brance; and those who cannot handle it without danger of defilement, will always do wisest not to meddle with it.

In any notice of De Foe's smaller fictions, the curious "Relation of the Apparition of Mrs. Veal," published in 1705, ought not to be omitted. Could a ghost story, under any circumstances, be true, one could not fail to believe this : it seems as plain and indubitable matter of fact as ever passed before one's eyes. The air of credibility in it is astonishing. As Sir Walter Scott says, "The whole is so distinctly circumstantial, that were it not for the impossibility, or extreme improbability at least, of such an occurrence, the evidence could not but support the story." One regrets that it should have been published with no worthier intention than that of puffing a dull book which the publisher could not sell—“ Drelincourt's Book of Consolations against the Fear of Death." This work is incidentally spoken of approvingly by the ghost; and the story, as desired, had the effect of creating a large demand for it. The whole thing of course was a bold and indefensible imposition—one of the few transactions of De Foe, which we can neither justify nor are careful about excusing, though we do not know that it is a whit more discreditable than any of the innumerable other forms of puffery now regularly practised by people who pass muster for very honourable men.

Besides the works already mentioned, De Foe published several other popular productions, some of which still continue in circulation. There is the "Religious Courtship," known familiarly to most serious servant-maids, and formerly a favourite companion of their mistresses. "Christian Conversation," and the "Family Instructor," have likewise their admirers in certain quarters; and the "Complete Tradesman," is also now and then republished for the benefit of apprentices who may have pocket-money to invest in it. But by far the most beautiful and interesting of these popular compositions is the "Journal of the Plague-Year," a work which is often received as a veritable history, but which is in fact as much a fiction as "Robinson Crusoe

or

Captain Singleton." It is true that in this touching narrative, the author has contrived to mingle much that is authentic with the inventions of his own brain; but it is impossible to distinguish the real from the imaginary; and the whole is such a likeness to the dread original,

66 as to

confound the sceptic, and encircle him with enchantments." "So faithful," says one, "is the portrait of that distressing calamity-so entire its accordance with what has been delivered by other writers-so probable the circumstances of all the stories, and so artless the style in which they are delivered, that it would baffle the ingenuity of any one but De Foe to frame a history with so many attributes of truth upon the basis of fiction."* "Had he not been the author of Robinson Crusoe," says Scott, "De Foe would have deserved immortality for the genius which he has displayed in this work."

The whole of De Foe's later writings were exceedingly successful, and enjoyed an extensive circulation. While these were severally proceeding in rapid succession from his pen, he occasionally interrupted them to bring out some temporary pamphlet. In a preface to one such publication he alludes to his growing infirmities and advancing age, but holds himself prepared to devote his still remaining days to the advocacy of the public interests. "I hope," says he, "the reader will excuse the vanity of an officious old man, if, like Cato, I inquire whether or no I can yet do any thing for my country?"

In all his latter years De Foe appears to have realised a reasonable income by his writings; yet it is melancholy to contemplate him journeying heavily towards the end, tormented with severe diseases, and plundered and abandoned by an ungrateful son, whose despicable worthlessness fulfilled old Jacob's most intolerable apprehension-hurrying down his father's grey and venerable hairs with sorrow to the grave. He passed out of this earthly existence on the 24th April, 1731, and his remains were interred in the burial-ground of Bunhill Fields.

We have thus briefly traced the life of the greatest political pamphleteer, and most ingenious, ready writer for the million that England has produced. We have necessarily left unnoticed an immense number of his writings; but we have, nevertheless, seen something of the manner of man he was. It seems to us that he is of a kind that will bear looking at. A brawny, resolute, substantial Englishman: one who, with right on his side, was afraid of neither man nor devil. Not entirely a pacific man, but rather constitutionally pugnacious; and decidedly given to interfere with any thing and every

*De Foe's Life and Times, by Walter Wilson.

thing about him which he might fancy to be going wrong. Judging from these two hundred publications, it would appear that he did not particularly cultivate the ordinarily commendable “talent of silence." He had very little talent of that kind. He was a downright noisy man; prompt to controvert, contentious, prone to disputation; a perpetual motion of thoughts and thick-flowing fancies, which he had neither power nor disposition to suppress, but of which, on the contrary, he must and would deliver himself. But what he had to say was full of sense and spirit, and therefore worthy of the saying. People listened to him too with more than common attention. There is no doubt that De Foe's influence among the masses was greater than that of any of the political writers of his age. He was the Cobbett of the Revolution. But he was a greater and a better man than Cobbett a man of firmer principle, and of a larger candour and liberality. He is considerately tolerant: he is a lover of fairness—a faithful respecter and adorer of the truth. The views he gives you have been arrived at by just insight, or at any rate by a careful examination of the things and circumstances to which they are related.

