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themselves to his notice, and in an unfeigned humility of heart think themselves unworthy that he

should be mindful of them.


EUSTACE BUDGELL has already been mentioned as one of the contributors to the 'Spectator.' He was a relation of Addison, who patronised him with much kindness, and procured for him several lucrative offices in Ireland. Thirty-seven numbers of the 'Spectator' are ascribed to Budgell; and though Dr Johnson says that these were either written by Addison, or so much improved by him that they were made in a manner his own,* there seems to be no sufficient authority for the assertion, which, in itself, appears somewhat improbable, as Addison was not likely to allow another to obtain the credit due to himself. It is true that the style and humour resemble those of Addison; but as the two writers were much together, a successful attempt on Budgell's part to imitate the productions of his friend, was probable enough. In 1717, Budgell, who, notwithstanding the good sense and sound morality of his writings in the Spectator,' was a man of extreme vanity and revengeful feeling, had the imprudence to lampoon the Irish viceroy, by whom he had been deeply offended; the result of which was his dismissal from office, and return to England. During the prevalence of the South-Sea scheme, he in praise of money will be more than sufficient with lost a fortune of £20,000, and subsequently figured most of my readers to excuse the subject of my preprincipally as a virulent party writer, and an advo-sent paper, which I intend as an essay on The ways to raise a man's fortune, or the art of growing rich.' cate of free-thinking. At length his declining reputation suffered a mortal blow by the establishment against him of the charge of having forged a testament in his own favour. It is to this circumstance that Pope alludes in the couplet


The first and most infallible method towards the

Let Budgell charge low Grub Street on my quill, And write whate'er he please except my will. Some years afterwards, this wretched man, finding life unsupportable, deliberately committed suicide, by leaping from a boat while shooting London Bridge. This took place in 1737. There was found in his bureau a slip of paper, on which he had written

What Cato did, and Addison approved,
Cannot be wrong.

But in this he certainly misrepresented the opinion of Addison, who has put the following words into the mouth of the dying Cato:

Yet methinks a beam of light breaks in
On my departing soul. Alas! I fear
I've been too hasty. O ye powers that search
The heart of man, and weigh his inmost thoughts,
If I have done amiss, impute it not.
The best may err, but you are good.

The contributions of Budgell to the 'Spectator' are distinguished by the letter X. We select one of them, on

[The Art of Growing Rich.]

Lucian rallies the philosophers in his time, who could not agree whether they should admit riches into the number of real goods; the professors of the severer sects threw them quite out, while others as resolutely inserted them.

sent as to deny that there are very great advantages in the enjoyment of a plentiful fortune. Indeed the best and wisest of men, though they may possibly despise a good part of those things which the world calls pleasures, can, I think, hardly be insensible of that weight and dignity which a moderate share of wealth adds to their characters, counsels, and actions.

I am apt to believe, that as the world grew more polite, the rigid doctrines of the first were wholly discarded; and I do not find any one so hardy at pre

* See Boswell's Life of Johnson, vol. iii.

We find it is a general complaint in professions and trades, that the richest members of them are chiefly encouraged, and this is falsely imputed to the illnature of mankind, who are ever bestowing their favours on such as least want them; whereas, if we fairly consider their proceedings in this case, we shall find them founded on undoubted reason; since, supposing both equal in their natural integrity, I ought, in common prudence, to fear foul play from an indigent person, rather than from one whose circumstances seem to have placed him above the bare temptation of money.

This reason also makes the commonwealth regard her richest subjects as those who are most concerned for her quiet and interest, and consequently fitted to be intrusted with her highest employments. On the contrary, Catiline's saying to those men of desperate fortunes who applied themselves to him, and of whom 6 that they had nohe afterwards composed his army, thing to hope for but a civil war,' was too true not to make the impressions he desired.

