greatness, sparkling with exultation, and the faces of those that once despised me clouded with envy, or counterfeiting kindness by artificial smiles. I will show my wisdom by my discourse, and my moderation by my silence; I will instruct the The true art of memory is the art of atten- modest with easy gentleness, and repress the tion. No man will read with much advantage ostentatious by seasonable superciliousness. who is not able, at pleasure, to evacuate his My apartments will be crowded by the inqui mind, or who brings not to his author, an sitive, and the vain, by those that honour and intellect defecated and pure, neither turbid those that rival me; my name will soon reach with care, nor agitated by pleasure. If the the court; I shall stand before the throne of repositories of thought are already full, what the emperor; the judges of the law will concan they receive; if the mind is employed onfess my wisdom, and the nobles will contend the past or future, the book will be held before the eyes in vain. What is read with delight is commonly retained, because pleasure always secures attention; but the books which are consulted by occasional necessity, and perused with impatience, seldom leave any traces on the mind. memory. In the time when Bassora was considered as the school of Asia, and flourished by the reputation of its professors, and the confluence of its students, among the pupils that listened round the chair of Albamazar was Gelaleddin, a native of Tauris, in Persia, a young man, amiable in his manners and beautiful in his form, of boundless curiosity, incessant diligence, and irresistible genius, of quick apprehension, and tenacious memory, accurate without narrowness, and eager for novelty without inconstancy. to heap gifts upon me. If I shall find that my merit, like that of others, excites malignity, or feel myself tottering on the seat of elevation, I may at last retire to academical obscurity, and become, in my lowest state, a professor of Bassora." Having thus settled his determination, he declared to his friends his design of visiting Tauris, and saw with more pleasure than he ventured to express, the regret with which he was dismissed. He could not bear to delay the honours to which he was designed, and therefore hastened away, and in a short time entered the capital of Persia. He was immediately immersed in the crowd, and passed unobserved to his father's house. He entered, and was received, though not unkindly, yet without any excess of fondness, or exclamations of rapture. His father had, in his absence, suffered many losses, and Gelaleddin was considered as an additional burden to a falling family, When he recovered from his surprise, he beNo sooner did Gelaleddin appear at Bassora, gan to display his acquisitions and practised all than his virtues and abilities raised him to dis- the arts of narration and disposition: but the tinction. He passed from class to class rather poor have no leisure to be pleased with eloadmired than envied by those whom the rapidi-quence; they heard his arguments without rety of his progress left behind: he was consult-flection, and his pleasantries without a smile ed by his fellow-students as an oraculous guide, He then applied himself singly to his brothers and admitted as a competent auditor to the conferences of the sages. After a few years, having passed through all the exercises of probation, Gelaleddin was invited to a professor's seat, and intreated to increase the splendour of Bassora. Gelaleddin affected to deliberate on the proposal, with and sisters, but found them all chained down by invariable attention to their own fortunes, and insensible of any other excellence than that which could bring some remedy for indigence. It was now known in the neighbourhood that Gelaleddin was returned, and he sat for some days in expectation that the learned would visit him for consultation, or the great for entertainment. But who would be pleased or instructed in the mansions of poverty? He then frequented places of public resort, and endeavoured to attract notice by the copiousness of his talk. The sprightly were silenced and went away to censure in some other place, his arrogance and his pedantry; and the dull listened quietly for a while, and then wondered why any man should take pains to obtain so much knowledge which would never do him good. He next solicited the viziers for employment, not doubting but his service would be eagerly accepted. He was told by one that there was no vacancy in his office; by another, that his merit was above any patronage but that of the emperor; by a third that he would not forget him; and by the chief vizier, that he did not think literature of any great use in public business. He was sometimes admitted to their tables, where he exerted his wit and diffused his knowledge; but he observed, that where, by endeavour or accident, he had remarkably excelled, he was seldom invited a second time. He now returned to Bassora, wearied and disgusted, but confident of resuming his former