it is only said that he was a wretched writer in the Flying Post, and the author of Alderman Barber's Life. De Foe probably died insolvent; for letters of administration on his goods and chattels were granted to Mary Brooke, widow, a creditrix, in September, 1733, after summoning in official form the next of kin to appear[102]. John Dunton[103], who personally knew our author, describes him, in 1705, as a man of good parts and clear sense; of a conversation, ingenious and brisk; of a spirit, enterprising and bold, but of little prudence; with good nature and real honesty. Of his petty habits, little now can be told, more than he has thus confessed himself[104]: "God, I thank thee, I am not a drunkard, or a swearer, or a whoremaster, or a busybody, or idle, or revengeful; and though this be true, and I challenge all the world to prove the contrary, yet, I must own, I see small satisfaction in all the negatives of common virtues; for though I have not been guilty of any of these vices, nor of many more, I have nothing to infer from thence, but Te Deum laudamus." He says himself:
When De Foe had arrived at sixty-five, while he was encumbered with a family, and, I fear, pinched with penury, Pope, endeavoured, by repeated strokes, to bring his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. This he did without propriety, and, as far as appears, without provocation; for our author is not in the black list of scribblers, who by attempting to lessen the poet's fame, incited the satirist's indignation. The offence and the fate of Bentley and De Foe were nearly alike. Bentley would not allow the translation to be Homer: De Foe had endeavoured to bring Milton into vogue seven years ere the Paradise Lost and Chevy Chase had been criticised in the Spectators by Addison. Our author had said in More Reformation,
An enraged poet alone could have thrust into the Dunciad, Bentley, a profound scholar, Cibber, a brilliant wit, and De Foe, a happy genius. This was the consequence of exalting satire as the test of truth; while truth ought to have been enthroned the test of satire. Yet, it ought not to be forgotten, that De Foe has some sarcasm, in his System of Magic, on the sylphs and gnomes, which Pope may have deemed a daring invasion of his Rosicrucian territories.
De Foe has not yet outlived his century, though he have outlived most of his contemporaries. Yet the time is come, when he must be acknowledged as one of the ablest, as he is one of the most captivating, writers, of which this island can boast. Before he can be admitted to this pre-eminence, he must be considered distinctly, as a poet, as a novelist, as a polemic, as a commercial writer, and as a grave historian.
As a poet, we must look to the end of his effusions rather than to his execution, ere we can allow him considerable praise. To mollify national animosities, or to vindicate national rights, are certainly noble objects, which merit the vigour and imagination of Milton, or the flow and precision of Pope; but our author's energy runs into harshness, and his sweetness is to be tasted in his prose more than in his poesy. If we regard the Adventures of Crusoe, like The Adventures of Telemachus, as a poem, his moral, his incidents, and his language, must lift him high on the poet's scale. His professed poems, whether we contemplate the propriety of sentiment, or the suavity of numbers, may indeed, without much loss of pleasure or instruction, be resigned to those, who, in imitation of Pope, poach in the fields of obsolete poetry for brilliant thoughts, felicities of phrase, or for happy rhymes.
As a novelist, every one will place him in the foremost rank, who considers his originality, his performance, and his purpose. The Ship of Fools had indeed been launched in early times; but, who like De Foe, had ever carried his reader to sea, in order to mend the heart, and regulate the practice of life, by showing his readers the effect of adversity, or how they might equally be called to sustain his hero's trials, as they sailed round the world. But, without attractions, neither the originality, nor the end, can have any salutary consequence. This he had foreseen; and for this he has provided, by giving his adventures in a style so pleasing, because it is simple, and so interesting, because it is particular, that every one fancies he could write a similar language. It was, then, idle in Boyer formerly, or in Smollett lately, to speak of De Foe as a party writer, in little estimation. The writings of no author since have run through more numerous editions. And he whose works have pleased generally and pleased long, must be deemed a writer of no small estimation; the people's verdict being the proper test of what they are the proper judges.
As a polemic, I fear we must regard our author with less kindness, though it must be recollected, that he lived during a contentious period, when two parties distracted the nation, and writers indulged in great asperities. But, in opposition to reproach, let it ever be remembered, that he defended freedom, without anarchy; that he supported toleration, without libertinism; that he pleaded for moderation even amidst violence. With acuteness of intellect, with keenness of wit, with archness of diction, and pertinacity of design; it must be allowed that nature had qualified, in a high degree, De Foe for a disputant. His polemical treatises, whatever might have been their attractions once, may now be delivered without reserve to those who delight in polemical reading. De Foe, it must be allowed, was a party writer: But, were not Swift and Prior, Steel and Addison, Halifax and Bolingbroke, party writers? De Foe, being a party writer upon settled principles, did not change with the change of parties: Addison and Steel, Prior and Swift, connected as they were with persons, changed their note as persons were elevated or depressed.