I believe I need not fear but that what I have said

attaining of this end is thrift: all men are not equally qualified for getting money, but it is in the power of every one alike to practise this virtue; and I believe there are few persons who, if they please to reflect on their past lives, will not find, that had they saved all those little sums which they have spent unnecessarily, they might at present have been masters of a competent fortune. Diligence justly claims the next place to thrift; I find both these excellently well recommended to common use in the three following Italian proverbs :

'Never do that by proxy which you can do yourself.' 'Never defer that until to-morrow which you can do to-day.'

'Never neglect small matters and expenses.'

A third instrument in growing rich is method in business, which, as well as the two former, is also attainable by persons of the meanest capacities.

The famous De Witt, one of the greatest statesmen of the age in which he lived, being asked by a friend how he was able to despatch that multitude of affairs in which he was engaged? replied, That his whole art consisted in doing one thing at once. If, says he, I have any necessary despatches to make, I think of nothing else until those are finished; if any domestic to them until they are set in order. affairs require my attention, I give myself up wholly

In short, we often see men of dull and phlegmatic tempers arriving to great estates, by making a regular and orderly disposition of their business; and that, without it, the greatest parts and most lively imagi nations rather puzzle their affairs, than bring them to a happy issue.

From what has been said, I think I may lay it down as a maxim, that every man of good common sense may, if he pleases, in his particular station of life, most certainly be rich. The reason why we sometimes see that men of the greatest capacities are not so, is either because they despise wealth in comparison of something else, or, at least, are not content to be getting an estate, unless they may do it their own

way, and at the same time enjoy all the pleasures and gratifications of life.

But besides these ordinary forms of growing rich, it must be allowed that there is room for genius as well in this as in all other circumstances of life.

Though the ways of getting money were long since very numerous, and though so many new ones have been found out of late years, there is certainly still remaining so large a field for invention, that a man of an indifferent head might easily sit down and draw up such a plan for the conduct and support of his life, as was never yet once thought of.

We daily see methods put in practice by hungry and ingenious men, which demonstrate the power of invention in this particular.

Nor can I in this place omit doing justice to a youth of my own country, who, though he is scarce yet twelve years old, has, with great industry and ap; plication, attained to the art of beating the grenadiers' march on his chin. I am credibly informed, that by this means he does not only maintain himself and his mother, but that he is laying up money every day, with a design, if the war continues, to purchase a drum at least, if not a pair of colours.

I shall conclude these instances with the device of the famous Rabelais, when he was at a great distance from Paris, and without money to bear his expenses thither. This ingenious author being thus sharp set, got together a convenient quantity of brick-dust, and having disposed of it into several papers, writ upon one, poison for monsieur,' upon a second, 'poison for the dauphin,' and on a third, 'poison for the king.' Having made this provision for the royal family of France, he laid his papers so that his landlord, who was an inquisitive man, and a good subject, might get a sight of them.

The plot succeeded as he desired; the host gave immediate intelligence to the secretary of state. The secretary presently sent down a special messenger, who brought up the traitor to court, and provided him at the king's expense with proper accommodations on the road. As soon as he appeared, he was known to be the celebrated Rabelais; and his powder upon examination being found very innocent, the jest was only laughed at; for which a less eminent droll would have been sent to the galleys.

It is reported of Scaramouche, the first famous Italian comedian, that being in Paris, and in great want, he bethought himself of constantly plying near the door of a noted perfumer in that city, and when any one came out who had been buying snuff, never failed to desire a taste of them: when he had by this means got together a quantity made up of several different sorts, he sold it again at a lower rate to the same perfumer, who, finding out the trick, called it Tabac de mille fleurs, or 'Snuff of a thousand flowers.' The story farther tells us, that by this means he got a very comfortable subsistence, until, making too much haste to grow rich, he one day took such an unreasonable pinch out of the box of a Swiss officer, as engaged him in a quarrel, and obliged him to quit this inge-disposition, and considerable abilities as a pleasing Inious way of life.

