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grace acknowledged the truth of the is charged with writing a scandalous and lesson, that their national extraction seditious pamphlet, entitled “ The Shortest instead of being pure, was obscure

Way with the Dissenters;" he is a middleand confused in the extreme. Never sized, spare-man, about forty years old, of a again were Dutchmen sneered at

brown complexion, and dark brown-coloured

hair, but wears a wig; a hooked nose, a for not being true-born Englishmen.

sharp chin, grey eyes, and a large mole near In March, 1702, the great King

bis iouth ; was born in London, and for William died. Times were now to

many years was a hosc-factor, in Freeman's. change. Intolerant churchmen were

yard, in Corn-hill, and now is owner of the to gain a passing ascendancy, and

brick and pantile works near Tilbury Fort, conscientious dissenters were to be in Essex : wlioerer shall discorer the said persecuted. At this crisis Defoe Daniel De Foe to one of her Majesty's prin. sent forth his most notorious, and, per- cipal secretaries of state, or any of her Mahaps, his most brilliant political pam

jesty's justices of the peace, so as he may be phlet--the “Shortest Way with the

apprehended, shall have a reward of fifty Dissenters; a Proposal for the es

pounds, which her Majesty has ordered imtablishment of the church. London:

mediately to be paid on such discovery." 1702.” Those who have studied the Defoe having disappeared from the powers of irony displayed in this and storm, the bookseller and printer other similar writings of Defoe, will were taken into custody. On this, not, however much they continue to the author surrendered himself into admire Gulliver's Travels, be inclined the hands of the Philistines. On to rate the Dean's irony as pre-eminent February 24th, 1703, he was indicted for originality. But irony is a dan- for libelling the Tory party, and he gerous weapon to use. What with was tried at the old Bailey in the fools who cannot, and rogues who following July; he was found guilty, will not understand, it too frequently and the sentence was, that he should wounds him who wields it not less pay 200 marks to the Queen ; stand than those against whom it is em

three times in the pillory ; be impriployed. “But consider, my dear lad, soned during the Queen's pleasure ; that fools cannot distinguish this,-- and find sureties for his good behaviour and that knaves will not,” said Eu

for seven years. genius to Yorick. Sound churchmen It may not be omitted, moreover, were delighted with the barbarous that the House of Commons, February proposals, found in “the shortest 25th, 1702-3, resolved with regard to way,” for the treatment of non-con- “The Shortest Way,” “that this book, formists ; grave clergymen said the being full of false and scandalous book ought to be bound with the reflections on this parliament, and sacred Scriptures. The dissenters tending to promote sedition, be burnt were not less affected-but in a dif- by the hands of the common hangferent way: in the anonymous author man, to-morrow, in New Palace-yard.” of the tract they saw only a blood- Poor book! Poor honourable memthirsty foe. At last the secret was bers! They little thought what was discovered ;--the churchmen

the principal thing that tiredestroyed ! furious at the blow they had received,

Let us now read the London Gazette, so deeply humiliating to them as No. 3,936, Thursday, July 29th, to Christians and people of intelligence; Monday, August 2nd, 1703 :-“ Lonthe dissenters were far from being don, July 31st. On the 29th instant, pleased--they could not forgive their Daniel Foe, alias, De Foe, stood in advocate the possession of talents so the pillory before the Royal Exchange superior to their own; and they never in Corn-hill, as he did yesterday near ceased to remember with bitterness the conduit in Cheapside, and this the ridicule they had incurred by day at Temple-bar," &c., &c. But to being hoaxed by their own hoa.c. the great mortification of enthusiastic But though the churchmen were the admirers of religious intolerance, the laughingstock of all but their own mob did not annoy this hose-factor partizans, they were powerful, and when exposed in the pillory, but closhad the means of vengeance in their ing round him protected him from hands. Let us read the London all annoyance, sang bis songs in comGazette, Jan. 10th, 1702-3:

pliment to him, drank his health,

and pelted him-not with rotten eggs, “Whereas Daniel De Foe, alias De Fooe, but with flowers. Really and truly,


the House of ('ommons, and all the series of visits to Scotland, to negoci. bigoted ecclesiastics of the kingdom, ate and forward the Union ; in bringwere the ones pilloried, and not the ing about which admirable measure courageous writer. Pope wrote in he was mainly instrumental. the Dunciad:

