though the piece had been but once repeated to him, commenced and went over it, word for word, from beginning to end. Admitting that this story may be a little exaggerated by the worthy Shepherd, there can be no doubt that it is so far true as to afford a good instance in proof of Sir Walter's wonderful memory. The surpassing usefulness of the endowment to him need scarcely be pointed out. It would and did save him much of the trouble of invention, as well as of research and references, in concocting his exquisite narratives. In the similar compositions of other novelists, we can always discern annoying marks of their having read up' for their tasks. Digested long in his extraordinary memory, the information of Sir Walter comes out as naturally and easily as if he had been actually a familiarized denizen of the various places and times he describes. To his memory, too, is to be ascribed that marvellous felicity of illustration which constitutes so large a portion of the charm of his works. Whatever subject engaged his pen, he could abundantly enliven and illustrate it with anecdote or saying, humorous or pathetic, as the case might require, but always appropriate. From the stores of his reading being more recondite, and also from the fact of his having obtained many of his countless good things from oral converse with the world, the extent to which Scott drew, through his memory, on the brains of others, is neither so great, nor, as far as it goes, so discernible, as in the case of Byron.

While we are thus endeavouring to enforce the propriety of cultivating the memory, by the examples of such men as Byron and Scott, it must not be thought that we are blind to the share which the natural talents of the

individuals had in causing their success, and elevating them to greatness and renown. Our object chiefly is to impress on the minds of our readers a sense of the value of a powerful memory, as an auxiliary endowment; though at the same time, beyond all question, a strong and wellstored memory has often gone far to make up for the want of original powers of mind, and has enabled those possessed of it to outshine others who possessed originality of mind without the accompanying advantage of strength of memory. Hitherto, the case of literary men only has been referred to; but the same arguments apply to all positions which men can occupy, where combination or calculation are matters of frequent concernment, and, in short, to all situations where the records of experience | are available or influential. Though of more consequence in some circumstances than in others, a powerful memory is indeed a possession of paramount importance to all mankind.

The natural mode of cultivating and strengthening the memory, is, as the old adage says, by exercise; and wonderful, indeed, is the extent to which its powers may be thus carried. Perhaps Scott owed his great memory in part to the numerous attempts which he must have made while collecting ballads in his youth, to bear such pieces off by heart, when his time and other circumstances did not permit of immediate transcription. Other noted men, however, have even far excelled him in respect of the same endowment. Magliabechi, the famous Florentine, had acquired great command of memory. He was librarian to the Grand Duke of Tuscany, Cosmo III., and, in this situation, became what his friends called a universal index. It was common for the learned to consult him when they were writing upon any subject, and he could tell them not only what previous authors had directly treated of the same matters, but could also point to such as had briefly and incidentally alluded to them,

naming the author, the book, the words, and often the very page at which each passage occurred. Magliabechi's memory was once put to a severe trial. A friend gave him a manuscript composition to read, and after a time received it again. Shortly afterwards, the individual came to Magliabechi, lamenting the loss of the manuscript, and entreating him to put down as much of it as he could remember, that it might be re-written. The other consented, and, sitting down, wrote over the marvellous power of recollection arose chiefly from his production, word for word, from beginning to end. This situation of public librarian, calling for the constant exercise of the faculty.