As a man, he seems to have been eminently sincere in his opinions. Whatsoever he believed, that he boldly professed, and manifested in his conduct without disguise. There is no trimming to party notions, no adroit subserviency, no cunning dodgery to avoid the censures of such as may think fit to take offence, but a direct and manly expression of all he thinks and feels. Honesty is engrained in his constitution. We have seen how he stood by his obligations in the midst of his misfortunes, and how he strove to realise in his transactions the high integrity which he admired and recommended in his teachings. He is the same man in his life as in his writings. In these he has a keen regard for whatsoever is graphic, interesting, and effective. Though he hopes to instruct, he desires to be entertaining; but in every case he maintains a purpose, and writes for the accomplishment of an end. There are few instances in history of so entire a surrendering of a man's self to popular and public interests. He lives, moves,

and has his being in one lifelong effort to advance the public welfare. As a politician, all his aims are honest, liberal, and thoroughgoing. In all his endeavours he seeks to advance his object, and not himself; and in this respect he is worthy of

universal admiration. How immeasurably superior, in this respect, to many a popular champion of later times! His patriotism and philanthropy are not professional-are not assumed for purposes of vanity or ambition; but they are real and earnest, and he grudges not to suffer penalties on their account. There is in him an admirable self-abandonment— a prodigal generosity, which sacrifices comfort, interest, and reputation for the sake of a cherished cause that has been conscientiously and deliberately embraced. This, indeed, is the sign of a true patriot—that he will give himself, and boast nothing of his devotion; counting lightly of all losses and chagrins, and, if needs be, accepting even Danton's reckless and stern alternative—“Let my name be blighted, if so only the good cause may prosper!" De Foe evidently lived much under a "blighted name;" but he endured it with a noble patience, and along with it manifold persecutions, exposures in the pillory, and imprisonments-and all for an able and manly advocacy of principles and sentiments whose truth and rightfulness time has since asserted and confirmed. Whoso marcheth in the van of the unborn events, under the contempt and hootings of the faithless, let him courageously hold on along the path of his aspirations—

"My faith is large in Time,

And that which shapes it to some perfect end."

THE DAUPHIN,

COMMONLY CALLED LOUIS XVII.❤

L-THE PALACE OF VERSAILLES.

On the 27th of March, 1785, there were the gayest manifestations of rejoicing at the Château de Versailles. King Louis XVI., followed by all his court, went to the palace chapel to hear Te Deum sung in celebration of the birth of a young prince, his second son, who came into the world at five minutes before seven in the evening." At half-past eight, the infant was baptized, according to the forms of the Catholic faith, by no less a personage than the Cardinal de Rohan, bishop of Strasbourg, and Grand Almoner of France, assisted in the minor operations by the Abbé Broqueville, vicar of Versailles. The ceremony accomplished, brilliant fireworks were displayed, towards nine o'clock, on the Place d'Armes, in the presence of his majesty and the court. Loudly from all the steeples round about the bells were ringing cheerily; and onwards, on the way to Paris, the "grand master of ceremonies" was posting fast, to announce to the good people of that city the inspiriting intelligence of the advent of a new prince. Arrived thither, and his message delivered, the cannon of the Bastille respond to the cannon of the Invalides. Spontaneous illuminations every where burst forth; the air is loud with the noise of bells; and the hearty acclamations of the people seem to be the testimony of a reverent and unfeigned respect for the reigning monarch and his family.

The great Revolution is approaching, but as yet its elements are at work invisibly, like the secret forces of a volcano that is preparing to explode. No one dreads or dreams of the terrible event. There is yet some remaining loyalty in the land; and this has gathered round the person of the

From "Chambers's Repository," 1854.