In 1708, he entered Godolphin's

service--that is, he remained in the “ Earless on high stood unabashed De Foe." Queen's, with Harley's warm ap

proval. But the poet lived to repent the Again he is indicted for writings, line, and to learn (to use the happy the only fault of which was, that words of an eminent author) that in they were addressed to blockheads attempting to murder he had com- and dishonest men. Again he has mitted suicide. Swift named Defoe

to pay dear for his indulgence in as “the fellow that was pilloried : irony. He is fined £800 and thrown I forget his name:" but a cruel punish- into Newgate. But after a few ment was in store for that selfish, months' confinement, he is released, bad, dishonest man. The martyr November, 1713. himself wrote, while in Newgate, an In July, 1714, Anne dies ; and ode to the pillory, containing the fol- with her death, a pension Defoe had lowing lines :

received for his services in Scotland


Hail! hi'roglyphick state machinc,

In 1715, Defoe retired from political Condemned to punish fancy in :

life, and took his farewell to party, Men, that are inen, can in the feel no pain,

strife in “ And all thy insignificance disdain.

an Appeal to honour and Contempt, that false new word for sbame,

justice, though it be of his worst Is without crime an empty name

enemies. By Daniel De Foe. Being A shadow to amuse inankind,

a true account of his conduct in public But never frights the wise or well-fised mind : affairs. London, 1715.” While he Virtue despises human scorn

was employed in revising the work, And scandals innocence adorn.

he was struck with apoplexy.

But soon the lion-hearted man This trial stripped Defoe of £3,500, revived, and he was at work again again reducing him, with a wife and with his

pen. family, to penury. But while in pri- In 1719 (when the author was fiftyson he worked hard. The greater the eight years of age) appeared Robinson difficulties around him, the greater Crusoe. became the man. He commenced his From his retirement, from the newspaper," the Revicu,” the parent arena of politics, history says little of of the Tatler, Spectator, Rambler. him, save that which his immortal At first it only came out twice a works tell us. In 1724 he was living week; but soon an additional weekly in opulence and with dignity, at a number was added. Of this periodical, house in Church-street, Newington, Defoe was the sole writer. In prison which is at the present day an object and out of prison, in sickness and of curiosity, as having been the resihealth, he supplied the papers : an dence of the celebrated writer and unparalleled instance of industry! patriot. He was then a hale, hearty But this was only a portion, and a old gentleman,-distressed certainly small one, of his toil. Besides “the by bodily ailments, but with a vigorRerier," which lasted for thirteen ous intellect, and a heart kindly as years, no less than one hundred and

It was about this time that eighty-three separate works, poems, one Thomas Webb wrote: And novels, political essays, histories, and poor distressed I, left alone, and no expositions of moral questions—un- one to go and speak to, save only Mr. questionably came from his pen; and Defoe, who hath acted a noble and fifty-two more are, with sufficient

generous part towards me and my reason, attributed to him.

poor children. The Lord reward him change in his lot is at hand.

and his with the blessings of the In 1704, he is released from prison upper and nether spring, and with by the influence of Harley.

the blessings of his basket and store." In 1703, he is sent abroad by Har- A fresh reverse comes. And in ley on a secret mission.

1730, the aged Defoe is in a debtors' In 1706, he makes the first of a prison.