La Motte, the French dramatist, on hearing a play once read, could repeat any given scene of it, word for word. vated his memory to such an extent, that ultimately Cicero mentions one Carneades, a Greek, who had cultihe was able to repeat by heart the contents of most of the books in a whole library, as if he read from the pages of the books themselves. Mithridates, a powerful sovereign of Asia Minor, who had under his rule twenty-two nations or tribes, all of them speaking either distinct languages or dialects of languages, found it necessary to attempt the acquisition of all these tongues, and by a strong exertion of memory mastered them so far as to be able to converse with fluency in each. The famous Bishop Jewel, disliking the practice of reading sermons, heart, and brought his memory in the end to a wonderaccustomed himself, early in life, to get his discourses by ful degree of perfection. His powers in this respect were often tested by his friends. If forty or fifty words, picked at random from languages alike barbarous and unknown to him, were once read over, he could, after a little remight be desired. The celebrated scholar, Sealizer, was flection, repeat them either backwards or forwards, as he even more distinguished for strength of memory than Bishop Jewel, or any of the individuals here mentioned. It would be an easy matter to multiply examples where the cultivation of the memory has strengthened its powers to an astonishing degree. Samuel Johnson is a case in point. The force of the faculty in him, in his latter days, was doubtless owing to its culture during the composition of his dictionary, and it gave him much of his brilliant conversational readiness. It is, however, unnecessary to carry this argument further. Every reader who has peremember that, in almost all instances, one of the mental rused the narratives of persons long held in captivity, will phenomena recorded by each prisoner was a great increase of the powers of memory, resulting from the necessity of exercising and depending on the faculty, in the absence! of all the aids to be found in ordinary circumstances. A series of notches in a stick, or knots on a string, conveyed would alone prove the value of exercise to the memory. often to the poor captive a whole history. Such cases If, then, strength of memory be a possession of such consequence as we have endeavoured to show it to be, at the risk, perhaps, of being held to press on the attention a self-evident fact; and if the plain and obvious mode of strengthening the memory is by exercising it, should not this end be kept prominently in view in the education of the young? To us, as has already been observed, the culture of the memory seems a matter of so much moment, as to merit being ranked as a distinct item in the programme of juvenile education.

Remarkable displays of strength of memory have occasionally been made in public by individuals professing to follow a peculiar and secret mode of fixing facts on their recollection. One young boy, who lately exhibited in public in this country, gave answers to a list of questions, amounting to many thousands, and some of them involving long sums of figures. A long list of figures, set down at random, was also repeated by him backwards, without error, after being looked at for a few seconds. Whatever was the mode of doing this, it was obvious that much of the boy's power of memory arose from exercise exercise, it may be, with a help, but still exercise. Such cases only tend to bear out what has already been said.

PORTRAIT GALLERY.

THOMAS HOOD.

SURELY this year is sacred to the goddess of Dullness! parently she is contemplating some deep and dark design upon the spirits of the community, and has contrived, as a preliminary step, to 'put sudden poison in the evening drink' of some of the wittiest of the leaders of the age! Let the conductors of 'Punch'-sixteen, they say, in number-beware; for, scarcely had they turned all their smiles to tears over the loss of the joyous Sidney Smith, than the petrific mace of Death has frozen the bright current of Hood's laughter upon his cheek, and compelled us to inscribe his own words as an epitaph over his tomb -'Here lies one who, in the course of his life, spat more blood and made more puns than any of his cotempo

raries!'

of poets 'lisping in numbers, for the numbers came;' so we suspect Hood must have been a punster from his boyhood. They leaped from his lips in dozens. It is told of Professor Wilson, that, wandering once with WordsAp-worth and some others among the mountains of Cumberland, he offered, for some trifling bet, to keep up for hours a running fire of puns, and that he gained the wager-extracting them from tarn, and fence, and stone, and tree-till his side-sore companions implored him, in pity to their midriffs, to pause. Had Hood been of the party he would have formed an admirable second; for to pun had become to him as natural as to breathe. And yet, under all this fantastic and airy froth, there lay in him, and at no great depth, a spirit of strong and earnest poetry. Lurking and leaping about, amid innumerable funny disguises, was a fine and noble sentiment. Under the varied masks and mummeries of humour were concealed the flaming eyes and the haggard brow of deepest tragedy. Shrinking from the strong seriousness which was in the inner core of his character, he strove to veil it at once from others and from himself by a mirthful and arabesque border. He laughed that he might not weep. He became the jester that he might not become the grey discrowned Lear. He said-'Nuncle, this is a naughty night to swim in,' because he dared not say, 'Ye heavens, if you do love old men, if your sweet sway hallow obedience, if yourselves are old, make it your cause.' He feared and fled the awful vein, which was nevertheless in him. This arose from his nervous and sensitive constitution. It was another edition of the old story of Hamlet, 'that oak in a china vase,' stormed on on one side to a powerful destiny, and on the other saying, in the agony of felt incompetence, 'Oh! cursed spight, that ever I was born to set it right!' Thus poor Hood shunned and shyed-habitually, though not always-the stoop of the descending Pythonic power.

