German, and Swedish. As a professor at some of the Italian universities, he constantly added to his store; until at the age of forty-three he could read in twenty languages, and converse in eighteen. In 1841, when he was sixty-seven years old, he was as well acquainted with Portuguese, English, Dutch, Danish, Russian, Polish, Bohemian, Servian, Magyar, Turkish, Irish, Welsh, Wallachian, Albanian, Bulgarian, Illyrian, Lettish, Lappish, as with the languages which he had first learned; while to Arabic he added Persian, Sanscrit, Koordish, Georgian, Syriac, Chaldee, Samaritan, Chinese, Coptic, Ethiopic, Abyssinian, and other Asiatic and African tongues. At the time of his death, in 1849, Mezzofanti could write eloquently, and converse fluently, in more than seventy languages.

repeat them in the reversed order without making a single mistake. A physician of Massachusetts, about half a century ago, could repeat the whole of Paradise Lost without mistake, although he had not read | it for twenty years. Euler, the great mathematician, when he became blind, could repeat the whole of Virgil's Æneid, and could remember the first line and the last line in every page of the particular edition which he had been accustomed to read before he became blind.

One kind of retentive memory may be considered as the result of sheer hard work, a determination towards one particu lar achievement, without reference either to cultivation or to memory on other subjects. This is frequently shown by persons in humble life in regard to the Bible. An old beggar-man at Stirling, known some forty years ago as Blind Alick, afforded an instance of this. He knew the whole of the Bible by heart; insomuch that, if a sentence were read to him, he could name book, chapter and verse; or, if the book, chapter, and verse were named, he could give the exact words. A gentleman, to test him, repeated a verse, purposely making one verbal inaccuracy; Alick hesitated, named the place where the passage is to be found, but at the same time pointed out the verbal error. The same gentleman asked him to repeat the ninetieth verse of the seventh chapter of the book of Numbers. Alick almost instantly replied, "There is no such verse; that chapter has only eightynine verses."

All the other accounts of memory for words are poor compared with this; nevertheless, many of them are sufficiently remarkable. John Kemble used to say that he could learn a whole number of the Morning Post in four days; and General Christie made a similar assertion; but it is not known how far either of them verified this statement. Robert Dillon could repeat in the morning six columns of a newspaper which he had read overnight. During the Repeal debates in the House of Commons, thirty-seven years ago, one of the members wrote out his speech, sent it to the newspapers, and repeated it to the House in the evening; it was found to be the same verbatim as that which he had written out. John Fuller, a land agent in There are no phenomena of memory more Norfolk, could remember every word of a strange than those in which — usually sermon, and write it out correctly after through some illness, or some accidental going home; this was tested by comparing injury to the brain-some particular facts his written account with the clergyman's or classes of facts baffle the recollection manuscript. Scaliger could repeat a hun- altogether. The instances recorded by dred verses or more after having read them Abercrombie, Winslow, Wigan, Carpenter, a single time. Seneca could repeat two thou- Holland, and other physicians, are too well sand words on hearing them once. Maglia- founded to admit of any doubt. There was bechi, who had a prodigious memory, was a gentleman who, when in disturbed health, once put to a severe test. A gentleman lent uniformly called coals, paper, and paper, him a manuscript, which was read and re- coals, quite unconscious of any anomaly in turned; the owner some time afterwards, the matter. Another called his snuff-box a pretending he had lost it, begged Maglia- hogshead; and it was remarked that, in bechi to write out as much as he could earlier life, he had been connected with the remember; whereupon the latter, appealing tobacco trade in the West Indies. Doctor to his memory, wrote out the whole essay. Scandella, an Italian physician resident at Cyrus, if some of the old historians are to New York, was attacked with yellow fever be credited, could remember the name of at New York; he spoke only English when every soldier in his immense army. There first attacked, only French in the height of was a Corsican boy who could rehearse the fever, and remembered only his own forty thousand words, whether sense or original Italian just before his death. A nonsense, as they were dictated, and then | Frenchman, at the age of twenty-seven,