But a

Yet another blow ;-the steel enters to the heart. His son, in whom he trusted, dishonours his name! Let us read Defoe's letter to his sonin-law, Mr. Baker, the celebrated naturalist :

"Dear Mr. Baker,

"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, considering how much I stood in need of it, to support a mind sinking under the weight of an affliction too heavy for my strength, and looking 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 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 agree able 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, and 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 my heart; and as I am at this time under a very heavy weight of illness, which I think will be a fever, I take this occasion to vent my grief in the breasts who I know will make a prudent use of it, and tell you, nothing but this has conquered or could conquer me. Et tu, Brute. I depended upon him - - I trusted him-I gave up my two dear, unprovided children into his hands; but he has no compassion, and suffers them and their poor dying mother to beg their bread at his door, and to crave, as if it were an alms-what he is bound under hand and scal, and by the most sacred promises, to supply them withhimself at the same time living in a profusion of plenty. It is too much for ine. Excuse my infirmity; I can say no more; my heart is too full. I only ask one thing of you as a dying request. Stand by them when I am gone, and let them not be wronged while he is able to do them right. Stand by them as a brother and if you have anything within you owing to my memory, who have bestow

ed on you the best gift I had to give, let them not be injured and trampled on by false pretences and unnatural reflections. I hope they will want no help but that of comfort and counsel; but that they will indeed want, being too easie to be managed by words and promises.

"It adds to my grief that it is so difficult to me to see you. I am at a distance from London, in Kent; nor have I a lodging in London, nor have I been at that place in the Old Bailey since I wrote you I was removed from it. At present I am weak, having had some fits of a fever that have left mejlow. But those things much more.

"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 would say (I hope) with comfort, that 'tis yet well. I am so near my journey's end, and am hastening to the place where the weary are at rest, and where the wicked cease to trouble: 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 Deum 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 above all his comforts to his last breath.Your unhappy

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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.

On April 24, 1731, he was taken by death in Ropemakers'-alley, Moorfields, in the parish of St. Giles's, Cripplegate the same parish in

which he first drew the breath of life. Whether he expired in a decent lodging, or in a dismal garret-whether alone, or tended in his last moments by his wife and children, it is impossible to say. The Parish Register contains the fullest account extant of his interment :-" 1731, Daniel Defoe, gentleman. To Tindall's (Lethargy). April 26." Tindall's was the general burial-ground for Dissenters.

A twinge shakes the nerves as we read that ambiguous word gentleman. It is such a pretty title to give Daniel Defoe.

The man who, when a beardless youth, saw the truth, and fearlessly declared it-who risked his life for what he felt to be his duty--who fought zealously, and without fainting, for freedom, and was, without 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 favour of Romanism, Protestantism was guarded not by the Anglican priesthood (for they betrayed her), but by the great champions of spiritual freedom, the Nonconformists-the man who laboured 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 gained distinction in them all ; he who, honourable, singlehearted, fierce in the day of battle, was worthy the regard and coufidence 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, emigrated to Carolina, carrying with him, as his father's representative, a liberal contribution to that stock of Anglo-Saxon intellect (or true-born English!) that has made our Trans atlantic cousins (of whom we are so naturally proud) a nation beloved and honoured wherever our common

tongue is spoken. Another son, Bernard, took the name of Norton, and was mentioned by Pope in the "Dunciad." He was editor of "The Flying Post," and was the author of "A Complete Dictionary, by B. N. Defoe, Gent., 1735," a "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 "The Companion to the Play-house." A 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.

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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, thrust 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 to sleep 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 that 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 that 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 Bethnalgreen. When I came a little way over the lane. I found a foot-path 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 mightly well satisfied with it; but, behold, putting my hand in again, to lay it more commodiously, as I 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.

As 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 again, till I scratched my arm, and made it bleed violently; then I began to think I had not so much of it 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 firin, that had given way when it came to drop out of my hand, and so it had slipped quite down

at once.

I was but a child, and I rejoiced like a child, for I hollo'd quite out aloud when I saw it; thus 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 clothesshop in Whitechapel, and looks at the clothes hanging at the door.

"Well, young gentleman," says a manthat stood at the door, " you look wishfully; do you see anything you like, and will your pocket compass a good coat now, for you look as if you belong to the ragged regiment?” I was affronted at the fellow. "What's that to you," says I, "how ragged I am? If I

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