of JOHN HUGHES, the other principal contributor to Very different from Budgell's character was that the 'Spectator.' To this individual, who was dis

tinguished by a mild, amiable, contented, and pious



writer, are attributed two papers and several letters
in the Tatler,' eleven papers and thirteen letters in
The high reputation which he at one time enjoyed
the 'Spectator,' and two papers in the Guardian.'
as a writer of poetry, has now justly declined. In
translation, however, both in poetry and prose, he
made some highly successful efforts. Of several
dramatic pieces which he produced, The Siege of
Damascus alone has escaped from oblivion. In this
play, the morality, diction, and imagery, claim much
admiration; but it is too little fitted to move the
passions to be a favourite on the stage. Though
still occasionally acted, it affords greater pleasure in
the closet. So highly did Addison esteem the talent
of Hughes, that he requested him to furnish the
fifth act of Cato;' and it was not till some pro-
gress had been made in the labour, that a change
of purpose on Addison's part interfered.
opinion of Dr Joseph Warton, Hughes was very
capable of writing this fifth act. "The Siege of
Damascus" is a better tragedy than "Cato," though
Pope affected to speak slightingly of its author.'*
The reputation of Hughes was well sustained by the
manner in which he edited the works of Spenser.
The virtues of this estimable person (who died in
1720, at the age of forty-three) were affectionately
commemorated by Sir Richard Steele, in a publica-
tion called The Theatre. All the periodical essays
of Hughes,' says Dr Drake, 'are written in a style
which is, in general, easy, correct, and elegant: they
occasionally exhibit wit and humour; and they uni-
formly tend to inculcate the best precepts, moral,
prudential, and religious.'t One of his best is on

In the


Trade and commerce might doubtless be still varied a thousand ways, out of which would arise such branches as have not yet been touched. The famous Doily is still fresh in every one's memory, who raised a fortune by finding out materials for such stuffs as might at once be cheap and genteel. I have heard it affirmed, that, had not he discovered this frugal method of gratifying our pride, we should hardly have been so well able to carry on the last war.

I regard trade not only as highly advantageous to the commonwealth in general, but as the most natural and likely method of making a man's fortune, having observed, since my being a Spectator in the world, greater estates got about 'Change than at

Whitehall or St James's. I believe I may also add, that the first acquisitions are generally attended with more satisfaction, and as good a conscience.

I must not, however, close this essay without observing, that what has been said is only intended for persons in the common ways of thriving, and is not designed for those men who, from low beginnings, push themselves up to the top of states and the most considerable figures in life. My maxim of saving is not designed for such as these, since nothing is more usual than for thrift to disappoint the ends of ambition; it being almost impossible that the mind should be intent upon trifles, while it is, at the same time, forming some great design.

I may therefore compare these men to a great poet, who, as Longinus says, while he is full of the most magnificent ideas, is not always at leisure to mind the little beauties and niceties of his art.

I would, however, have all my readers take great care how they mistake themselves for uncommon geniuses and men above rule, since it is very easy for them to be deceived in this particular.



If we look abroad upon the great multitude of mankind, and endeavour to trace out the principles of action in every individual, it will, I think, seem highly probable that ambition runs through the whole species, and that every man, in proportion to the vigour of his complexion, is more or less actuated by

*Note to Pope's prologue to Cato.
† Drake's Essays, iii. 50.

it. It is, indeed, no uncommon thing to meet with men who, by the natural bent of their inclinations, and without the discipline of philosophy, aspire not to the heights of power and grandeur; who never set their hearts upon a numerous train of clients and dependencies, nor other gay appendages of greatness; who are contented with a competency, and will not molest their tranquillity to gain an abundance; but it is not therefore to be concluded that such a man is not ambitious: his desires may have cut out another channel, and determined him to other pursuits; the motive, however, may be still the same; and in these cases likewise the man may be equally pushed on with the desire of distinction.

Though the pure consciousness of worthy actions, abstracted from the views of popular applause, be to a generous mind an ample reward, yet the desire of distinction was doubtless implanted in our natures as an additional incentive to exert ourselves in virtuous excellence.