Poor Thomas Hood! Where now are thy 'quips-thy cranks-thy wreathed smiles'-thy everlasting pleasantry, thick and brilliant as star-dust-the shower, or storm, or whirlwind of puns, which broke out so swiftly and so irrepressibly upon thy page? Can a ghost,' asks Charles Lamb, laugh, or shake his gaunt sides ?' Art thou where puns, acrostics, equivoques, harmless double entendres, whims, oddities, and comic annuals are not? Assuredly the grave alone could put a period to a joyous humour which years of pain and poverty were unable to repress or interrupt. Hood was one of the readiest, and most facile, and most inspired humorists that have hitherto breathed. He was possessed by the genius of merriment. He saw all things at an odd angle, which turned them into figures of mirth. The world around him seemed caricatured to his hand. We all remember the character in Washington Irving's story, who saw, in his drunken dream, the old-fashioned furniture in his bedroom beginning to dance-the arm-chair jigging it down the floor with the chest-of-drawers-the fire-irons performing a threesome reel upon the rug-the very besom and coal-scuttle becoming actors in the ludicrous medley. Thus, to Hood's queer eye, the universe appeared to be convulsed and distended into one grin—all up and alive in one strange and stormy dance. Faces laughed upon him from the fire-quizzical eyes peeped in at the window-the salt-cellar had a sly and meaning look-the hum of the tea-kettle sounded like a comic song-and the very clouds above his attic 'did open, and show' puns 'ready to drop upon him.' Never was man such a slave to the sense of ludicrous resemblances.

As a humorist, Hood was besides eminently goodtempered and kindly. His wit never once darkened into sarcasm; the 'gall-bladder was omitted in his composition.' His laughter was light, airy, and sparkling, as the multitudinous dimple of the waves in a summer sea, and as it harmless; while that of some others resembles rather the lightning's ghastly smile, which distorts without relieving the darkness. There was about it a boyishness and buoyancy, a merry-ringing, irrepressible glee, like that of a Saturday schoolboy, which was most delightful. It was the levity, not of cold-heartedness, but of a warm, genial, and loving nature, toying from very tenderness with every object, with every feeling, and with every thought.

Everybody knows that his writings swarmed with puns, as an anthill disturbed swarms with emmets. We hear

And in proof that occasionally-and as if in spite of himself-the graver energy of song did at times move his spirit, let us remember not only scattered thoughts and images in his lightest productions, not only passages in his 'Tylney Hall,' not only the whole of his delightful lucubrations on 'Fairies,' but the two poems which may probably embalm his name for future ages, Eugene Aram's Dream' and the 'Song of the Shirt.' In the first of these he enters into the very centre and secret of the murderer's soul: the dark breast of Aram, retentive so long of its tremendous secret, yields it, as if to the glance of a child, and the uprolled thunder-cloud of years bursts into tears at a schoolboy's feet. The Eugene Aram of Hood is not like the hero of Bulwer's fiction—a proud, moody, scholastic, Byronic homicide, who fancies himself, in murder, offering a great sacrifice on the altar of science; he is the very pale, woe-begone, still, dark but unromantic usher, who actually lived, agonized, and was executed for killing Daniel Clarke. He is not a sublime demon in love, but a mere man in misery; and in what short and shuddering accents, as of a guilty dream, does he reveal the stern secret of his soul! It is years since we read this remarkable poem, but it still blends in our memory with that of the first reading of 'Caleb Williams;' and we are ready to class its author with Godwin himself, as a true, tender, but bold 'searcher of dark bosoms.' In a mood alike, but oh, how different!' has he sung the 'Song of the Shirt!' He seats himself by the side of the poor seamstress, as a brother would do, counts

er

To maintain themselves against these warlike rivals, as well as to consolidate and strengthen the monarchy, became, therefore, the manifest policy of the Capetian sovereigns. To this task especially, Philip Augustus, who mounted the throne in 1180, directed the whole force of his ambitious and enterprising mind; and so well, upon the whole, was his example followed by a series of able but unscrupulous successors, that on the death of Philip the Fair, in 1314, the royal authority had gained a strength and stability which rendered it virtually paramount throughout France. The power of the feudal nobility, brought within narrower limits, now found something like a counterpoise in the numerous and increasing burgher class; and, in short, the kingdom presented such extent and compactness of figure, combined with such population and resources, as seemed to set foreign assault at defiance. And yet this was the very period when a concurrence of political causes, and their own ambition, induced the sovereigns of England to attempt the con-able courage and steadiness of the yeomen archery of Engquest of the French monarchy, and led directly to a contest which, whether we consider its duration, its objects, or the magnitude and variety of its events, was the most memorable which had broken out in Europe since the fall of the Roman empire.