papers, or as the discoverers of such and such facts. One gentleman forgot the names of the whole of his children for a time. An agriculturist, a man of extensive business and good intelligence, was obliged to use a dictionary to understand the ordinary implements of his trade; the sound of each word suggested the shape of the letters, and the sight of the latter suggested the sense; but the sound did not directly suggest the sense. A lady, after an illness, forgot all pronouns, and all inflexions of verbs except the infinitive; when wishing or intending to say, Stop, my husband has just come," she said, "To stop, husband to come."

spoke English well; he received an injury it was a painful time to him, for, without in the head, and could then for some time any hallucination, he knew perfectly well only remember French, believing and as- that his memory had in great measure temserting himself to be but sixteen years old. porarily deserted him; he walked to the At St. Thomas's Hospital an invalid sud- window, as a possible means of getting denly began to talk in Welsh, a language back some recollection of the outer world. which he had entirely neglected for thirty An artillery officer, in 1785, could read out years. One lady lost the memory of well when a book was open before him, but exactly four years, well remembering could not remember a word of the contents events before and after that period; and in when the book was closed. A Spanish another instance the lost years amounted tragic author forgot his own writings; to eight or ten. A gentleman forgot when reminded of them, he declared they the names of his friends, but remembered must have been written by some one else. their ages, and adopted that as the most A French scientific man could scarcely convenient mode of referring to them. ever remember the names of his colleagues; Another lost so completely the meaning he was accustomed to speak of them as of nouns - substantive, that he unconsci- the authors of such and such works or ously gave the names of places to things, persons to events, and so on, rendering his talk unintelligible. A lady, similarly under temporary ailment, could not remember the names of any of the ordinary things in her household; she was forced to go from room to room, and point to the articles concerning which she had any orders to give, or any observations to make. A military officer, mentioned by Doctor Winslow, sometimes remembered his own name, but not his address; at other times remembered his address, but not his name. He would occasionally, with a perplexed expression of countenance, accost a stranger, "I am Major —, can you tell me where I live ?" Under his other frame of mind, "I live at —, can you tell me my name ?" Corroborative instances of a kind more or less analogous are so numerous, that we need only cite a few more as illustrations. There was a man who could remember the first syllable of long words, but no others. A soldier, after receiving an injury in the head, forgot the figures 5 and 7, and everything connected with them. A gentleman in a similar way lost the memory of the letter F. An old French lady could express herself intelligibly in any ordinary conversation; but if a direct question were put to her, her memory seemed to depart from her at once, except in reference to two words; her regular reply was "Saint Antoine." In another case, of a wounded French soldier, he evidently understood the meaning of what was said to him by others, but his memory could only assist him to the uniform reply, "Baba.' John Hunter, the great surgeon, called on a friend at a time when indisposed; for a few hours he could not remember thing concerning any person or object beyond the walls of the room he was in;

any

66

Another variety is what may be called perversion of memory, memory running to wildness, generally manifested during or immediately after an illness. One instance is that in which we imagine other persons to be doing or feeling that which is really attributable to ourselves. There was a gentleman who, when thirsty, believed that others experienced the thirst; and after he had coughed, said to a friend. near him, "I am sorry you have so bad a cough." Samuel Rogers, when very aged and declining, was riding in a carriage with a lady, who asked him about another lady well known to both; the name seemed a blank to him, and stopping the carriage, he asked his servant, "Do I know Lady M. ?" "Yes, sir," was the reply. A gentleman, sitting with his wife in the evening, found his thoughts wandering back to a lady at whose house he frequently spent an evening in former years; ludicrously confounding time, place, and person, he rose up, and, addressing his wife as 66 "declared that it was madam,' getting late, and that he must return home to his family.