This passion, indeed, like all others, is frequently perverted to evil and ignoble purposes, so that we may account for many of the excellencies and follies of life upon the same innate principle, to wit, the desire of being remarkable; for this, as it has been differently cultivated by education, study, and converse, will bring forth suitable effects, as it falls in with an ingenuous disposition or a corrupt mind; it does accordingly express itself in acts of magnanimity or selfish cunning, as it meets with a good or weak understanding. As it has been employed in embellishing the mind, or adorning the outside, it renders the man eminently praiseworthy or ridiculous. Ambition, therefore, is not to be confined only to one passion or pursuit; for as the same humours, in constitutions otherwise different, affect the body after different manners, so the same aspiring principle within us sometimes breaks forth upon one object, sometimes upon another.

It cannot be doubted but that there is as great a desire of glory in a ring of wrestlers or cudgel-players, as in any other more refined competition for superiority. No man that could avoid it would ever suffer his head to be broken but out of a principle of honour. This is the secret spring that pushes them forward; and the superiority which they gain above the undistinguished many, does more than repair those wounds they have received in the combat. It is Mr Waller's opinion, that Julius Cæsar, had he not been master of the Roman empire, would in all probability have made an excellent wrestler.

'Great Julius, on the mountains bred, A flock perhaps or herd had led; He that the world subdued, had been But the best wrestler on the green.' That he subdued the world, was owing to the accidents of art and knowledge: had he not met with those advantages, the same sparks of emulation would have kindled within him, and prompted him to distinguish himself in some enterprise of a lower nature. Since, therefore, no man's lot is so unalterably fixed in this life, but that a thousand accidents may either forward or disappoint his advancement, it is, methinks, a pleasant and inoffensive speculation, to consider a great man as divested of all the adventitious circumstances of fortune, and to bring him down in one's imagination to that low station of life, the nature of which bears some distant resemblance to that high one he is at present possessed of. Thus one may view him exercising in miniature those talents of nature which, being drawn out by education to their full length, enable him for the discharge of some important employment. On the other hand, one may raise uneducated merit to such a pitch of greatness, as may seem equal to the possible extent of his improved capacity.

Thus nature furnishes a man with a general appetite of glory; education determines it to this or that particular object. The desire of distinction is not, I think, in any instance more observable than in the variety of outsides and new appearances which the modish part of the world are obliged to provide, in order to make themselves remarkable; for anything glaring or particular, either in behaviour or apparel, is known to have this good effect, that it catches the eye, and will not suffer you to pass over the person so adorned without due notice and observation. It has likewise, upon this account, been frequently resented as a very great slight, to leave any gentleman out of a lampoon or satire, who has as much right to be there as his neighbour, because it supposes the person not eminent enough to be taken notice of. To this passionate fondness for distinction, are owing various frolicsome and irregular practices, as sallying out into nocturnal exploits, breaking of windows, singing of catches, beating the watch, getting drunk twice a day, killing a great number of horses, with many other enterprises of the like fiery nature; for certainly many a man is more rakish and extravagant than he would willingly be, were there not others to look on and give their approbation.

One very common, and at the same time the most absurd ambition that ever showed itself in human nature, is that which comes upon a man with experience and old age, the season when it might be expected he should be wisest; and therefore it cannot receive any of those lessening circumstances which do, in some measure, excuse the disorderly ferments of youthful blood: I mean the passion for getting money, exclusive of the character of the provident father, the affectionate husband, or the generous friend. It may be remarked, for the comfort of honest poverty, that this desire reigns most in those who have but few good qualities to recommend them. This is a weed that will grow in a barren soil. Humanity, good nature, and the advantages of a liberal education, are incompatible with avarice. It is strange to see how suddenly this abject passion kills all the noble sentiments and generous ambitions that adorn human nature; it renders the man who is over-run with it a peevish and cruel master, a severe parent, an unsociable husband, a distant and mistrustful friend. But it is more to the present purpose to consider it as an absurd passion of the heart, rather than as a vicious affection of the mind. As there are frequent instances to be met with of a proud humility, so this passion, contrary to most others, affects applause, by avoiding all show and appearance; for this reason, it will not sometimes endure even the common decencies of apparel. A covetous man will call himself poor, that you may soothe his vanity by contradicting him.' Love, and the desire of glory, as they are the most natural, so they are capable of being refined into the most delicate and rational passions. It is true, the wise man who strikes out of the secret paths of a private life, for honour and dignity, allured by the splendour of a court, and the unfelt weight of public employment, whether he succeeds in his attempts or not, usually comes near enough to this painted greatness to discern the daubing; he is then desirous of extricating himself out of the hurry of life, that he may pass away the remainder of his days in tranquillity and retirement.