rank, and revelling again in satiety of praise. But he who had been neglected at Tauris, was not much regarded at Bassora; he was considered as a fugitive, who returned only because he could live in no other place; his companions found that they had formerly over-rated his abilities, and he lived long without notice or esteem. No. 76.] SATURDAY, SEPT. 29, 1759. SIR, TO THE IDLER, I WAS much pleased with your ridicule of those shallow critics, whose judgment, though often right as far as it goes, yet reaches only to inferior beauties, and who unable to comprehend the whole, judge only by parts, and from thence determine the merit of extensive works. But there is another kind of critic still worse, who judges by narrow rules, and those too often false, and which, though they should be true, and founded on nature, will lead but a very little way toward the just estimation of the sublime beauties in works of genius; for whatever part of an art can be executed or criticised by rules, that part is no longer the work of genius, which implies excellence out of the reach of rules. For my own part I profess myself an Idler, and love to give my judgment, such as it is, from my immediate perceptions without much fatigue of thinking: and I am of opinion, that if a man has not those perceptions right, it will be in vain for him to endeavour to supply their place by rules, which may enable him to talk more learnedly but not to distinguish more acutely. Another reason which has lessened my affec tion for the study of criticism is, that critics, so far as I have observed, debar themselves from receiving any pleasure from the polite arts, at the same time that they profess to love and admire them: for these rules being always uppermost, give them such a propensity to criticise, that instead of giving up the reins of their imagination into their author's hands, their frigid minds are employed in examining whether the performance be according to the rules of art. To those who are resolved to be critics in spite of nature and at the same time have no great disposition to much reading and study, I would recommend to them to assume the character of connoisseur, which may be purchased at a much cheaper rate than that of a critic in poetry. The remembrance of a few names of painters, with their general characters, with a few rules of the academy, which they may pick up among the painters, will go a great way towards making a very notable connoisseur. With a gentleman of this cast, I visited last week the Cartoons at Hampton-court; he was just returned from Italy, a connoisseur of course, and of course his mouth full of nothing, but the grace of Raffaelle, the purity of Dominichino, the learning of Poussin, and the air of Guido, the greatness of taste of the Carrachis, and the sublimity and grand contorno of Michael Angelo; with all the rest of the cant of criticism, which he emitted with that volubility which generally those orators have who annex no ideas to their words. As we were passing through the rooms, in our way to the gallery, I made him observe a whole length of Charles the First, by Vandyke, as a perfect representation of the character as well as the figure of the man. He agreed it was very fine, but it wanted spirit and contrast, and had not the flowing line, without which a figure could not possibly be graceful. When we entered the gallery, I thought I could perceive him recollecting his rules by which he was to criticise Raffaelle. I shall pass over his observation of the boots being too little, and other criticisms of that kind, till we arrived at St. Paul preaching. "This," says he, "is esteemed the most excellent of all the cartoons; what nobleness, what dignity there is in that figure of St. Paul! and yet what an addition to that nobleness could Raffaelle have given, had the art of contrast been known in his time! but, above all, the flowing line, which constitutes grace and beauty! You would not have then seen an upright figure standing equally on both legs, and both hands stretched forward in the same direction, and his drapery, to all appearance, without the least art of disposition." The following picture is the Charge to Peter. "Herc," says he, "are twelve upright figures; what a pity it is that Raffaelle was not acquainted with the pyramidal principle! He would then have contrived the figures in the middle to have been on higher ground, or the figures at the extremities stooping or lying, which would not only have formed the group into the shape of a pyramid, but likewise contrasted the standing figures. Indeed," added Achilles' wrath to Greece the direful spring he, "I have often lamented that so great a The first lines of Pope's Iliad afford examgenius as Raffaelle had not lived in this enlight-ples of many licenses which an easy writer ened age, since the art has been reduced to prin- must decline :ciples, and had had his education in one of the modern academies; what glorious works might we then have expected from his divine pencil!" I shall trouble you no