early in the morning, and found him in
same attitude, he said, like one wh nad
been collecting his thoughts for a few
moments, 'It must be thus; out I will go
to bed before it is too late.', He had gazed
the entire night in meditation, and was
not aware of it." Doctor Stukely called
upon Sir Isaac Newton, and was told that
Sir Isaac would come to him directly.
The waiting was long and tedious, dinner
was brought in, and Stukely, feeling
hungry, sat down and nearly demolished a
tempting roast fowl. Newton at length
appeared, and seeing the empty dish, ex-
claimed, "I protest I had forgotten that I
had eaten my dinner!" The Count de
Brancas, a friend of La Bruyère and
Rochefoucauld, was one day reading in his
study, when a nurse brought in a little
infant; he put down his book, took the
infant, and caressed it admiringly. A
friend came in, and Brancas threw down
the baby on the table, thinking it was a
book, not detecting his error until a loud
crying announced it. On another occasion
Rochefoucauld crossed the street to greet
him. Brancas said, "God help you, my
poor man!" Rochefoucauld smiled, and
was about to speak, when the other inter-
rupted him: "I told you that I had
nothing for you; there is no use in your
teasing me; why don't you try to get
work? Such lazy idlers as you
streets quite disagreeable.'

up

The forgetfulness arising from sheer absence of mind is different in its nature from any of the above. The man may be in good health, and may be the reverse of stupid, but he is so absorbed in a particular train of thought as to be nearly oblivious to surrounding sayings and doings. Sydney Smith cited two instances of absence of mind which struck his fancy. "I heard of a clergyman who went jogging along the road till he came to a turnpike. What is to pay ?' 'Pay, sir, for what?' asked the turnpike-man. Why, for my horse to be sure.' 'Your horse, sir! What horse? There is no horse, sir.' 'No horse. God bless me,' said he, suddenly looking down between his legs, 'I thought I was on horseback.' Lord Dudley was one of the most absent men I think I ever met in society. One day he met me in the street and invited me to meet myself. 'Dine with me to-day; dine with me, and I will get Sydney Smith to meet you.' I admitted the temptation he held out to me, but said I was engaged to meet him elsewhere. Another time in meeting me he put his arm through mine, muttering, 'I don't mind walking with him a little way; I'll walk with him as far as the end of the street.' He very nearly overset my gravity once in the pulpit. He was sitting immediately under me, apparently very attentive, when suddenly he took up his stick as if he had been in the House of Commons, and, tap-cauld's hearty laugh at length roused him ping the ground with it, cried out in a low but very audible whisper, 'Hear, hear.' An absence of mind more or less similar has often been displayed by men habituated to deep study. Domenichino, the great" What's o'clock ?" Going to a house Italian painter, became so absorbed in his where friends have lived, and forgetting own picture of the Martyrdom of Saint that they had removed; going up to dress Andrew that he reviled, with the fiercest for dinner, forgetting the main purpose passion, a soldier who was represented in- in view, and getting into bed instead; sulting or mocking the saint. Caracci, taking imaginary pinches of snuff while who was present, was so struck with Do- talking, forgetting all the time that the menichino's excited expression of face that box is empty. Dante went once into a he afterwards adopted it as an impersonation bookseller's shop to witness a grand street of rage. Crebillon, the French dramatist, procession. He became so absorbed in a impatiently said to a friend who entered book that the whole spectacle passed withhis study, "Don't disturb me; this is a out his noticing it; and when he went moment of exquisite happiness; I am home was surprised at being reminded of going to hang a villanous minister, and to it. Hogarth, dining one day with friends, banish a stupid one!" Isaac D'Israeli rose in the middle of dinner, turned his says: "It has been told of a modern astro-chair round, sat down with his back to the nomer, that one summer night, when he was withdrawing to his chamber, the brightness of the heavens showed a phenomenon. He passed the whole night in observing it; and when they came to him

make the

Rochefou

from his reverie. Men have been known to exhibit such instances of absence of mind as the following: Taking out a watch, looking at it, and then asking,

company, meditated awhile, resumed his proper position, and went on with his dinner. Sheridan, conversing with his sister one day, unconsciously cut up into shreds an elegant pair of ruffles which she had just

"COME, THE RECORDERS!"