It may be thought, then, but common prudence in a man not to change a better state for a worse, nor ever to quit that which he knows he shall take up again with pleasure; and yet if human life be not a little moved with the gentle gales of hope and fears, there may be some danger of its stagnating in an unmanly indolence and security. It is a known story of Domitian, that after he had possessed himself of the Roman empire, his desires turned upon catching

flies. Active and masculine spirits in the vigour of youth neither can nor ought to remain at rest; if they debar themselves from aiming at a noble object, their desires will move downwards, and they will feel themselves actuated by some low and abject passion. Thus, if you cut off the top branches of a tree, and will not suffer it to grow any higher, it will not therefore cease to grow, but will quickly shoot out at the bottom. The man, indeed, who goes into the world only with the narrow views of self-interest, who catches at the applause of an idle multitude, as he can find no solid contentment at the end of his journey, so he deserves to meet with disappointments in his way; but he who is actuated by a nobler principle, whose mind is so far enlarged as to take in the prospect of his country's good, who is enamoured with that praise which is one of the fair attendants of virtue, and values not those acclamations which are not seconded by the impartial testimony of his own mind; who repines not at the low station which Providence has at present allotted him, but yet would willingly advance himself by justifiable means to a more rising and advantageous ground; such a man is warmed with a generous emulation; it is a virtuous movement in him to wish and to endeavour that his power of doing good may be equal to his will.

The man who is fitted out by nature, and sent into the world with great abilities, is capable of doing great good or mischief in it. It ought, therefore, to be the care of education to infuse into the untainted youth early notices of justice and honour, that so the possible advantages of good parts may not take an evil turn, nor be perverted to base and unworthy purposes. It is the business of religion and philosophy not so much to extinguish our passions, as to regulate and direct them to valuable well-chosen objects; when these have pointed out to us which course we may lawfully steer, it is no harm to set out all our sail; if the storms and tempests of adversity should rise upon us, and not suffer us to make the haven where we would be, it will, however, prove no small consolation to us in these circumstances, that we have neither mistaken our course, nor fallen into calamities of our own procuring.

Religion, therefore, were we to consider it no farther than as it interposes in the affairs of this life, is highly valuable, and worthy of great veneration; as it settles the various pretensions, and otherwise interfering interests of mortal men, and thereby consults the harmony and order of the great community; as it gives a man room to play his part and exert his abilities; as it animates to actions truly laudable in themselves, in their effects beneficial to society; as it inspires rational ambition, corrects love, and elevates



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The political contests of this period engaged a host of miscellaneous writers. The most powerful and effective belonged to the Tory or Jacobite party; but the Whigs possessed one unflinching and prolific champion-DANIEL DEFOE-the father or founder of the English novel. This excellent writer was a native of London, the son of a St Giles butcher, and Dissenter. Daniel was born in 1661, and was intended to be a Presbyterian minister, but entered into trade. He joined the insurrection of the Duke of Monmouth, but escaped punishment; and when the Revolution came, was one of its steadiest friends and warmest admirers. He was successively a hosier, a tile-maker, and a woollen-merchant; but without success. As an author, he made, in 1699, a lucky venture. His True-born Englishman, a poetical satire