As a commercial writer, De Foe is fairly entitled to stand in the foremost rank among his contemporaries, whatever may be their performances or their fame. Little would be his praise, to say of him, that he wrote on commercial legislation like Addison, who when he touches on trade, sinks into imbecility, without knowledge of fact, or power of argument[105]. The distinguishing characteristics of De Foe, as a commercial disquisitor, are originality and depth. He has many sentiments with regard to traffic, which are scattered through his Reviews, and which I never read in any other book. His Giving Alms no Charity, is a capital performance, with the exception of one or two thoughts about the abridgment of labour by machinery, which are either half formed or half expressed. Were we to compare De Foe with D'Avenant, it would be found, that D'Avenant has more detail from official documents; that De Foe has more fact from wider inquiry. D'Avenant is more apt to consider laws in their particular application; De Foe more frequently investigates commercial legislation in its general effects. From the publications of D'Avenant it is sufficiently clear, that he was not very regardful of means, or very attentive to consequences; De Foe is more correct in his motives, and more salutary in his ends. But, as a commercial prophet, De Foe must yield the palm to Child; who foreseeing from experience that men's conduct must finally be directed by their principles, foretold the colonial revolt: De Foe, allowing his prejudices to obscure his sagacity, reprobated that suggestion, because he deemed interest a more strenuous prompter than enthusiasm. Were we however to form an opinion, not from special passages, but from whole performances, we must incline to De Foe, when compared with the ablest contemporary: we must allow him the preference, on recollection, that when he writes on commerce he seldom fails to insinuate some axiom of morals, or to inculcate some precept of religion.
As an historian, it will be found, that our author had few equals in the English language, when he wrote. His Memoirs of a Cavalier show how well he could execute the lighter narratives. His History of the Union evinces that he was equal to the higher department of historic composition. This is an account of a single event, difficult indeed in its execution, but beneficial certainly in its consequences. With extraordinary skill and information, our author relates, not only the event, but the transactions which preceded, and the effects which followed. He is at once learned and intelligent. Considering the factiousness of the age, his candour is admirable. His moderation is exemplary. And if he spoke of James I. as a tyrant, he only exercised the prerogative, which our historians formerly enjoyed, of casting obloquy on an unfortunate race, in order to supply deficience of knowledge, of elegance, and of style. In this instance De Foe allowed his prejudice to overpower his philosophy. If the language of his narrative want the dignity of the great historians of the current times, it has greater facility; if it be not always grammatical, it is generally precise; and if it be thought defective in strength, it must be allowed to excel in sweetness.
Such then are the pretensions of De Foe to be acknowledged as one of the ablest and most useful writers of our island. He who still doubts may perhaps satisfy his greatest doubts, by perusing the chronological catalogue of our author's works, which I have compiled, in order to gratify the public curiosity; and which, for the greater distinctness, I have divided into two heads: 1st, Those writings that I think are certainly De Foe's; 2ndly, Those writings that are said to be his. As I do not pretend to perfect accuracy, it would be a favour to the world and to me, if any one, of more knowledge and leisure than I possess, would point out mistakes for the purpose of amendment. The zealous interposition of Mr. Lockyer Davis, and the liberal spirit of the Stationers' company, procured me the perusal of the register of books, which have been entered at Stationers'-hall. I was surprised and disappointed to find so few of De Foe's writings entered as property, and his name never mentioned as an author or a man.
In presenting to the public so complete an edition of the works of De Foe, the publishers feel that they are engaged in a truly national undertaking, interesting to all ranks of Englishmen, but peculiarly to the middle classes. De Foe was essentially a practical author, not only as regards his style, but his turn of mind, his choice of subjects, and his mode of handling them. He wrote voluminously, upon all kinds of subjects and for all ranks of men: and by some of his works he has continued from that time to this, to please all classes and ages of people in all the countries of Europe. For many years he took an active part in the political controversies of that troubled time, which were so much embittered by the factious excitement arising from the expulsion of the Stuart dynasty, and placing William III. on the throne; and during the long period of his life in which he engaged in political warfare, he consistently and constantly maintained the principles of the revolution. Many of his pamphlets being directed to passing topics have ceased to possess that general and enduring interest which attaches to his other works, but they are full of manly sentiments, expressed in a plain, racy, English style, and well deserve the attentive perusal of all who may wish thoroughly to understand that period of our history which elapsed between the accession of William III. and the death of queen Anne. His History of the Union is a standard work, and peculiarly valuable as the production of a man who took an active part in the great national event which it commemorates.
