the eye of the law absolved him. No less a sum than £12,000, earned by continued labor, did he thus pay away. From 1695 to 1699 he had the post of accountant to the commissioners of the glass duty. In the January of 1701, appeared one of his most famous productions, "The True-born Englishman," a satire of the first order of merit. Rugged the verse is without doubt, but the language is as manly as the sentiment, and the sarcasm is sharp as a needle, pierces to the marrow, and then burns like caustic. It has been said that the two first lines of a poem will usually show whether it is worth reading. The two first of "The True-born Englishman," are Wherever God erects a house of prayer, Let the reader continue,-or rather, with the poem before him, let him discontinue reading if he can. Many couplets will cling to the least tenacious memory; --such as Great families of yesterday we show, dangerous weapon to use. What with fools who cannot, and rogues who will not understand, it too frequently wounds him who wields it not less than those against whom it is employed. "But consider, my dear lad, that fools cannot distinguish this-and that knaves will not," said Eugenius to Yorick. Sound churchmen were delighted with the barbarous proposals, found in "the shortest way," for the treatment of non-conformists; grave clergymen said the book ought to be bound with the sacred Scriptures. The dissenters were not less affected-but in a dif ferent way: in the anonymous author of the tract they saw only a blood-thirsty foe. At last the secret was discovered;-the churchmen were furious at the blow they had received, so deeply humiliating to them as Christians and people of intelligence; the dissenters were far from being pleased-they could not forgive their advocate the possession of talents so superior to their own; and they never ceased to remember with bitterness the ridicule they had incurred by being hoaxed by their own hoax. But though the churchmen were the laughingstock of all but their own partisans, they were powerful, and And lords whose parents were, the Lord knows had the means of vengeance in their hands. who. Let us read the London Gazette, Jan. 10th, 1702-3: "Whereas Daniel De Foe, alias De Fooe, is charged with writing a scandalous and seditious pamphlet, entitled "The Shortest Way with the Dissenters;" he is a middle-sized, spare man, about forty years old, of a brown complexion, and dark brown-colored hair, but wears a wig; a hooked nose, a sharp chin, grey eyes, and a large mole near his mouth; was born in London, and for many years was a hose-factor in Free The poem sold rapidly. The author published nine editions, and it was issued to the world twelve times without his concurrence. Of the cheaper numbers 80,000 were sold. Englishmen learned, and with fair grace acknowledged the truth of the lesson, that their national extraction instead of being pure, was obscure and confused in the extreme. Never again were Dutchmen sneered at for not being True-man's-yard, in Corn-hill, and now is owner of born Englishmen. the brick and pantile works near Tilbury Fort, In March, 1702, the great King William in Essex: whoever shall discover the said Daniel died. Times were now to change. In- De Foe to one of her Majesty's principal secretolerant churchmen were to gain a passing of the peace, so as he may be apprehended, shall taries of state, or any of her Majesty's justices ascendancy, and conscientious dissenters have a reward of fifty pounds, which her Mawere to be persecuted. At this crisis De-jesty has ordered immediately to be paid on such foe sent forth his most notorious, and, discovery." perhaps, his most brilliant political pamphlet-the "Shortest Way with the Dissenters; a Proposal for the establishment of the church. London: 1702." Those who have studied the powers of irony displayed in this and other similar writings of Defoe, will not, however much they continue to admire Gulliver's Travels, be inclined to rate the Dean's irony as preeminent for originality. But irony is a Defoe having disappeared from the storm, the bookseller and printer were taken into custody. On this the author surrendered himself into the hands of the Philistines. On February 24th, 1703, he was indicted for libelling the Tory party, and he was tried at the Old Bailey in the following July; he was found guilty, and the sentence was, that he should pay 200 marks to the Queen; stand three times in the pillory; be imprisoned during the Queen's pleasure; and find sureties for his good behavior for seven years. It may not be omitted, moreover, that the House of Commons, February 25th, 1702-3, resolved with regard to "The Shortest Way," "that this book, being full of false and scandalous reflections on this parliament, and tending to promote sedition, be burned by the hands of the common hangman, to-morrow, in New Palace-yard." Poor book! Poor honorable members! They little thought what was the principal thing that fire destroyed! Let us now read the London Gazette, No. 3936, Thursday, July 29th, to Monday, August 2nd, 1703: "London, July 31st. On the 29th instant, Daniel Foe, alias, De Foe, stood in the pillory before the Royal Exchange in Corn-hill, as he did yesterday near the conduit in Cheapside, and this day at Temple-bar," &c. &c. But to the great mortification of enthusiastic admirers of religious intolerance, the mob did not annoy this hose-factor when exposed in the pillory, but closing round him protected him from all annoyance-sang his songs in compliment to him, drank his health, and pelted himnot with rotten eggs, but with flowers. Really and truly, the House of Commons, and all the