Aids to Memory/Section X

"Good morning, Mr. Smith! How is it I find you sitting under the park trees without your books? You'll be plucked at the examination next week, if you go on like this. I remember, when I passed my 'little go' at the University, I had to work day and night, with a wet towel bound round my head, and then it was a close shave to get through all right!"

"Ah! my plan's very different, Mr. Brown. I only devote four hours a day to actual study, and I can do more in that time than I used to do before in two or three days. Besides, the exercise and recreation I take keep my brain clear for the morrow's work."

"You astonish me! I suppose, then, you have found out what is called a royal road to learning?"

"Oh, no! I still keep in the same road, but have given up the old conveyances I used to travel by."

"You speak in enigmas. Pray explain yourself."

"I will do so as well as I can. Let me first ask you a question. What is necessary to be done in study ​when a certain portion of any subject is quite clear to us—when, in fact, we understand it?"

"Why, to fix it in our minds, of course. I might understand, by reading a book, all the events in the life of Queen Anne, but if I could not recall them at will, the knowledge would be nearly valueless to me."

"Just so, and does not the process of fixing in the memory what is received into the understanding take up the largest portion of your study hours?"

"Undoubtedly. If one had nothing to do but read and comprehend, a student's life would be very comfortable."

"And such, Mr. Brown, I have made it. The memory-work, which used to be the hardest, is now the easiest part of self-education. The old conveyances I referred to are the tedious and uncertain methods of committing to memory. I no longer 'wait for the waggon,' but jump briskly into the rattling railway-train. Not a 'new' or a 'royal road,' remember, but an expeditious mode of transit."

"Then, indeed, I suppose it's true what Mr. Jones told me the other day. He said you had been taking lessons in Mnemonics."

"Quite correct, my boy! And I only wish I had studied the subject before."

"Well, to tell you the truth, I don't think much of it. The idea of using an artificial memory when God has supplied us with a natural one, does not please me all."

"Why do you wear spectacles, then, when God has given you natural eye-sight? Or why do you use a telescope or a microscope to look at things with? All these things are artificial, and so are the houses we live in, the clothes we wear, and, to a great extent, the food we eat."

"You have me there, I admit. But it appears to me that the mind of man is different from the body, and its faculties independent of the help of art."

​"Why, then, if nature is so perfect, is the process of retaining ideas so laborious? You yourself admitted just not that it was so. Don't think I undervalue nature; for Mnemonics could not be a science unless it were based on natural principles. We remember by Mnemonics as we remember without it. The only difference is in the nature of the associations we employ. The association or attraction of ideas is as much a law of mind as the gravitation or cohesion of substances is of matter. In either case, the attraction is facilitated, and even produced, by artificial means. Thus, if I fling a ball to the ground, I cause it to obey gravitation; and if I press two pieces of dough together to make a loaf, I insure cohesion. In the same way, if I cause two ideas to possess a stronger affinity for each other than they naturally have, I can remember them more perfectly. The term 'artificial memory,' applied to Mnemonics, is a misnomer; for it is really the science of improving the natural memory."

"Your argument is very striking; in fact, without punning, attractive! But is not the use of Mnemonics an indirect method of acquiring knowledge? Instead of grappling with a difficulty, it avoids it by a roundabout process, and even substitutes something else instead. The actual thing to be remembered is at times quite lost sight of."

"It is only lost sight of in the same sense that the kernel of a nut is to a man who can crack the shell whenever he wants to get at it. It would be a waste of time, in gathering nuts, to crack each one as we went on. So would it be to climb the summit of a mountain, for the purpose of reaching the other side, if we could walk round the base. The instinct of the land-crab, on its passage to the sea-shore, is to proceed in a direct line; if it meet with an obstacle, it will spend, perhaps, half an hour in getting over it, instead of choosing a more circuitous, but expeditious, route. The reason of man teaches him to cut pathways ​round insurmountable rocks, and throw bridges over deep rivers."

All this seems plausible enough, but I have yet another objection to make. Our mutual friend Robinson was with me when Jones broached the subject of your using Mnemonics; and he said that, so far from it being a help, it was a hindrance, and that one had not only to remember the actual facts, but a lot of other things as well. What have you to say to that, Mr. Smith?"

"Simply, Mr. Brown, that your last argument is the easiest answered. To return to the man with the nuts. He might say that it was foolish to take home the shells, when all he wanted was the kernels. Suppose you were going to send any brittle articles, such as glass or earthenware, by the luggage train, you would take care to pack them up in as many other things as possible, in order to preserve them unbroken. What would you say to a waiter who persisted in fetching one by one the various appurtenances of your dinner, instead of bringing them altogether on a tray, and defended himself by pleading that you did not actually want the latter article, and it was only giving him additional trouble to bring it? Or suppose you offered the use of a hand-barrow to a friend who had purchased twenty or thirty articles at an auction, and he refused on the ground that he had quite enough to take home without saddling himself with the barrow as well? The fact is, Mnemonics only requires to be understood and practised in order to be appreciated. If the system chosen be a sound one, the application is as simple as that of the lever in mechanics, and quite as wonderful in its practical results."

"Well, Mr. Smith, I feel almost convinced, and will give the system a fair trial. If it can accomplish what you claim for it, it is indeed valuable, and ought to be made universally known."

And, with a cordial shake of the hands, our two friends separated.

As their conversation speaks for itself, the writer will ​not supplement it by any critical remarks; but, before parting company with his readers, ventures to present them with a little token of remembrance in the shape of a song entitled, "Sweet Thoughts of Olden Time," adapted to the tune of "Auld Lang Syne."