nearest male heir. In these circumstances, the we can monarch, while he did not question the validity of elosalic law, as many jurists have since done, set up thepentinction, that although females were excluded from succession, the rule did not apply to their male issu and thus, though his mother Isabella could not become queen of France herself, she transmitted a valid title to him. This claim was too transparently unjust, and indeed absurd, to be defended even on the unscrupulous maxims of that barbarous age; and besides, admitting its principle had been correct, there was a nearer heir than the English monarch, in the young prince, son of Jane, daughter of Louis Hutin, afterwards the infamous Charles the Bad, King of Navarre. But Edward brought to his aid the resources of his own boundless ambition, the growing wealth of his insular kingdom, now tranquil within and secure from without, a numerous and bold chivalry, formed on the model of his own knightly qualities, the indomitland, and, above all, the conspicuous valour and high military genius of himself and his son. He failed not, however, to sustain these advantages by the resources of policy. He formed treaties with the German Emperor, as well as with several inferior princes, who agreed to aid him in consideration of receiving subsidies; while a still more singular alliance, for an absolute prince, was entered into with the famous James Von Artaveldt, a brewer of Ghent, and then leader of the Flemings, whose democratic spirit had revolted against the oppressions of their feudal count. Finally, in 1337, in spite of the efforts of Pope Benedict XII., who in vain besought him to abandon the enterprise, he sent over a commission to the Earl of Brabant and others, formally to demand for him the crown of France. His Flemish allies took the earliest opportunity of proclaiming him king, and he soon after quartered the royal arms of that monarchy on his seal and shield-an assumption, by the way, which the English monarchs could never be prevailed on to relinquish till the time of George III.

Edward III. of England, who first essayed this seemingly hopeless adventure, was born at Windsor in 1312. The party of the queen-mother, Isabella of France, and her paramour Mortimer, having first dethroned and then murdered his father, the imbecile Edward II., called the young prince to the throne at the early age of sixteen, hoping to find him a convenient puppet to execute their designs. But the boy soon showed that he inherited a large share of that towering ambition, as well as the comprehensive military talents, which distinguished his grandfather, the first and greatest of the Edwards. His marriage with Philippa of Hainault, though doubtless at the advice of his mother, seems nevertheless to have been the result of his own deliberate choice. Engaging, | with the native valour of his race, in the Scottish wars consequent on the unprincipled attempt to thrust the It must be confessed that Philip of Valois and his son contemptible Edward Baliol on the throne of Scotland, John, Duke of Normandy, though less brilliant in chahe gave early promise of future generalship; while his racter, possessed many qualities fitting them worthily to ability in conducting the intrigue by which the downfall contend with their illustrious antagonists. They were of Mortimer and Isabella was accomplished, proved that brave, liberal, faithful to their word, on the whole not he was not less competent to manage intricacies of state unjust in their administration, and apparently anxious to policy. Indeed, his character, notwithstanding many promote the happiness of their people. But they were dark blots, presented an array of warlike virtues, which, totally deficient in those popular qualities by which the judged by the standard of his own age, render him one of English princes secured the unshaken loyalty of their the most illustrious sovereigns that ever wore the Eng-subjects and allies. The misgovernment of their immelish diadem; and he offered much, therefore, in the diate predecessors, the weight of the taxes, depreciation splendour of his personal reputation, to redeem his of the currency (ever the forerunner in France of state hopes from the charge of rashness. In judgment and convulsions), together with somewhat of a dawning spirit military skill, as well as in courtesy, gallantry, magna- of liberty, combined to produce much discontent throughnimity, and munificence, he yielded in that age of chi-out the nation; while the naturally severe and suspicious valry to no knight in Europe, excepting perhaps his equally celebrated son and companion in arms, the Black Prince. But notwithstanding these popular and even amiable qualities, the claim he now put forth offers nothing in itself to palliate the unbridled ambition displayed in it, or the frightful devastation of a whole country to which it led. It was as follows. Philip the Fair had left three sons, who successively reigned in France, Louis Hutin, Philip the Long, and Charles the Fair; with a daughter, Isabella, married to Edward II. of England, and consequently mother of Edward III. Each of these brothers rapidly followed each other to the throne and the grave; they had been married, and left female issue; but their daughters were excluded from the succession in virtue of what was called the salic law, whereby females were understood to be prohibited from reigning in France. Accordingly, on the death of the last brother, Charles the Fair, in 1328, his daughter was set aside in favour of Philip of Valois, cousin-german of the late king, as the have given rise to a bon mot attributed to Edward III.

