The works of Daniel Defoe, with a memoir of his life and writings

Front matter

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover.

Marks, notations and other marginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the publisher to a library and finally to you.

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing this resource, we have taken steps to prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.

Contents

VOLUME THE TIRST.

Lira OF Davxxl Db Fob, bt tbb Ebxtor. Appbal to Hokoub and Justicb.

Catalooub ov thb W0BK8 of Davibl De Fob H18TOBT OF CoLONBL Jack.

Introduction

ix

Pope first desoended from a moDkish race. Cheapens the chanas of art and daubs her fiuse ; From Gabalis * his mushroom fictions rise, Lop off his Sylph, and his Belinda f dies ; Th' attending insects hover in the air, No longer than they're present, is she fair. Some dart those eye-beams, which the youth's

beguile.

And some sit conquering in a dimpUog smile ; Some pinch the tucker, and some smooth the

smock.

Some guard an upper—some a lower lock. But if these truant body-guards escape, In whip the gnomes, and strait commit a rape. The curling honours of her head they seize, Hairs less in sight, or any hairs they please ; Bat if to angry frowns her brow she bends. Upon her ft^nt some sullen gnome descends; Whisks thron)(h the Airrows with its airy form, Bristles her eye-brows, and directs the storm. As wide from these are Addisonian themes, As angels thoughts are from distempered dreams ; Spenser and he, to image nature knew. Like living persons, vice and virtue drew ; At once instructed and well pleased we read, While in sweet morals these two poets laid, No less to wisdom than to wit pretence. They led by music, but they led to sense.

But Pope scarce ever force to fancy joins. With dancing-master's feet e<juips his Unes, Plumes empty fancy, and in tmsel shines. Or if by chance his fancy seems to lead ^\llere one poor moral fhintly shows its head ; *Tis like a judge, that, reverendly dressed. Peeps through the pageants at a Lord Mayor's

feast; By starts he reasons, and seems wise by fits. Such wit's called wisdom, that has lost Its wits. Unnamed by me this witling bard had been, Had not the writers caused the reader's sin ; But less by comedies and lewd romances. Are ruined less by French lascivious dances. Than by such rhymer's masqueraded fancies.

From such the root of superstition grew, Whoee old charms fertile, daily branched in view ; From such chimeras first inspired, the fair, The conj'rer's ring approached, and Jesuit's chair, Thrtmged to the doors where magic rogues

divined.

And sold out ignes fatui to the mind.

W^izards and Jesuits differ but in name. Both demon's envoys and their trade the same ; Weak wills they lead, and vapoured minds com-

maud.

And play tlie game into each other'k hand ; Like spiritual jugglers at the cup and ball, Rising by foolish maids, that long to fall. Some into love they damn, and some they pray. For green-sick minds are caught a different way. To the same end, through several paths they run. Priests to undo, and maids to be undone. Some blacker diarms, some whiter spells, ci^ole, As some lick wall, and some devour a coal. Here ladies, strong in vapours, see men's faces Imprinted in the conjuror's dazzling glasses. There, when in spring-time, the too-praying priest Toasts, and does something better— to the best.

• The " History of the Count de Gabalis ," whence he has taken the machinery of his " Rape of tho Tx>ck." t MnFSnner.

A spouse is promised on nest Baptist's* feast First some young contrite rake's enjoined tc

marry.

Lest madam's forced to squeak for't, or miicarry. In June, the lass does to the fields repair, Where good Sir Domino just took the air. When, O strange wonder ! near a plantain root. She finds a coal— and so a spouse to boot ; She longs to dream— and to secnra the sport. That very day the youth designed must court. He does : she struck with fancy and delight, Bespeaks her fancy strangely— ndreams at night The yielding fair, the ravished youth obtains ; A maid she passes— so his child's free gains. He has the pleasure, yet is saved the painsL Thus when priests wench, to cure the growing evi Poor St John Baptist mast fore-run the devil.

But if the ladies fall, at fiOl of leaf. Or in the winter, still there's fresh relief; Let her lace close four months, and if she can, St Agnes f heals the breach and brings the man. Thus a lewd priest to vapoured virgins cants, And into pimps converts his vestal saints.