bigoted ecclesiastics of the kingdom were the ones pilloried, and not the courageous writer. Pope wrote in the Dunciad: "Earless on high stood unabashed De Foe." But the poet lived to repent the line, and to learn (to use the happy words of an eminent author) that in attempting to murder he had committed suicide. Swift named Defoe as "the fellow that was pilloried: I forget his name:" but a cruel punishment was in store for that selfish, bad, dishonest man. The martyr himself wrote, while in Newgate, an ode to the pillory, containing the following lines: "Hail! hi'roglyphick state machine, Men, that are men, can in thee feel no pain, But never frights the wise or well-fixed mind: And scandals innocence adorn." This trial stripped Defoe of £3,500, again reducing him, with a wife and family, to penury. But while in prison he worked hard. The greater the difficulties around him, the greater became the man. He commenced his newspaper, "the Review," the parent of the Tatler, Spectator, Rambler. At first it only came out twice a week; but soon an additional weekly number was added. Of this periodical, Defoe was the sole writer. In prison and out of prison, in sickness and health, he supplied the papers: an unparalelled instance of industry! But this was only a portion, and a small one, of his toil. Besides "the Review," which lasted for thirteen years, no less than one hundred and eighty-three separate works - poems, novels, political essays, histories, and expositions of moral questions-unquestionably came from his pen; and fifty-two more are, with sufficient reason, attributed to him. But a change in his lot is at hand. In 1704, he is released from prison by the influence of Harley. In 1705, he is sent abroad by Harley on a secret mission. In 1706, he makes the first of a series of visits to Scotland, to negociate and forward the Union; in bringing about which admirable measure he was mainly instrumental. In 1708, he entered Godolphin's service-that is, he remained in the Queen's, with Harley's warm approval. Again he is indicted for writings, the only fault of which was, that they were addressed to blockheads and dishonest men. Again he has to pay dear for his indulgence in irony. He is fined £800 and thrown into Newgate. But after a few months confinement, he is released, November, 1713. In July, 1714, Anne dies; and with her death, a pension Defoe had received for his services in Scotland ceases. In 1715, Defoe retired from political life, and took his farewell to party-strife in an Appeal to honor and justice, though it be of his worst enemies. By Daniel De Foe. Being a true account of his conduct in public affairs. London, 1715." While he was employed in revising the work, he was struck with apoplexy. But soon the lion-hearted man revived, and he was at work again with his pen. In 1719 (when the author was fiftyeight years of age) appeared Robinson Crusoe. From his retirement, from the arena of politics, history says little of him, save that which his immortal works tell us. In 1724 he was living in opulence and with dignity, at a house in Church street, Newington, which is at the present day an object of curiosity, as having been the residence of the celebrated writer and patriot. He was then a hale, hearty, old gentleman, distressed certainly by bodily ailments, but with a vigorous intellect, and a heart kindly as ever. It was about this time that one Thomas Webb wrote: "And poor distressed I, left alone, and no one to go and speak to, save only Mr. Defoe, who hath acted a noble and generous part towards me and my poor children. The Lord reward him and his with the blessings of the upper and nether spring, and with the blessings of his basket and store." A fresh reverse comes. And in 1730, the aged Defoe is in a debtors' prison. Yet another blow ;-the steel enters to the heart. His son, in whom he trusted, dishonors his name! Let us read Defoe's letter to his son-in-law, Mr. Baker, the celebrated naturalist : "Dear Mr. Baker, my heart; and as I am at this time under a very Ex "It adds to my grief that it is so difficult for London, in Kent; nor have I a lodging in London, for me to see you. I am at a distance from nor have I been at that place in the Old Bailey since I wrote you I was removed from it. present I am weak, having had some fits of a fever that have left me low. But those things much more. At "I have not seen son or daughter, wife or child, many weeks, and know not which way to see them. They dare not come by water, and by land here is no coach, and I know not what to do. "I have your very kind and affectionate letter of the 1st, but not come to my hand till the 10th; where it had been delayed I know not, as your kind manner, and kinder thought from which it flows (for I take all you say as I believe you to be, sincere and Nathaniel-like, without guile), was a particular satisfaction to me; so the stop of a letter, however it happened, deprived me of that cordial too many days, con- "I would say (I hope) with comfort, that 'tis sidering how much I stood in need of it, to sup- yet well. I am so near my journey's end, and port a mind sinking under the weight of an am hastening to the place where the weary are affliction too heavy for my strength, and look-at rest, and where the wicked ceased to trouble: ing on myself as abandoned of every comfort, every friend, and every relative, except such only as are able to give me no assistance. I am sorry you should say at the beginning of of your letter you were debarred seeing me. Depend on my sincerity for this: I am far from debarring you. On the contrary, it would be a greater comfort to me than any