Daniel Defoe.

in verse, and had an unlimited command of homely and forcible language. The opening lines of this satire have often been quoted

Wherever God erects a house of prayer, The devil always builds a chapel there; And 'twill be found upon examination, The latter has the largest congregation. Various political tracts followed from the active pen of our author. In 1702 he wrote an ironical treatise against the High Church party, entitled The Shortest Way with the Dissenters, which was voted a libel by the House of Commons; and the author being apprehended, was fined, pilloried, and imprisoned. He wrote a hymn to the pillory, which he wittily styled

A hieroglyphic state-machine, Condemned to punish fancy in;

and Pope alluded to the circumstance with the spirit of a political partisan, not that of a friend to literature or liberty, in his 'Dunciad'

Earless on high stood unabashed Defoe.


The political victim lay nearly two years in Newgate, during which he carried on a periodical work, The Review, published twice a week. The character of Defoe, notwithstanding his political persecution, must have stood high; for he was employed by the cabinet of Queen Anne on a mission to Scotland to advance the great measure of the Union, of which he afterwards wrote a history. He again tried his hand at political irony, and was again thrown into prison, and fined £800. Neither Whig nor Tory could understand Defoe's ironical writings. confinement this time lasted, however, only a few months. Admonished by dear-bought experience, our author now abandoned politics, and in 1719 appeared his Robinson Crusoe. The extraordinary success of this work prompted him to write a variety of other fictitious narratives, as Moll Flanders, Captain Singleton, Duncan Campbell, Colonel Jack, The History of the Great Plague in London in 1665, &c. When he had exhausted this vein, he applied himself to a Political History of the Devil, A System of Magic, The Complete English Tradesman, A Tour Through Great Britain, and other works. The life of this active and voluminous writer was closed in