longer with my friend's observation, which, I suppose, you are now able to continue by yourself. It is curious to observe, that, at the same time that great admiration is pretended for a name of fixed reputation, objections are raised against those very qualities by which that great name was acquired. In the first couplet the language is distorted by inversions, clogged with superfluities, and clouded by a harsh metaphor; and in the second there are two words used in an uncommon sense, two epithets inserted only to lengthen the line; all these practises may in a long work easily be pardoned, but they always produce some degree of obscurity and ruggedness. Those critics are continually lamenting that Raffaelle had not the colouring and harmony of Rubens, or the light and shadow of Rembrant, without considering how much the gay Easy poetry has been so long excluded by harmony of the former, and affectation of the lat- ambition of ornament, and luxuriance of imageter, would take from the dignity of Raffaelle; ry, that its nature seems now to be forgotten. and yet Rubens had great harmony, and Rem- Affectation, however opposite to ease, is somebrant understood light and shadow; but what times mistaken for it and those who aspire to may be an excellence in a lower class of paint-gentle elegance, collect female phrases and ing, becomes a blemish in a higher; as the quick, sprightly turn, which is the life and beauty of epigrammatic compositions, would but ill suit with the majesty of heroic poetry. To conclude; I would not be thought to infer from any thing that has been said, that rules are absolutely unnecessary; but to censure scrupulosity, a servile attention to minute exactness, which is sometimes inconsistent with higher excellency, and is lost in the blaze of expanded genius. I do not know whether you will think painting a general subject. By inserting this letter, perhaps, you will incur the censure a man would deserve, whose business being to entertain a whole room, should turn his back to the company, and talk to a particular person. I am, Sir, &c. EASY poetry is universally admired; but I know not whether any rule has yet been fixed, by which it may be decided when poetry can be properly called casy. Horace has told us, that it is such as "every reader hopes to equal, but after long labour finds unattainable." This is a very loose description, in which only the effect is noted; the qualities which produce this effect remain to be investigated. fashionable barbarisms, and imagine that style to be easy which custom has made familiar. Such was the idea of the poet who wrote the following verses to a countess cutting paper : Pallas grew vap'rish once and odd, She would not do the least right thing Nor work, nor play, nor paint, nor sing Jove frowned, and "Use," he cried, "those eyes This vexing him who gave her birth. Pallas, you give yourself strange airs, Alas one bad example shown, How quickly all the sex pursue! It is the prerogative of easy poetry to be understood as long as the language lasts; but modes of speech, which owe their prevalence only to modish folly, or to the eminence of those that use them, die away with their inventors, and their meaning, in a few years, is no longer Easy poetry is commonly sought in petty compositions upon minute subjects; but ease, though it excludes pomp, will admit greatness. Many lines in Cato's soliloquy are at once easy and sublime: Easy poetry is that in which natural thoughts are expressed without violence to the lan-known. guage. The discriminating character of ease consists principally in the diction; for all true poetry requires that the sentiments be natural. Language suffers violence by harsh or by daring figures, by transposition, by unusual acceptations of words, and by any license which would be avoided by a writer of prose. Where any artifice appears in the construction of the verse, that verse is no longer easy. Any epithet which can be ejected without diminution of the sense, any curious iteration of the same word, and all unusual, though not ungrammatical structure of speech, destroy the grace of easy poetry. The divinity that stirs within us; -If there is a power above us, Nor is ease more contrary to wit than to sublimity the celebrated stanza of Cowley, on a lady elaborately dressed, loses nothing of its Th' adorning thee with so much art Too apt before to kill. I know not whether by merit or destiny, I was soon after my arrival, admitted to this envied party, which I frequented till I had learned the art by which each endeavoured to support his character. Tom Steady was a vehement assertor of unCowley seems to have possessed the power controverted truth; and by keeping himself of writing easily beyond any other of our out of the reach of contradiction had acquired poets; yet his pursuit of remote thoughts led all the confidence which the consciousness of him often into harshness of expression. Wal- irresistible abilities could have given. I was ler often attempted, but seldom attained it; for once