their own Nature, are made to be forgotten.

In another Angle is to be seen the Memory's Garden, in which her most
pleasant things are not only Deposited, but Planted, Transplanted,
Grafted, Inoculated, and obtain all possible Propagation and
Encrease; these are the most pleasant, delightful, and agreeable
things, call'd Envy, Slander, Revenge, Strife and Malice, with the
Additions of Ill-turns, Reproaches, and all manner of Wrong; these
are caressed in the Cabinet of the Memory, with a World of Pleasure
never let pass, and carefully Cultivated with all imaginable Art.

There are multitudes of Weeds, Toys, Chat, Story, Fiction, and Lying,
which in the great throng of passant Affairs, stop by the way, and
crowding up the Place, leave no room for their Betters that come
behind, which makes many a good Guess be put by, and left to go clear
thro' for want of Entertainment.

There are a multitude of things very curious and observable,
concerning this little, but very accurate thing, called Memory; but
above all, I see nothing so very curious, as the wonderful Art of
Wilful Forgetfulness; and as 'tis a thing, indeed, I never could find
any Person compleatly Master of, it pleased me very much, to find
this Author has made a large Essay, to prove there is really no such
Power in Nature; and that the Pretenders to it are all Impostors, and
put a Banter upon the World; for that it is impossible for any Man to
oblige himself to forget a thing, since he that can remember to
forget, and at the same time forget to remember, has an Art above
the Devil.

In his Laboratory you see a Fancy preserv'd a la Mummy, several