Essentially practical, as we have observed, in his mind, De Foe was ever anxious to give useful instructions to his countrymen, for the regulation of their conduct in their homes and their pursuits in life, and embodied the results of an experienced and sagacious mind in the Family Instructor, the Religious Courtship, and the Complete English Tradesman. This last work is one which no young man entering into business should be without. It is an invaluable manual, full of the lessons of instructed prudence and good sense. Even his admirable romances, too, are written in the same spirit. They were not composed in his youth, in the heyday of his imagination, merely to gratify an idle curiosity in the reader, but in the evening of his life when his judgment was matured, and his experience at the full. Some of them were written to show the bitter fruits of a life of vice; and others to display in a vivid manner the importance of self-reliance, based on its proper foundation, a sincere and Christian trust in Providence, under all circumstances; with the inestimable value of a practical education, and a thorough acquaintance with the arts of life, and what too many persons are foolishly apt to despise as common things. That these were the paramount objects De Foe had in view is evident not only from a perusal of these valuable works, but from his own strongly asserted statements in his prefaces both to Moll Flanders and Robinson Crusoe. In the former, he says, "as the whole relation is usefully garbled of all the levity and looseness that was in it, so it is applied with the utmost care to virtuous and religious uses. None can, without being guilty of manifest injustice, cast any reproach upon it, or upon our design in publishing it. The advocates of the stage have in all ages made this the great argument, to persuade people that their plays are useful, and that they ought to be allowed in the most civilized, and in the most religious government; namely, that they are applied to virtuous purposes, and that, by the most lively representations, they fail not to recommend virtue and generous principles, and to discourage and expose all sorts of vice and corruption of manners; and were it true that they did so, and that they constantly adhered to that rule, as the test of their acting on the theatre, much might be said in their favour.
"Throughout the infinite variety of this book, this fundamental is most strictly adhered to; there is not a wicked action in any part of it, but it is first or last rendered unhappy or unfortunate; there is not a superlative villain brought upon the stage, but he is either brought to an unhappy end, or brought to be a penitent; there is not an ill thing mentioned but it is condemned, even in the relation; nor a virtuous just thing but it carries its praise along with it. What can more exactly answer the rule laid down, to recommend even those representations of things which have so many other just objections lying against them; namely, of example of bad company, obscene language, and the like." And in the preface to Robinson Crusoe he states his object to be "a religious application of events to the uses to which wise men always apply them, viz., to the instruction of others by this example, and to justify and honour the wisdom of Providence in all the variety of our circumstances, let them happen how they will."
The extreme popularity of this justly celebrated work proves the success with which De Foe's labours were crowned. It is a book essentially English, one of which an Englishman only would have conceived the design, and which probably only an Englishman would have been able to execute. The idea of an inhabitant of a solitary island, "far in the melancholy main," subsisting in comparative comfort, might be expected from one of that nautical people whose flag has not only 'braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze,' but floated in triumph on every sea, and waved in the winds of every clime. From such a people the author might expect readers, and he has had them by thousands of every class and of every age. The interest, however, of the story has not confined the reputation and popularity of Robinson Crusoe to this country, but has made it the universal favourite of Europe. The great characteristics of this remarkable book are the vividness with which the imaginary scenes are depicted, so as to make it impossible for the reader to doubt their reality, and the just importance which is given to the knowledge of what a great man called "doing common things in a common way." For his power of imparting reality to his fictions De Foe indeed stands highly distinguished among authors. Dr. Johnson mistook the Life and Piracies of Captain Singleton, for a real history; and lord Chatham fell into a similar mistake about the Memoirs of a Cavalier during the civil wars in England. Dr. Mead quoted the History of the Plague as an authentic detail by an eyewitness. And this quality marks the different fictions, Moll Flanders, &c., which the publishers have collected and reprinted in the present edition. These remarkable tales, it is true, describe the career of loose and immoral characters, but only in a way to disgust and deter. There is never any impropriety in the descriptions of events, however degrading; the nature of De Foe was abhorrent from indecency: but the heroes and heroines, who tell their own stories, instead of dwelling with unction or satisfaction on their past lives, only narrate particular incidents to express their sincere disgust at them, and repentance for the future, and to warn others from a life so fruitful of bitter results. Whilst De Foe was so cruelly and unjustly imprisoned in Newgate for defending the Hanoverian succession! (strange perversion of party spirit!) he employed his active mind in acquiring information relative to its unhappy and guilty inmates; and deeply convinced that mankind would be benefited by an exposure of the sorrow and distresses that invariably accompany and follow a life of crime, he embodied the results of his experience in fictions which we agree with him in thinking to be as useful as they are vivid. Mr. Alexander Chalmers, in his sketch of De Foe[106], says, "these lives are too gross for improvement"; we cannot agree with this opinion of the learned biographer. We hold, that novels, written like De Foe's, not on the base principle of making a market by pandering to the worst passions of the multitude, but where all indecency of expression or even of suggestion, is carefully avoided, and vice is only described as entailing misery, are instructive and beneficial to the people.