mentioning a man of eminence, and after he is too frequently driven into transpositions. having recounted his virtues, endeavoured to The poets, from the time of Dryden, have gra- represent him fully, by mentioning his faults. dually advanced in embellishment, and conse-"Sir," said Mr. Steady, "that he has faults I quently departed from simplicity and ease. can easily believe, for who is without them? To require from any author many pieces of No man, Sir, is now alive, among the innumeeasy poetry, would be, indeed, to oppress him rable multitudes that swarm upon the earth, with too hard a task. It is less difficult to write however wise, or however good, who has not, a volume of lines swelled with epithets, bright-in some degree, his failings and his faults. If ened by figures, and stiffened by transpositions, than to produce a few couplets graced only by naked elegance and simple purity, which requires so much care and skill, that I doubt whether any of our authors have yet been able, for twenty lines together, nicely to observe the true definition of easy poetry. No. 78.] SATURDAY, OCT. 13, 1759. I HAVE passed the summer in one of those places to which a mineral spring gives the idle and luxurious an annual reason for resorting, whenever they fancy themselves offended by the heat of London. What is the true motive of this periodical assembly I have never yet been able to discover. The greater part of the visitants neither feel diseases nor fear them. What pleasure can be expected, more than the variety of the journey, I know not, for the nun bers are too great for privacy, and too small for diversion. As each is known to be a spy upon the rest, they all live in continual restraint; and having but a narrow range for censure, they gratify its cravings by preying on one another. But every condition has some advantages. In this confinement a smaller circle affords opportunities for more exact observation. The glass that magnifies its object contracts the sight to a point; and the mind must be fixed upon a single character to remark its minute peculiarities. The quality or habit which passes unobserved in the tumult of successive multitudes, becomes conspicuous when it is of fered to the notice day after day; and perhaps I have, without any distinct notice, seen thousands, like my late companions; for when the scene can be varied at pleasure, a slight disgust turns us aside before a deep impression can be made upon the mind. there be any man faultless, bring him forth into public view, show him openly, and let him be known; but I will venture to affirm, and, till the contrary be plainly shown, shall always maintain, that no such man is to be found. Tell not me, Sir, of impeccability and perfection; such talk is for those that are strangers in the world; I have seen several nations, and conversed with all ranks of people; I have known the great and the mean, the learned and the ignorant, the old and the young, the clerical and the lay; but I have never found a man without a fault; and I suppose shall die in the opinion, that to be human is to be frail." To all this nothing could be opposed. I lis tened with a hanging head: Mr. Steady looked round on the hearers with triumph, and saw every eye congratulating his victory; he departed, and spent the next morning in following those who retired from the company, and telling them, with injunctions of secrecy, how poor Sprightly began to take liberties with men wiser than himself, but that he suppressed him by a decisive argument, which put him totally to silence. Dick Snug is a man of sly remark and pithy sententiousness; he never immerges himself in the stream of conversation, but lies to catch his companions in the eddy: he is often very successful in breaking narratives, and confounding eloquence. A gentleman, giving the history of one of his acquaintance, made mention of a lady that had many lovers: "Then," said Dick, "she was either handsome or rich." This observation being well received, Dick watched the progress of the tale; and hearing of a man lost in a shipwreck, remarked, that "no man was ever drowned upon dry land." Will Startle is a man of exquisite sensibility, whose delicacy of frame, and quickness of discernment, subject him to impressions There was a select set, supposed to be dis- from the slightest causes; and who, therefore, tinguished by superiority of intellects, who al-passes his life between rapture and horror, in ways passed the evening together. To be admitted to their conversation was the highest honour of the place; many youths aspired to distinction, by pretending to occasional invitations; and the ladies were often wishing to be men, that they might partake the pleasures of learned society. quiverings of delight, or convulsions of disgust. His emotions are too violent for many words; his thoughts are always discovered by exclamations. "Vile, odious, horrid, detestable," and "sweet, charming, delightful, astonishing," compose almost his whole vocabulary, which he utters with various contor |