O ! dire effects of masqued impiety ! And shall they, Christian muse, have aids fh>m

thee ?

Wilt thoU| like witty heathens, lewdly given^ Into Gehenna metamorphose heaven ? Wilt thou ?—0, no; forbid the unhallow'd song, Such profanations to Rome's bard belong. Let one, who gods and goddesses adores, Paint them like rakes and bullies, • bawds and whores?

Our genii, Campbell, shall be all divine. Shall high o'er theirs as much distinguished shine. As o*er such priests or chiromancers thine. Thine, which do future time's events command To leap to sight and in thy presence stand. Thine, whose eyes glowing with a gifted ray. New roads of life o'er wisdom's Alps survey, And guide benighted travellers to-day. Let me, for once, a daring prophet be : Mark, from this hour, that poetry thou'lt see, Date a new era from thy book and thee. Tliy book, where, through the stories thou hast

laid.

All moral wisdom's to the mind conveyed ; And thus far prophecies each page, that all Must rise by virtue, or by vices fall.

Poets shiul blush to see their wit outdone. Resume their reason, and assert its throne ; Shall fables still for virtue's sake commend. And wit, the means, shall wisdom make its end.

Who hopes to please, shall strive to please by

Shall, gaining fame, earn hard whate'er he gains; And Denham's morals join to Denham's strains. Here paint the Thames " when running to the sea, Like mortal life to meet eternity ;" There show both kings and subjects " one excess Makes both, by striving to be greater, tess."! Shall climb and sweat and falling, climb up still, Before he gains the height of Cooper's Hill. In Windsor Forest, if some trifUng grace Gives, at first blush, the whole a pleasing face ; *T!s wit 'tis true, hut then 'tis common plaoe.

* See the " Dodication of.Mr Campbell's Life' + See Mr Campbell's " Dedication.^' I See Cooper's Hill.

2 P

INTRODUCTION.

The landBcape-writer branches out a wood. When digging hard fort, finds a silver flood. Here paints the woodcock, quivering iu the air, And there the bounding stag and quaking hare ; Describes the pheasant's scarlet-circied eye. And next the slaughtering gun that makes him

die.

From common epithets that fame derives By which his most uncommon merit lives, ' lis true, if finest notes alone could show, (Tuned justly high, or regularly low), That we should feme to these mere vocals give, Pope, more than we can offer, should receive. For, when some gliding river is his theme. His lines run smoother than the smoothest stream ; Not so^hen through the trees fierce Boreas blows ; The period blustering with the tempest grows. But what fool's periods read, for period's sake ? Such chimes improve not heads, but make 'em

ache.

Though strict in cadence on the numbers rub. Their frothy substance is whip- syllabub ; With most serapliic emptiness they roll, Sound without sense, and body without soul.

Not such the bands that give you just applause, Each from intrinsic worth thy praises draws ; Morals, in cv'ry page, where'er they look. They find divinely scattered through thy book. They find thee studious, with praiseworthy strife. To smooth the future roads of human life ; To help the weak, and to confirm the strong, Make our griefs vanish, and our bliss prolong ; With Phineus equal find thy large desert, 'And, in thy praise, would equal Milton's art.

Some fools, we know, in spite of nature bom, Would make thee theirs, as they are mankind's

scorn.

But still 'tis one of truth's unerring rules, No sage can rise without a host of fools. Coxcombs (by whose eternal din o'ercome, The wise, in just revenge, might wish them dumb). Say, on the world, your dumbness you impose And give you organs they deserve to lose ;

Impose, indeed, on aU the world you would. If you but held your tongue, because you could ; 'Tis hard to say, if keeping silence still, In one, who, could he speak, would speak with

skill.

Is worse, or talk in these who talk so ill. Why, on that tongue, should purposed silence

dwell, Whence ev'ry word would drop an oracle ? More fools of thy known foresight make a jest. For all hate greatest gifts, who share the least, (As Pope calls Dryden often to the test*). Such from thy pen should Irwin's scntencef wait, And at the gallows own the judge of fate. Or while with feeble impotence they rail. Write wonders on, and with the wise prevail.