The style of De Foe is plain and homely, but expressive, direct, and manly. It may be described as thoroughly English. It reflected the character of his mind, and bespoke the man of firm resolve, and unshaken integrity.
His principles were those of a sincere dissenter, of the whig school. He joined most heartily in the Revolution of 1688, and continued a steadfast friend to its principles and its hero. To William III. De Foe was devotedly attached; and after the death of that great king, vindicated his memory from the poisonous shafts of malice and slander. He was the champion of civil and religious liberty, which he evidently valued as the most precious of earthly things. Of that cause he continued the unflinching advocate, and may be regarded as the most efficient of that day which the press could boast. Through good report and evil report, under the smiles of sovereigns or incarcerated in Newgate, in prosperity or poverty, stung by the malevolence of faction, or by filial ingratitude, in health or in sickness, in gladness or in sorrow, De Foe held by the same sheet anchor of principle, remained incorruptible in his love of liberty, and died as he had lived throughout a long and eventful career, what he so justly felt himself, a "True-born Englishman," and to use his own admirable expression in Robinson Crusoe, a "broadhearted man." Honoured be his memory!
The first attempt to do justice to the merits of De Foe, and to rescue the main events of his useful and laborious life from oblivion, was made by the late Mr. George Chalmers, of the Board of Trade, whose biography the present publishers now reprint. Since that period, gentlemen of learning and ability have followed his steps. Dr. Towers, in the Biographia Britannica, has sketched the life of De Foe, and Mr. Alexander Chalmers, in the Biographical Dictionary, has also done justice to his memory. Sir Walter Scott gave the aid of his great name to the same object, by publishing an edition of De Foe. Mr. Walter Wilson, of the Middle Temple, has published lately a long and detailed Life of De Foe, which is by far the most complete yet compiled, and should be consulted by every student desirous of becoming thoroughly acquainted with the events of his chequered career. The present edition of his works will supply a desideratum in English literature, and enable his countrymen to possess, at a small cost, the various productions of his versatile genius, and be instructed by one of the most deservedly popular and really useful authors that has ever adorned the country.
We subjoin the able critiques on De Foe, by the late Charles Lamb, a man exactly qualified to appreciate him, by a writer in the Retrospective Review, and by sir Walter Scott. For the first, the world is indebted to Mr. Wilson[107]. "It has happened not seldom that one work of some author has so transcendently surpassed in execution the rest of his compositions, that the world has agreed to pass a sentence of dismissal upon the latter, and to consign them to total neglect and oblivion. It has done wisely in this, not to suffer the contemplation of excellences of a lower standard to abate or stand in the way of the pleasure it has agreed to receive from the masterpiece.
"Again, it has happened, that from no inferior merit of execution in the rest, but from superior good fortune in the choice of its subject, some single work shall have been suffered to eclipse and cast into shade the deserts of its less fortunate brethren. This has been done with more or less injustice in the case of the popular allegory of Bunyan, in which the beautiful and scriptural image of a pilgrim or wayfarer (we are all such upon earth!) addressing itself intelligibly and feelingly to the bosoms of all, has silenced and made almost to be forgotten, the more awful and scarcely less tender beauties of the Holy War made by Shaddai upon Diabolus, of the same author, a romance less happy in its subject, but surely well worthy of a secondary immortality. But in no instance has this excluding partiality been exerted with more unfairness than against what may be termed the secondary novels or romances of De Foe.