I now enjoy, that I could have your agreeable visits with safety, and could see both you and my dearest Sophia, could it be without giving her the grief of seeing her father in tenebris, and under the load of insupportable sorrows. I am sorry I must open my griefs so far as to tell her, it is not the blow I received from a wicked, perjured, contemptible enemy that has broken in upon my spirit; which, as she well knows, has carried me on through greater disasters than these. But it has been the injustice, unkindness, and, I must say, inhuman dealing of my own son, which has both ruined my family, and, in a word, has broken be it that the passage is rough, and the day stormy, by what way soever He please to bring me to the end of it, I desire to finish life with this temper of soul in all cases. Te Duem laudamus. "It adds to my grief that I must never see the pledge of your mutual love, my little grandson. Give him my blessing, and may he be to you both your joy in youth and your comfort in age, and never add a sigh to your sorrow. But, alas! that is not to be expected. Kiss my dear Sophy once more for me; and if I must see her no more, tell her this is from a father, that loved her above all his comforts to his last breath.Your unhappy D. F. "About two miles from Greenwich, Kent, Tuesday, Aug. 12, 1730." The brave old man's work was almost accomplished. His sufferings were at their bitterest; but, thank God! near their termination. To the very last he appears to have exerted himself. At the close of 1729, he was engaged on a work of imagination, sending revised sheets to his publisher, asking pardon for a delay in returning them, caused by "exceeding illness," and promising to be prompt with the remainder. There is no evidence that this last effort was ever published. The manuscript is in the possession of Mr. Dawson Turner, of Suffolk. gained distinction in them all; he who, honorable, singlehearted, fierce in the day of battle, was worthy the regard and confidence of England's last great king, William III.—was Daniel Defoe, gentleman! Not many insights do we get into Defoe's domestic life. He was married twice; firstly, to Mary; and, secondly, to Susannah, but the maiden surname of neither is known. In the year 1706, he had seven children; but in 1707, his daughter Martha died. One son, Daniel Defoe, emiOn April 24, 1731, he was taken by grated to Carolina, carrying with him, as death in Rope-makers'-alley, Moorfields, his father's representative, a liberal conin the parish of St. Giles's, Cripplegate-tribution to that stock of Anglo-Saxon the same parish in which he first drew the intellect (or true-born English!) that has breath of life. Whether he expired in a made our Transatlantic cousins (of whom decent lodging, or in a dismal garret- we are so naturally proud) a nation bewhether alone, or tended in his last mo- loved and honored wherever our common ments by his wife and children, it is im- tongue is spoken. Another son, Bernard, possible to say. The Parish Register con- took the name of Norton, and was mentains the fullest account extant of his in- tioned by Pope in the "Dunciad." He terment: "1731, Daniel Defoe, gentleman. was editor of "The Flying Post," and To Tindall's (Lethargy), April 26." Tin- was the author of "A Complete Dictiondall's was the general burial-ground for ary, by B. N. Defoe, Gent., 1735," a Dissenters. "Memoir of the House of Orange," and "The Life of Alderman Barber." The daughters managed to recover their property from their despicable brother, and settled comfortably in Life-Hannah as a maiden lady, Henrietta as the wife of a gentleman of condition. Sophia's (Mrs. Baker's) son lived to be the author of A twinge shakes the nerves as we read that ambiguous word gentleman. It is such a pretty title to give Daniel Defoe. great grandson of Defoe was hanged at Tyburn, Jan. 2, 1771; and another great grandson was, in 1787, cook on the Savage sloop-of-war. These two last, we may presume, were the descendants of the wretch who, whilst "living in a profusion of plenty," allowed his mother and sisters to be in want! From this branch came "the poor descendant from Defoe," to support whose old age there has lately been an appeal to the charitable in the columns of the Times. The man who when a beardless youth, saw the truth, and fearlessly declared itwho risked his life for what he felt to be his duty-who fought zealously, and without fainting, for freedom, and was, with-"The Companion to the Play-house." A out doubt, an instrument in the hands of Providence for the preservation of our national religion-for in those days of peril, when the weight of a feather would at times have turned the balance in favor of Romanism, Protestantism was guarded not by the Anglican priesthood (for they betrayed her), but by the great champions of spiritual freedom, the Noncomformists -the man who labored effectually in consolidating the sister countries of England and Scotland; who was the cause of innumerable social reforms, amongst which the removal of the abuses of the sanctuary at Whitefriars (Alsatia), and the Mint, may be mentioned; who raised his voice against the cruelties of slavery, devised schemes for the amelioration of the poor, and continually urged that woman, so formed by nature to elevate man, should be raised from the depths of ignorance, which was her lot in most cases; the man who tried so many fields of literature, and In what estimation are we to hold Defoe as a writer of fiction? And for what is the English novel indebted to him? The latter question can be answered in a few words and with great precision. Defoe brought into the domain