Sooner shall Denham cease to be renowned, Or Pope for Denham's sense quit empty sound; To Addison's immortal heights shall rise, Or the dwarf reach him in his native skies ; Sooner shall real gipsies grow most fair. Or false ones, weighty truths, like thine, declare. Than these poor scandal-mongers hit their aim. And blemish thine or Caril's acknowledged fame.

Great Nostradamus thus his age advised. The mob his counsels jeered, some bards despised^ Him ; still, neglecting these, his genius fired, A king encouraged, and the world admired. Greater (as time's great tide increased) he grew, When distant ages proved what truths he knew. Thy nobler book, a greater king received, Whence, I predict, and claim to be believed, That, by posterity, less fame shall be. To Nostradamus granted than to thee ; Thee, whom the best of kings does so defend. And (myself barring) the best bards commend. H. Stanhope.

Whitehall, June 6, 1720.

* See many places of hit "Notes on Homer." t See Mr Campbell's " Life."

REMARKABLE PASSAGE OF AN APPARITION,

RELATED BY THE REV. DR RUDDLE, OF LAUNCESTON IN CORNWALL,

IN THE YEAR IM&

In the beginning of this year, a disease happened in this town of Launceston, and some of my scholars died of it. Among others who fell under the malignity then triumphing, was John Elliot, the eldest son of Edward Elliot of Treherse, Esq., a stripling of about sixteen years of age, but of more than common parts and ingenuity. At his own particular request, I preached at the funeral, which happened on the 20th day of June, 1665. In my discourse (ut mos reique locique postulabat), I spoke some words in commendation of the young gentleman ; such as might endear his memory to those that knew him, and, withal, tended to preserve his example to the fry which went to school with him, and were to continue there after him. An ancient gentleman, who was then in the church, was much aifected with the discourse, and was often heard to repeat, the same evening, an expression I then used out of Virgil :—

" £t piier ipse fuit cantari dlgnus." The reason why this grave gentleman was so concerned at the character, was a reflection he made upon a son of his own, who being about the

INTRODUCTION.

MdM 9§^ ind| bvt ft raw BMnttM bcAvef not luiwwOsf «f the fflie efaaraeter I gcve of tho young BIr BSott, wtt now, by ft strftngft ftociclent» finite loit ftft to hiv parent's hopes and all ezpecUtion of any flutliei eonA>rt by tatai.

'iDO fvDefflil fftes beiiig over* I wsb no sooner ooine oQt Of toe dinreh, bot I round nfyself most eoartooilrfy aiseosted by diis oM gentlenian ; and wKh an nnnsoal importtmity, ahnost forced ^gihHt my faomoiir to see Us hou^ that niglit ; nor ^onld I have rescned myself from his Und- ■ess* bad not Mr EUett hiterposed and pleaded tide to me fbr tho whole of the day, which, as he said, he would resiffn to no tsaa Hereupon I got loose for that tnne, but #as oonstrainea to kate ft promise behind me to wait npon him at bis own house the Monday Mh^hng. They then seemed to satisfy, but before Monday came I had a new message to request me that, if it wet« poisfbte, I would be there on the Sunday. The second attempt i resisted^ by answering that it was agahist my oonfenicnee, and the duty which ftHat own people etpected Ihnn me. Tet wai^ not the gentleman at rest, for he sent me another letter on the Sunday, by no means to fid on the Monday, and so to order my busmess as to spend with hhn two or three days at least. I was indeed startled at so much eagerness, and so nnny dnnnhigs for a visit, without any businoss; and began to suspect that there must needs be some design in the bottom of all this eteesB of etartesy. For I had no Ihmiiiarlty, scarce common acquaintaaee with the gentleman or tils fottily ; nor eoold I hnagfaie whence shonld arise snefa a Ihlsh of friendship on the sudden.