"While all ages and descriptions of people hang delighted over the Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, and shall continue to do so, we trust, while the world lasts, how few, comparatively, will bear to be told that there exist other fictitious narratives by the same author, four of them at least of no inferior interest, except what results from a less felicitous choice of situation. Roxana, Singleton, Moll Flanders, Colonel Jack—are all genuine offspring of the same father. They bear the veritable impress of De Foe. An unpractised midwife that would not swear to the nose, lip, forehead, and age of every one of them! They are, in their way, as full of incident, and some of them are every bit as romantic; only they want the uninhabited island, and the charm that has bewitched the world, of the striking solitary situation.
"But are there no solitudes out of the cave and the desert? or cannot the heart in the midst of crowds feel frightfully alone? Singleton, on the world of waters, prowling about with pirates less merciful than the creatures of any prowling wilderness; is he not alone, with the faces of men about him, but without a guide that can conduct him through the mist of educational and habitual ignorance; or a fellow heart that can interpret to him the new-born yearnings and aspirations of unpractised penitence? or when the boy, Colonel Jack, in the loneliness of the heart, (the worst solitude,) goes to hide his ill-purchased treasure in the hollow tree by night, and miraculously loses, and miraculously finds it again; whom hath he there to sympathise with him? or of what sort are his associates?
"The narrative manner of De Foe has a naturalness about it, beyond that of any novel or romance writer. His fictions have all the air of true stories. It is impossible to believe while you are reading them, that a real person is not narrating to you everywhere nothing but what really happened to himself. To this, the extreme homeliness of their style mainly contributes. We use the word in its best and heartiest sense,—that which comes home to the reader. The narrators everywhere are chosen from low life, or have had their origin in it; therefore they tell their own tales, (Mr. Coleridge has anticipated us in this remark,) as persons in their degree are observed to do, with infinite repetition, and an overacted exactness, lest the hearer should not have minded, or have forgotten some things that had been told before. Hence the emphatic sentences, marked in the good old (but deserted) Italic type; and hence, too, the frequent interposition of the reminding old colloquial parenthesis, 'I say,' 'mind,' and the like, when the story-teller repeats what to a practised reader might appear to have been sufficiently insisted upon before. What pirates, what thieves, and what harlots, are the thief, the harlot, and the pirate of De Foe? We would not hesitate to say, that in no other book of fiction, where the lives of such characters are described, is guilt and delinquency made less seductive, or the suffering made more closely to follow the commission, or the penitence more earnest or bleeding, or the intervening flashes of religious visitation, upon the rude and uninstructed soul, more meltingly or fearfully painted. They, in this, come near to the tenderness of Bunyan; while the lively pictures and incidents in them, as in Hogarth, or in Fielding, tend to diminish that fastidiousness to the concerns and pursuits of common life, which an unrestrained passion for the ideal and the sentimental is in danger of producing."
The writer in the Retrospective Review observes: "We avail ourselves with some satisfaction of an opportunity of introducing to our readers an old and valued acquaintance, as one whom they may have had the misfortune to lose sight of, amidst the perplexities of life and the competition of more obtrusive candidates for their notice. For our own part, surrounded as we are by the bustle and cares of middle age, the mere mention of our author's name falls upon us as cool and refreshing as a drop of rain in the hot and parched midday; for it never fails to bring along with it the recollection of the morning of our life, those green and pleasant years, when the solitary inhabitant of the desert island was perpetually mingling with the day-dreams of our imagination.