April 1731. It seems to have been one of continued sand-an incident conceived in the spirit of poetry. struggle with want, dulness, and persecution. He The character of Friday, though his appearance on died insolvent, author of two hundred and ten books the scene breaks the solitary seal of the romance, and pamphlets. Posterity has separated the wheat is a highly interesting and pleasing delineation, that from the chaff of Defoe's writings: his political gives a charm to savage life. The great success of tracts have sunk into oblivion; but his works of this novel induced the author to write a continuafiction still charm by their air of truth, and the tion to it, in which Crusoe is again brought among simple natural beauty of their style. As a novelist, the busy haunts of men; the attempt was hazardous, he was the father of Richardson, and partly of and it proved a failure. The once solitary island, Fielding; as an essayist, he suggested the Tatler' peopled by mariners and traders, is disenchanted, and and Spectator;' and in grave irony he may have becomes tame, vulgar, and commonplace. The relagiven to Swift his first lessons. The intensity of tion of adventures, not the delineation of character feeling characteristic of the dean-his merciless and passion, was the forte of Defoe. His invenscorn and invective, and fierce misanthropy-were tion of common incidents and situations seems to unknown to Defoe, who must have been of a have been unbounded; and those minute references cheerful and sanguine temperament; but in iden- and descriptions immediately lead us,' as has been tifying himself with his personages, whether on sea remarked by Dunlop in his History of Fiction, 'to or land, and depicting their adventures, he was not give credit to the whole narrative, since we think inferior to Swift. His imagination had no visions they would hardly have been mentioned unless they of surpassing loveliness, nor any rich combinations had been true. The same circumstantial detail of of humour and eccentricity; yet he is equally at facts is remarkable in "Gulliver's Travels," and we home in the plain scenes of English life, in the wars are led on by them to a partial belief in the most of the cavaliers, in the haunts of dissipation and in- improbable narrations.' Defoe, however, is more famy, in the roving adventures of the buccaneers, natural even than Swift; and his style, though inand in the appalling visitations of the Great Plague. ferior in directness and energy, is more copious. He The account of the plague has often been taken for was strictly an original writer, with strong clear a genuine and authentic history, and even Lord conceptions ever rising up in his mind, which he Chatham believed the Memoirs of a Cavalier to be was able to embody in language equally perspia true narrative. In scenes of diablerie and witch-cuous and forcible. He had both read and seen craft, he preserves the same unmoved and truth-like much, and treasured up an amount of knowledge demeanour. The apparition of Mrs Veal at Canter- and observation certainly not equalled by the stores bury, the eighth of September 1705,' seems as of any writer of that day. When we consider the mistrue and indubitable a fact as any that ever passed fortunes and sufferings of Defoe; that his spirit had before our eyes. Unfortunately, the taste or cir- been broken, and his means wasted, by persecution; cumstances of Defoe led him mostly into low life, that his health was struck down by apoplexy, and and his characters are generally such as we cannot upwards of fifty-five years had passed over him-sympathise with. The whole arcana of roguery and his composition of Robinson Crusoe,' and the long villany seem to have been open to him. His ex- train of fictions which succeeded it, must appear a periences of Newgate were not without their use to remarkable instance of native genius, self-reliance, the novelist. It might be thought that the good and energy of character.* taste which led Defoe to write in a style of such pure and unpretending English, instead of the inflated manner of vulgar writers, would have dictated a more careful selection of his subjects, and kept him from wandering so frequently into the low and disgusting purlieus of vice. But this moral and tasteful discrimination seems to have been wholly wanting. He was too good and religious a man to break down the distinctions between virtue and crime. He selected the adventures of pirates, pickpockets, courtesans, and other characters of the same stamp, because they were likely to sell best, and made the most attractive narrative; but he nowhere holds them up for imitation. He evidently felt most at home where he had to descend, not to rise, to his subject. The circumstances of Robinson Crusoe, his shipwreck and residence in the solitary island, invest that incomparable tale with more romance than any of his other works. 'Pathos,' says Sir Walter Scott, 'is not Defoe's general characteristic; he had too little delicacy of mind. When it comes, it comes uncalled, and is created by the circumstances, not sought for by the author. The excess, for instance, of the natural longing for human society which Crusoe manifests while on board of the stranded Spanish vessel, by falling into a sort of agony, as he repeated the words, "Oh, that but one man had been saved!-oh, that there had been but one!" is in the highest degree pathetic. The agonizing reflections of the solitary, when he is in danger of being driven to sea, in his rash attempt to circumnavigate his island, are also affecting.' To these striking passages may be added the description of Crusoe's sensations on finding the foot-print on the

The power of Defoe in feigning reality, or forging the handwriting of nature, as it has been forcibly termed, may be seen in the narrative of Mrs Veal's apparition; which, as complete in itself, and suited to our limits, we subjoin. It was prefixed to a religious book, 'Drelincourt on Death, and had the effect of drawing attention to an otherwise unsaleable and neglected work. The imposition was a bold one-perhaps the least defensible of all Defoe's inventions; and there is, as Sir Walter Scott observes, a matter-of-fact business-like style in the whole account of the transaction, which bespeaks ineffable powers of self-possession.'

A true Relation of the Apparition of one Mrs Veal, the
next day after her Death, to one Mrs Bargrave, at
Canterbury, the Eighth of September, 1705, which
Apparition recommends the perusal of Drelincourt's
Book of Consolations against the Fears of Death.

This thing is so rare in all its circumstances, and on so good authority, that my reading and conversation has not given me anything like it. It is fit to gratify the most ingenious and serious inquirer. Mrs Bargrave is the person to whom Mrs Veal appeared after her death; she is my intimate friend, and I can avouch for her reputation for these last fifteen or sixteen years, on my own knowledge; and I can confirm the good character she had from her youth to the time of my acquaintance. Though, since this relation, she is calumniated by some people that are friends to the brother of Mrs Veal who appeared, who think the relation of this appearance to be a reflection, and endeavour what they can to blast Mrs Bargrave's reputation, and to laugh the story out of countenance.

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