On the Monday 1 went, and paid my promised deroir, and met with entertainment as free and plentifM at the invitation was hnportunate. Hiere also I found a neighbouring minister, who pretended t« call in acddentally, bot by the seqael I 8up|iose it otherwise. Aiter dinner this brother of the ooat undertook to show me the gardens, wtiere^ is We were walking, be gave me the irst diseovery of what was mainly intended ift nil tUs treat and complbnent

First he began io tdt the tefortunity of the lamily hi genml, end then gave an instance hi the yomigest son. He related what a hopeftil, ^ir%htiyTad he tetely was; and how melancholic and sottish he Was now grown. Then did he with much passion lament; that his iU-humonr shonld io hksredibly subdue his reason $ for, says ha, the poor boy beH^vel himself to be haunted with gfaosti, tad it oonfldent that he meets with an evi mirft in a eertafai field about half a mile from tUi ptaoe,at often fts he goes that way to school.

In flw midst of our twaddle, the old gentleman and Ut lady (as observing thefr cue exactly) cmne ap to us. Upon their i^roadi, and pointhm me to the arbour, the parson renews the rwlan to met and the^ fthe parents of the ywnib) eonlrmed what he iaM« and added many mhiafee circuuiatanoet, ih a long narrative of the wholn. in ifaie, they all three desired my thoughts and advice in the aflkir.

1 wn «»ft ftble to colleet thoughts enough on tbo midea to fnmk a Judgipent upmi what they had taid, only 1 aatwered, that the thfaig which tlie ymith reported to them wks strange, yet not incredibla* ind tinit I kne# not then what to think or my of H; but if the l«l wouM be free to me in talk, and trust me with his counsels, I had hopes to give them a better aooount of my opinion the next day.

I had no sooner spoken so much, but I perceived myself m the q>ringle their courtship had laid for me ; for the old lady was not able to hide her hnpatiencef but her son must be called immediatdy. T^s 1 was forced to comply with and oonsent to, so that drawing off from the company to an orchard near by, she went heraAf, and brought him to me, and left bim with me.

It was the main drift of all these three to persnade me that either the boy was lazy, and glad of any excuse to keep from the school, or that he was in love with some wench and ashamed to confess it; or that he had a fetch upon his father to get money and new dothes, that he might range to London after a brother he had there ; and therefore they begged of me to discovet the root of the matter, and accordingly to dissuade, advise, or reprove Um, but chiefly, by all means, to undeceive him as to the fancy of ghosts and spfrits.

I soon entered into a close oonferenoe with the youths and at first was very cautious not to dislease him, but by smooth words to ingratiate myself and get within him, for I doubted he would be too distrustful or too reserved. But we had scarcely passed the first situation, and begun to speak io the bushiess, before I found tiiat there needed no policy to screw myself into his breast ; for he most openly, and with all obliging candour did aver, that he loved his book, and desired noting more than to be bred a scholar ; that he had not the least respect for any of womdn-kind, as his mother gave out ; and that the only request he wouM make to his parents was, that they would but believe his constant assertions concerning the woman he was disturbed with, in the fleldcalled ilwHigker^BroaM Qmaiili. He told me with all naked freedom, and a fiood of tears, that his friends were unkind and unjust to him, neither to believe nor pity him ; and that if any man (making a bow to me) would but go with him to the place, he might be convinced that the thing was real, &c

By this tfane he found me apt to compassionate his condition, and to be attentive to his relation of it, and therefore he went on in this way : —

** This woman which appears to me," saith he, ** lived a neighbour here to my father, and died about eight years since; her name, Dorothy EHni^e, of such a stature, such age, and such complexion. She never speaks to me, but passeth by hastily, and always leaves the foot-path to me, and she commonly m^ts me twice or three times m the breadth of the field.

** H was about two months before I took any notice of it, and though the shape of the face was in my memory, yet I did not recall the name of the person, but without more thoughtfulness, I did suppose it was some woman who lived thereabout, and had frequent occasion that way. Nor did I imagine anything to the contrary before she began to meet me constantly, morning and evening, and alwa^ in the same field, and sometimei twice or thrice in the breadth of it.

** The first tfane I took notice of her was about

INTRODUCTION.

a year since, and when I first began to suspect and believe it to be a gbost, I had courage enough not to bo afraid, but kept it to myself a good while, and only wondered very much about it I did often spealc to it, but never had a word in answer. Then I changed my way, and went to school the Under Horse Road, and, then she always met me in the narrow lane, between the Quarry Park and the Nursery, which was worse.