"After a vain attempt to apply to De Foe those laws of criticism which hold in ordinary cases, we are compelled to regard him as a phenomenon, and to consider his genius as something rare and curious, which it is impossible to assign to any class whatever. Throughout the ample stores of fiction, in which our literature abounds more than that of any other people, there are no works which at all resemble his, either in the design or execution. Without any precursor in the strange and unwonted path he chose, and without a follower, he spun his web of coarse but original materials, which no mortal had ever thought of using before; and when he had done it, seems as though he had snapped the thread, and conveyed it beyond the reach of imitation. To have a numerous train of followers is usually considered as adding to the reputation of the writer; we deem it a circumstance of peculiar honour to De Foe that he had none; for, in general, they are the faults of a great author, the parts where he exaggerates truth, or deviates from propriety, that become the prey of the imitator. Whenever he has stolen a 'grace beyond the reach of art,' whenever the vigour and freshness of nature are apparent, there he is inaccessible to imitation. The fugitive charms which are thus imparted, the volatile and subtle spirit which gives life and animation to the work, baffle and elude the grasp of mere imitative genius. In the fictions of De Foe we meet with nothing that is artificial, or that does not breathe the breath of life. The ingenuity which could counterfeit works of a more elaborate kind, and much more highly as well as curiously wrought, could make nothing of a simplicity so naked, and a manner so perfectly natural. The most consummate art was unable to follow where no vestiges of art were to be seen, for either none has been employed, or its traces are concealed as carefully as the Indian hides his footsteps from the observation of his pursuers; since to the critical eye, nothing is visible but the easy unconstraint of nature, and the fearlessness of truth. Besides, it must be allowed, that the temptation to imitate was as small as the difficulties were many and great; for whilst he transcribed from the volume of life with a fidelity and closeness that have never been equalled, with a singularly mortified taste, he chose the plainest and least inviting pages of the whole book. Those who would imitate De Foe must copy from nature herself; and instead of dressing her out to advantage, content themselves with delineating some of her simplest and homeliest features. His language is always that of the plain and unlettered person he professes himself; homely in phraseology, in expression rude and inartificial; yet like that of one who has received a distinct impression of objects which he has seen, it is often forcible, happy, and strongly descriptive. Generally speaking, in other fictitious narratives, a tendency to moralise out of reason or in a vein too elevated for the character assumed, or a continued effort to be uniformly wise, or elaborately witty, is almost sure to unmask the impostor, and expose the dreaming pedant at his desk; or, if these characteristic marks be wanting, either the narrative is inconsistent with itself, or it contradicts some known and established fact, or there is some anachronism, or other overt act against truth is committed, which critical sagacity seldom fails to detect and punish. But our author is never caught tripping in this way; he moralises to be sure, as much or more than most writers, but then his reflections are always in the right vein; he never steps from behind the curtain to figure away himself upon the stage. Either a vigilance that was perpetually on the watch preserved him from error, or he went right by mere instinct; or he so identified himself with his imaginary hero that he became in fancy the very individual he was creating, and was therefore necessarily always in character. But whatever vigilance he used, he has always the art to appear perfectly unconcerned; there is none of the constraint that usually accompanies a painful effort to support imposture; his hero is not stiff and awkward like a puppet, which has no voluntary motion, but moves freely and carelessly along the stage; talks to us in an honest, open, confidential sort of way; lays his inmost thoughts and feelings open before us, as before a confessor, without caution and subterfuge; and by never asking our belief, never seeming conscious of a possibility of its being denied, fairly compels us to grant it.
"The grand secret of his art, however, if art it can be called, and were not rather an instinct, consists doubtless in the astonishing minuteness of the details, and the circumstantial particularity with which everything is laid before us. It is by this, perhaps more than anything else, that fictitious narratives are distinguishable from the genuine memoirs of those who have been eyewitnesses of what they relate. The parts in the one case may be as probable as in the other, the descriptions as vivid and striking, the style as natural and unconstrained; still there is an indefinable something which seems to be wanting to the former, though we may not have remarked its presence in the latter. Some unimportant particular, some minute circumstances, which none but he who had seen it with his own eyes would have thought of remarking, will always serve, like the scarcely discernible lines on a genuine note, to distinguish between the true and the counterfeit. The eye of the imagination, however strong and piercing, cannot always pervade the whole scene, and see everything distinctly; the more prominent features, indeed, it may develope with the clearness and accuracy of an almost unclouded vision, but all besides is either obscured with mist, or lost in impenetrable shade; and he who paints from the ideal must consequently either leave these parts unfinished, or spread his colours at random. It is the singular merit of De Foe to have overcome this difficulty, and to have communicated to his fictitious narratives every characteristic mark by which we distinguish between real and pretended adventures. The whole scene lay expanded before him in the fulness of light and life, and, down to the minutest particular, everything is delineated with truth and accuracy. It is not necessary that we should have the light fall advantageously, or wink with our eyes, in order to make the delusion complete, by hiding the defects and softening down the harsh lines of the representation; the most penetrating gaze, aided by the strongest light, cannot detect the imposition, or distinguish between the shade and the substance. Writers of fiction may, in general, be said rather to shadow forth than fully to delineate their visions, either because they flit away too early, or are never seen with sufficient distinctness; like the first discoverers of countries, they trace out a few promontories on their chart, and give a faint outline of something indistinctly seen. In the solitude of his closet, De Foe could travel round the world in idea, seeing everything with the distinctness of natural vision, and noting everything with the minuteness of the most accurate observer. His chart presents us not merely with the bold headland, shooting forth into the deep, or the clearly defined mountain that rises into middle air behind; we have the whole coast fully and fairly traced out, with the soundings of every bay, the direction of every current, and the quarter of every wind that blows."