of imaginative prose-writing graphic descriptions of scenes, events and mental emotions, and quick, pointed conversations. Colonel Jack, a poor miserable little beggar boy (if miserable may be applied to an urchin with good health and spirits), comes into possession of £5 as his share of a plunder he has achieved with another and an older lad. Hear his story: "Nothing could be more perplexing than this money was to me all that night. I carried it in my hand a good while, for it was in gold, all but fourteen shillings; and that is to say, it was four guineas, and that fourteen shillings was more difficult to carry than the four guineas. At last I sat down and pulled off one of my shoes, and put the four guineas in that; but after I had gone awhile, my shoe hurt me, so I could not go; so I was fain to sit down again, and take it out of my shoe, and carry it in my hand; then I found a dirty linen rag in the street, and I took that up and wrapped it all together, and carried it in that a good way. I have often since heard people say, when they have been talking of money that they could not get in, I wish I had it in a foul clout; in truth I had mine in a foul clout; for it was foul according to the letter of that saying, but it served me till I came to a convenient place, and then I sat down and washed the cloth in the kennel, and so put my money in again." The boy carries the money to his lodging, and lies down to sleep, with his hand, clutching it, he thrust it into his bosom. "Every now and then dropping asleep, I should dream that my money was lost, and start like one frightened; then, finding it fast in my hand, try to go asleep again, but could not for a long while, then drop and start again. At last a fancy came into my head, that if I fell asleep, I should dream of the money, and talk of it in my sleep, and tell I had money; which if I should do, and one of the rogues should hear me, they would pick it out of my bosom, and of my hand, too, without waking me; and after that thought I could not sleep a wink more so I passed the night over in care and anxiety enough; and, this, I may safely say, was the first night's rest that I lost by the cares of this life and the deceitfulness of riches." When day came, he wandered towards Stepney, turning in his mind what he should do with his wealth; and at last sitting down and crying in his perplexity. Then he rises and goes in search of a tree to hide it in. "I crossed the road at Mile End; and in the middle of the town went down a lane that goes to the Blind Beggar's at Bethnal-green. When I came a little way over the lane, I found a footpath over the fields, and in those fields several trees for my turn as I thought: at last one tree had a little hole in it, pretty high out of my reach, and I climbed up the tree to get it; and when I came there, I put my hand in, and found, as I thought, a place very fit; so I placed my treasure there, and was mighty well satisagain, to lay it more commodiously, as I fied with it; but, behold, putting my hand in thought, of a sudden it slipped away from me, and I found the tree was hollow, and my little parcel was fallen in quite out of my reach, and how far it might go in I knew not; so, that in a word, my money was quite gone, irrecoverably lost; there could be no room so much as to hope ever to see it again, for 'twas a vast great tree. "And young as I was, I was now sensible what a fool I was before, that I could not think of ways to keep my money, but I must come thus far to throw it into a hole where I could not reach it: well, I thrust my hand quite up to my elbow, but no bottom was to be found, or any end of the hole or cavity; I got a stick of the tree, and thrust it in a great way, but all was one; then I cried, nay roared out, I was in such a passion: then I got down the tree, then up again, and thrust in my hand in again, till I scratched my arm, and made it bleed violently; then I began to think I had not so much as a half-penny of it left for a half-penny roll, and I was hungry, and then I cried again: then I came away in despair, crying and roaring like a boy that had been whipped; then I went back again to the tree, and up the tree again, and thus I did several times. "The last time I had gotten up the tree I happened to come down not on the same side that I went up and came down before, but on the other side of the tree, and on the other side of the bank also; and, behold, the tree had a great open place in the side of it close to the ground, as old hollow trees often have; and looking into the open place, to my inexpressible joy there lay my money and my linen rag, all wrapped up just as I had put it into the hole; for the tree being hollow all the way up, there had been some moss or light stuff, which I had not judgment enough to know was not firm, that had given way when it came to drop out of my hand, and so it had slipped quite down at once. for I hollo'd quite out loud when I saw it; thus "I was but a child, and I rejoiced like a child, I ran to it and snatched it up, hugged and kissed the dirty rag a hundred times; then danced and jumped about, and was from one end of the field to the other; and, in short, I knew not what, much less do I know what I did, though I shall never forget the thing, either what a sinking grief it was to my heart when I thought I had lost it, or what a flood of joy overwhelmed me when I had got it again." Jack now goes to an old clothes-shop in Whitechapel, and looks at the clothes hanging at the door. "Well, young gentleman,' says a man that stood at the door, you look wishfully; do you see anything you like, and will your pocket |