So called from the colour of his armour, which,' says an ancient chronicler, 'gave eclat to the fairness of his complexion, and a relief to his fine figure.'

temper of the sovereign, of which he was too frequently affording proofs, rendered the royal authority extremely unpopular. Still the inherent strength of the monarchy was great, and the French king prepared to defend his inheritance with spirit and resolution. He allied himself with the Kings of Navarre and Bohemia, the Dukes of Brittany, Austria, and Lorraine, and with several inferior German princes, and patiently awaited the storm which was about to burst upon his head.

The movements at the outset did not correspond with the magnitude of these mutual preparations. With a small force, chiefly of foreign mercenaries, the English king took the field in Flanders in the end of 1339, where he wasted his time and money in a series of futile operations. In the June of the following year, however, he obtained a great naval victory off Sluys, over a superior

One of these taxes, that on salt, called par excellence the Gabelle, and said to have been peculiarly oppressive, is reported to

The

French word for salt is sal; and when the English monarch heard that Philip had laid a tax on that article, he jocularly remarked that he now reigned by salic law. Philip retorted by calling Edward a wool-merchant, the export of that article being at that early period a chief source of the wealth of England.

her tear eet, which had attempted to intercept him in rent sage from England to the scene of warfare. In decisive engagement might be noticed the forecast thene maritime superiority of England, nearly the whole ris the enemy's vessels having been taken, and fifteen nousand of their mariners killed or drowned. The expenses of this mode of warfare, however, were ruinous to the English exchequer, while the parliament, already wisely alive to national interests, refused additional subsidies unless on condition of obtaining an equivalent in popular concessions. But Edward was about to try the effect of the arms of his native English, and to remove the seat of war from Flanders to Brittany, Normandy, and Poitou, the real scenes of his military glory.

The first of these dutchies had at this time become the scene of a disputed succession, resembling, on a small scale, that between the royal combatants, in which, strangely enough, Philip stood forth the defender of the rights of female succession, while Edward found himself the champion of a kind of salic law. This contest, which continued throughout the whole reign of the former monarch, and was illustrated by many conspicuous feats of heroism, originated as follows: John III., Duke of Brittany, died childless in 1341; and of his two brothers, Guy and John de Montfort, Guy the elder had predeceased him, leaving a daughter, married to Charles de Blois, nephew of the French king. As a matter of course, a dispute arose between the uncle and niece, each claiming the dutchy by the laws of inheritance; the former, who was pre-eminently the popular candidate, receiving the promise of aid from England, while Philip naturally sided with the wife of his kinsman. Into the details of this long and desultory warfare, however, our limits forbid us to enter. John de Montfort fell into the hands of the French king, who confined him in the Louvre; but his countess, undismayed, continued to defend her husband's inheritance with masculine valour. It was while heading a small army, with which he had landed to the assistance of this heroic lady, that Edward got into a position from which he was glad to extricate himself by agreeing to a truce of three years with Philip, during the continuance of which the latter gave a striking example of that revengeful disposition which formed the great defect in his character. Having proclaimed a tournament at Paris, he succeeded in inveigling into his power certain Breton and Norman noblemen, suspected by him of favouring the cause of the English, and had them executed without either trial or sentence. Of this act of perfidious cruelty he had soon ample reason to repent. Edward eagerly seized the pretext to declare the truce at an end; while numbers of the French nobility, incensed and alienated, kept aloof from, or feebly seconded in the day of extremity, a prince so ill-qualified to retain their affections.

ing long in the heart of a hostile country, where the enemy's force was rapidly augmenting, while his own melted away; and he speedily retired towards Ponthieu, with the intention of joining his Flemish allies, having first defied Philip to single combat. This invitation the latter prudently declined to accept; but deeply incensed at an audacity which thus braved him in the heart of his dominions, he summoned the whole strength of the kingdom, and at the head of an immense force followed closely in pursuit. Arrived near the mouth of the Somme, he learned that the English monarch had already crossed that river, in spite of some attempted opposition, and encamped his little army, in battle array, on the plain of CRESSY.