Sir Walter Scott says, "The fertility of De Foe was astonishing. He wrote on all occasions and on all subjects, and seemingly had little time for preparation on the subject in hand, but treated it from the stores which his memory retained of early reading, and such hints as he caught up in society, not one of which seems to have been lost upon him. His language is genuine English, often simple, even unto vulgarity, but always so distinctly impressive, that its very vulgarity has an efficacy in giving an air of truth or probability to the facts or sentiments it conveys. Exclusive of politics, De Foe's studies led chiefly to those popular narratives which are the amusement of children and the lower classes; those accounts of travellers who have visited remote countries; of voyagers who have made discoveries of new lands and strange nations; of pirates and buccaneers who have acquired great wealth by their desperate adventures on the ocean. There is reason to believe, from a passage in his Review, that he was acquainted with Dampier, a mariner, whose scientific skill in his profession, and power of literary composition were at that time rarely found in that profession, especially among those rough sons of the ocean who acknowledged no peace beyond the line, and had as natural an enmity to a South American Spaniard as a greyhound to a hare, and who, though distinguished by the somewhat milder term of buccaneer, were little better than absolute pirates. The English government, it is well known, were not, however, very active in destroying this class of adventurers, while they confined their depredations to the Dutch and Spaniards, and indeed seldom disturbed them if they returned from the roving life and sat down to enjoy their ill-gotten gains. The courage of these men, the wonderful risks they incurred, their hairbreadth escapes, the romantic countries through which they travelled, seemed to have had infinite charms for De Foe. All his works on this topic are entertaining in the highest degree, and remarkable for the accuracy with which he personates the character of a buccaneering adventurer. De Foe's general acquaintance with nautical affairs has not been doubted, as he is said never to misapply the various sea phrases, or display an ignorance unbecoming the character under which he wrote. He appears also to have been familiar with foreign countries, their produce, their manners, and government, and whatever rendered it easy or difficult to enter into trade with them. We may therefore conclude that Purchas's Pilgrims, Hakluyt's Voyages, and the other ancient authorities, had been curiously examined by him, as well as those of his friend Dampier, of Wafer, and others, who had been in the South Seas, whether as privateers, or, as it was then called, 'upon the account.'
"Shylock observes, that there are land thieves and water thieves; and as De Foe was familiar with the latter, so he was not without some knowledge of the practices and devices of the former. We are afraid we must impute to his long imprisonment the opportunity of becoming acquainted with the secrets of thieves and mendicants, their acts of plunder, concealment, and escape. But whatever way he acquired his knowledge of low life, De Foe certainly possessed it in the most extensive sense, and applied it in the composition of several works of fiction in the style termed by the Spaniards Gusto Picaresco, of which no man was ever a greater master. This class of fictitious narration may be termed the Romance of Roguery, the subjects being the adventures of thieves, rogues, vagabonds, swindlers, viragoes, and courtezans. The strange and blackguard scenes which De Foe describes, are fit to be compared to the Gipsy Boys of Murillo, which are so justly admired as being, in truth of conception and spirit of execution, the very chef-d'œuvre of art, however low and loathsome the originals from which they were taken.
"A third species of composition, to which the author's active and vigorous genius was peculiarly adapted, was the account of great national convulsions, whether by war, or by the pestilence, or the tempest. These are tales which are sure when even moderately well told, to arrest the attention, and which, narrated with that impression of reality which De Foe knew so well how to convey, make the hair bristle and the skin creep. In this manner he has written the Memoirs of a Cavalier, which have been often read and quoted as the real production of a real personage. Born himself almost immediately after the Restoration, De Foe must have known many of those who had been engaged in the civil turmoils of 1642-6, to which the period of these memoirs refers. He must have lived among them at the age when boys, such as we conceive De Foe must necessarily have been, cling to the knees of those who can tell them of the darings, the dangers of their youth, at a period when their own passions and views of pressing forward in life have not begun to operate upon their minds, and while they are still pleased to listen to the adventures which others have encountered on that stage which they themselves have not yet entered upon. The Memoirs of a Cavalier have certainly been enriched by some such anecdotes as were likely to fire De Foe's active and powerful imagination, and hint to him in what colours the subject ought to be treated. The contrast, for instance, between the soldiers of the celebrated Tilly and those of the illustrious Gustavus Adolphus, almost seems too minutely drawn to have been executed from anything short of oracular testimony. But De Foe's genius has shown, in this and other instances, how completely he could assume the character he describes.