I made for her father. A gentleman, in- the pains of others. He will cease to search vited to dinner, sat in the drawing-room the faces of the orchestra for any evidence alone for awhile; by the time the lady of of "pride of place," or enjoyment of perthe house appeared, she found that he, in formances they witness, not as volunteers, a brown study, had picked a hearth-brush but as pressed men. He will understand to pieces; he had the denuded handle in that they are at work, and are influenced his hand, while his dress was covered with by a natural anxiety to escape from work hairs. as soon as may be. So, the overture ended, they vanish, and leave the actors to do their best or their worst, as the case may be. But our young friend's sentiments are not peculiar to himself-have been often shared, indeed, by very experienced persons. We have heard of comic singers and travelling entertainment givers who have greatly resented the air of indifference of their musical accompanist. They have required of him that he should feel amused, or affect to feel amused, by their efforts. He has had to supplement his skill as a musician by his readiness as an actor. It has been thought desirable that the audience should be enabled to exclaim: "The great So-andSo must be funny! Why, see the man at the piano, who plays for him every night, who has, of course, seen his performance scores and scores of times, even he can't help laughing, the great So-and-So is so funny." The audience, thus convinced, find themselves, no doubt, very highly amused. Garrick himself appears, on one occasion, at any rate, to have been much enraged at the indifference of a member of his band. Cervetto, the violoncello - player, once ventured to yawn noisily and portentously while the great actor was delivering an address to the audience. The house gave way to laughter. The indignation of the actor could only be appeased by Cervetto's absurd excuse that he invariably yawned when he felt "the greatest rapture," and to this emotion the address to the house, so admirably delivered by his manager, had justified him in yielding. Garrick accepted the explanation, perhaps rather on account of its humour than of its completeness.

AMONG the earlier emotions of the youthful playgoer, whose enthusiasm for dramatic representations is generally of a very fervid and uncompromising kind, must be recognised his pity for the money-taker, forbidden by the cares of office to witness a performance, and his envy of the musicians, so advantageously stationed for the incessant enjoyment of the delights of the theatre. But he perceives, with regretful wonder, that these gentlemen are habitually negligent of their opportunities, and fail to appreciate the peculiar happiness of their position; that they are apt, indeed, their services not being immediately required, to abandon their instruments, and quietly to steal away through the cramped doorway that admits to the mysterious regions beneath the stage. He is grieved to note that for them, at any rate, the play is not "the thing." One or two may remain-the performer on the drum, I have observed, is often very faithful in this respect, though I have failed to discover any special reason why a love of histrionic efforts should be generated by his professional occupationbut the majority of the orchestra clearly manifest an almost indecent alacrity in avoiding all contemplation of the displays on the other side of the foot-lights. They are but playgoers on compulsion. They even seem sometimes, when they retain their seats, to prefer gazing at the audience rather than at the actors, and thus to advertise their apathy in the matter. And I have not heard that the parsimonious manager, who proposed to reduce the salaries of his musicians on the ground that they every night enjoyed admission to the best seats, for which they paid nothing, even when stars were performing," ever succeeded in convincing his band of the justice of his arguments.

The juvenile patron of the drama will, of course, in due time become less absorbed in his own view of the situation, and learn that, just as one man's meat is another man's poison, so the pleasures of some are

Music and the drama have been inseparably connected from the most remote date. Even in the cart of Thespis some corner must have been found for the musician. The custom of chanting in churches has been traced to the practice of the ancient and pagan stage. Music pervaded the whole of the classical drama, was the adjunct of the poetry: the play being a kind of recitation, the declamation composed and written in notes, and the gesticulations even being accompanied. The old miracle plays were assisted by per

formers on the horn, the pipe, the tabret, and the flute; a full orchestra, in fact. Mr. Payne Collier, in his Annals of the Stage, points out that at the end of the prologue to Childermas Day, 1512, the minstrels are required to "do their diligence," the same expression being employed at the close of the performance when they are besought either themselves to dance, or to play a dance for the entertainment of the com

pany:

Also ye menstrelles doth your diligence

1566, Diccon, addressing himself to the musicians, says simply, "In the mean time, fellows, pipe up your fiddles." But in a later play, the Two Italian Gentlemen, by Anthony Munday, printed about 1584, the different kinds of music to be played after each act are stated, whether "a pleasant galliard," a "solemn dump," or a "pleasant allemaigne." So Marston, in his Sophonisba, 1606, indicates particularly the instruments he would have played during the pauses between the acts. After act Afore our depertyng geve us a daunce. one, the cornets and organs playing loud The Elizabethan stage relied greatly upon full of music;" after act two, 66 organs the aid of trumpets, cornets, &c., for the mixed with recorders;" after act three, soundings" which announced the com'organs, viols, and voices;" with "a base mencement of the prologue, and for the lute and a treble viol" after act four. In "alarums" and "flourishes" which oc- the course of this play, moreover, musical curred in the course of the representation. accompaniments of a descriptive kind were Malone was of opinion that the band con- introduced, the stage direction on two ocsisted of some eight or ten musicians sta-casions informing us that "infernal music tioned in "an upper balcony over what is now called the stage-box.' Collier, however, shows that the musicians were often divided into two bands, and quotes a stage direction in Marston's Antonio's Revenge, 1602: "While the measure is dancing, Andrugio's ghost is placed betwixt the music houses." In a play of later date, Middleton's Chaste Maid in Cheapside, 1630, appears the direction: "While the company seem to weep and mourn, there is a sad song in the music room.' Boxes were then often called rooms, and one was clearly set apart for the use of the musicians. In certain of Shakespeare's plays the musicians are clearly required to quit their room for a while, and appear upon the stage among the dramatis personæ.

plays softly." Nabbes, in the prologue to
his Hannibal and Scipio, 1637, alludes at
once to the change of the place of action of
the drama, and to the performance of music
between the acts:

The place is sometimes changed, too, with the scene,
Which is translated as the music plays
Betwixt the acts.

The closing of the theatres by the Puritans, in 1642, plainly distressed the musicians almost as much as the players. Their occupation was practically gone, although not declared illegal by Act of Parliament. "Our music," writes the author of the Actor's Remonstrance, 1643, "that was held so delectable and precious that they scorned to come to a tavern under twenty shillings salary for two hours, now wander with their instruments under their cloaks in--I mean such as have any-into all houses of good fellowship, saluting every room where there is company with, 'Will you have any music, gentlemen ?" "

The practice of playing music between the acts is of long standing, the frequent appropriateness of these interludes having been repeatedly commented on, however. A writer in the last century expressly reports that at the end of every act, the audience, “carried away by a jig of Vivaldi's or a concerto of Giardini's, lose every warm impression relative to the piece, and begin again cool and unconcerned as at the commencement of the representation." He advocates the introduction of music adapted to the subject: "The music after an act should commence in the tone of the preceding passion, and be gradually varied till it accords with the tone of the passion that is to succeed in the next act," so that "cheerful, tender, melancholy, or animated impressions" may be inspired as the occasion may need. At the conclusion of the second act of Gammer Gurton's Needle,

At the Restoration, however, king, actors, and orchestra all enjoyed their own again. Presently, for the first time it would seem in an English theatre, the musicians were assigned that intrenched position between the pit and the stage they have ever since maintained. "The front of the stage is opened, and the band of twenty-four violins with the harpsicals and theorbos which accompany the voices are placed between the pit and the stage." So runs one of the preliminary stage directions in the version of Shakespeare's Tempest, arranged by Dryden and Davenant for performance at the Duke's Theatre, Lincoln's-inn-fields, in 1667. The change was, no doubt, introduced by