The town of Abbeville is five miles distant from the scene of the eventful contest now to be related; and here Philip, burning with revenge and resentment, was reluctantly persuaded to rest his wearied troops on the night of the 25th August, 1346. His army was so numerous, that he could with ease have surrounded the English camp and starved it into a surrender; but he rejected all advices of this kind with disdain, and early next morning set forward to battle, forcing his soldiers over the intervening distance with fierce precipitancy. The English, having performed their devotions with great seriousness, tranquilly awaited his approach. Their numbers, reduced by various causes, hardly exceeded thirty thousand combatants, while their antagonists were fully a hundred and twenty thousand strong; but they were skilfully posted, animated by the exhortations and confident in the skill of their king and general, and even Philip hesitated when he beheld their steady and formidable front. Edward had arranged his men in three lines: the first was commanded by the youthful Prince of Wales; the second by the Earls of Northampton and Arundel; while the third, which was kept as a body of reserve, was headed by his majesty in person. The French monarch seems to have aimed at an order of battle somewhat similar, yet his army presented an indescribable scene of tumult and disorder. 'There is no man,' says Froissart, 'unless he had been present, that can imagine or truly record the confusion of that day, especially the bad management and disorder of the French, whose troops were innumerable.' Commanding his horsemen to halt, Philip ordered that the archers, a body of Genoese cross-bowmen, fifteen thousand in number, should advance to the front. This order proved instantly fatal to his tumultuous force. The king's brother, the Duke of Alençon, declared that the Genoese were unworthy to have the post of honour; the horsemen refused to retire; and these two important bodies, before the eyes of the wondering English, began to fight with one another. During this preliminary contest a violent shower of rain fell. The English, cool and collected, put their bows into their cases; while the Of the provinces once held in France by the Norman Genoese, too much excited to take that precaution, found, princes, as vassals of the French kings, Edward only when order was restored, that their bowstrings were inherited Guienne, a large district in the south, and spoiled by the wet, and that their arrows did not reach in the north the earldom of Ponthieu, for both of which the mark. The king, perceiving this, and burning with he had at one time done homage to his uncle Charles. passion, conceived it to be premeditated, and shouting, The French king naturally anticipated that Edward's treason! treason!' commanded the men-at-arms to ride attack would be made from his hereditary dutchy; over the poor Genoese, and drive them from the field. and here, accordingly, Prince John, Duke of Normandy, A frightful confusion ensued. The English, meanwhile, was stationed with a powerful force. But having dis- stood firmly together, and poured their 'arrow-flight' patched his cousin, the Earl of Derby, to oppose the into the ranks of their antagonists with frightful precision prince on the side of Guienne, the English monarch and effect. At this critical moment, the Black Prince, landed himself on the defenceless coasts of Normandy, in with great presence of mind, led on his division to the July 1346, at the head of a gallant army of English, attack, when he encountered unexpectedly the entire Welsh, and Irish, amounting to forty thousand men. shock of the enemy's chivalry, headed by the Duke of Having taken and plundered Caen, he advanced along Alençon. The Earls of Arundel and Northampton flew the left bank of the Seine without opposition, the villages to his assistance; but the valour of the prince every and towns, even up to Paris, being successively subdued and where decided the fortune of the fight, and even veterans pillaged; while Philip contented himself with watching beheld him with astonishment and admiration. Giving his progress from the right bank of the river, and break-way to their fears for his safety, an officer was dispatched ing down the bridges to prevent his crossing. In fact the English monarch had almost reached the walls of Paris before his antagonist felt himself in a condition to oppose him. But his army was too small to allow of his remain

to his majesty to implore succours. Edward, who had all this while viewed the engagement from a windmill, inquired if his son were killed, wounded, or thrown to the ground. 'No, sire,' said the messenger, but he is