"Another species of composition, for which this multifarious author showed a strong predilection, was that upon, theurgy, magic, ghost-seeing, witchcraft, and the occult sciences. De Foe dwells on such subjects with so much unction as to leave little doubt that he was to a certain point a believer in something resembling an immediate communication between the inhabitants of this world and of that which we shall in future inhabit. He is particularly strong on the subject of secret forebodings, mysterious impressions, bodements of good or evil, which arise in our own mind, but which yet seem impressed there by some external agent, and not to arise from the course of our natural reflections. * * * The general charm attached to the romances of De Foe is chiefly to be ascribed to the unequalled dexterity with which he has given an appearance of REALITY to the incidents which he narrates. Even De Foe's deficiencies in style, his homeliness of language, his rusticity of thought, expressive of what is called the Crassa Minerva, seem to claim credit for him as one who speaks the truth, the rather that we suppose he wants the skill to conceal or disguise it. It is greatly to be doubted whether De Foe could have changed his colloquial, circuitous, and periphrastic style for any other, more coarse or more elegant. We have little doubt it was connected with his nature, and the particular turn of his thoughts and ordinary expressions, and that he did not succeed so much by writing in an assumed manner, as by giving full scope to his own. The air of writing with all the plausibility of truth must, in almost every case, have its own peculiar value; as we admire the paintings of some Flemish artists, where though the subjects drawn are mean and disagreeable, and such as in nature we would not wish to study or look close upon, yet the skill with which they are represented by the painter gives an interest to the imitation upon canvass which the original entirely wants. But, on the other hand, when the power of exact and circumstantial delineation is applied to objects which we are anxiously desirous to see in their proper shape and colours, we have a double source of pleasure, both in the art of the painter, and in the interest which we take in the subject represented. Thus the style of probability with which De Foe invested his narrative was perhaps ill-bestowed, or rather wasted, upon some of the works which he thought proper to produce; but, on the other hand, the same talent throws an air of truth about the delightful history of Robinson Crusoe, which we never could have believed it possible to have united with so extraordinary a situation as is assigned to the hero. All the usual scaffolding and machinery employed in composing fictitious history are carefully discarded. The early incidents of the tale, which in ordinary works of invention are usually thrown out as pegs to hang the conclusion upon, are in this work only touched, and suffered to drop out of sight. Robinson, for example, never hears anything more of his elder brother, who enters Lockhart's dragoons in the beginning of the work, and who, in any common romance, would certainly have appeared before the conclusion. We lose sight at once and for ever of the interesting Xury; and the whole earlier adventures of our voyager vanish, not to be recalled to our recollection by the subsequent course of the story. His father, the good old merchant of Hull; all the other persons who have been originally active in the drama, vanish from the scene, and appear not again. This is not the case in the ordinary romance, where the author, however luxuriant his invention, does not willingly quit possession of the creatures of his imagination till they have rendered him some services upon the scene; whereas in common life it rarely happens that our early acquaintances exercise much influence upon the fortunes of our future life."
The popularity of De Foe as a writer, added to the circumstance that most of his writings appeared anonymously, have been the occasion of many works being attributed to him with which he had no concern; some in fact that are known as the works of other writers, and some that are altogether different, not only from his style of writing, but opposed to the principles which he advocated; and others which by no possibility he could have written, inasmuch as they relate to events and persons subsequent to his decease. In the following list care has been taken, so far as possible, to include such works only as are undoubtedly from his pen. It is proper to mention, however, that it does not include the whole of what might by a minute and careful investigation be satisfactorily identified to him, and that such examination would probably displace some of those here inserted, and add others not herein mentioned. In his Appeal to Honour and Justice, he alludes to some of his early works, without giving the exact titles by which they can be distinguished. The present list commences with the first work positively known to be his production.