** At length I began to be terrified at it, and prayed continually that God would either free me from it or let me know the meaning of it. Night and day, sleeping and waking, the shape was ever running in my mind, and I often did repeat these places of Scripture, (with that he takes a small Bible out of his pocket,) Job, vii, 14 :— * Thon scarest me with dreams, and temptest me through visions.' And Deuteronomy, zxviiL 67 : ' In the morning, thou shalt say. Would God it were evening ; and at evening thou shalt say. Would God it were morning ; for the fear of thy heart, wherewith thou shiJt fear, and for the dght of thine eyes, which thou shaK see.'*'

I was very much pleased with the lad's ingenuity in the application of these pertinent Scriptures to his condition, and desired hun to proceed.

" When," says he, "by degrees, I grew very pensive, inasmuch that it was taken notice of by all our family ; whereupon, being urged to it, I told my brother William of it, and he privately acquainted my father and mother, and they kept it to themselves for some time.

" The success of this discovery was only thb ; they did sometimes laugh at me, sometimes chide me, but still commanded me to keep to my school, and pot such fopperies out of my head. I did acoonlingly go to school often, but always met the woman in the way."

This, and much more to the same purpose, vea, as much as heki a dialogue of near two homrs, was our conference in the orchard, which ended with my proffer to him, that, without making any privy to our intents, I would next morning walk with him to the place, about six o'clock. He was even transported with joy at the mention of it, and replied,—*' But will you, sure, sir? Will you, sure, sir? Thank God! Now I hope I shall be relieved." From this conclusion we retired Into the house.

The gentleman, his wife, and Mr Sam were impatient to know the event, insomuch that they came out of the parlour Into the hall to meet us; and seeing the lad look cheerfully, the first compliment fiom the old man was, " Come Mr Rnddlle, you have talked with him ; I hope now he will have more wit An idle boy ! an idle boy t" At these words, the lad ran up the stah-s to his own chamber, without replying, and I soon stopped the curiosity of the three expectants by tellfaig them I had promised silence, and was resolved to be as good as my word; but when things were riper they might know all. At present, I dedred them to rest in my faithfUl promise, that I would do my utmost in their service, and for the good of their son. With this they were silenced; I cannot sav satisfied.

The next morning before five o'clock, the lad WM in my chamber, and very brisk. laroeeand went with him. The fieU he led me to I guessed to be twenty acres, in an open country, and about three furlongs from any house. We went into the field, and had not gone above a third part, before the spectrum, in the shape of a woman, with all the circumstances he had described her to me in the orchard the day before, (as much as the suddenness of its appearance and evenition would permit me to discover,) met us and passed by. 1 was a little surprised at it, and though I had taken up a firm resolution to speak to it, yet I had not the power, nor indeed durst I look back ; yet I took care not to show any fear to my pupfl and guide, and therefore only telling him that I was satisfied in the truth of his complaint, we walked to the end of the field, and returned, nor did the ghost meet us that time above once. I perceived in the young man a kind of boldness, mixed with astonishment ; the first caused bv my presence, and the proof he had given of his own relation, and the other by the sight of his persecutor.

In short, we went home : I somewhat puzzled, he much animated. At our return, the gentlewoman, whose inquisitiveness had missed us, watched to speak with me. I gave her a convenience, and told her that my opinion was that her son's complaint was not to be slighted, nor altogether discredited ; yet, that my judgment hi his case was not settled. I gave her caution, moreover, that the thhig might not take wind, lest the whole country should rmg with what we had yet no assurance o£

In this juncture of time I had business which would admit no delay; wherefore I went for Launceston that evening, but promised to see them again next week. Yet I was prevented by an occasion which pleaded a sufllcient excuse ; for my wife was that week brought home from a neighbour's house very ilL However, my mind was upon the adventure. I studied the case, and about three weeks after went again, resolving, by the help of God, to see the utmost

The next morning being the 27th day of July, 1665k I went to the haunted field by myself, and walked the breadth of the field without any encounter. I returned and took the other walk, and then the spectrum appeared to me, much about the same place where I saw it before, when the young gentleman was with me. In my thoughts, It moved swifter than the time before, and about ten feet distance from me on my right hand, insomuch that I had not time to speak, as I had determined with myself beforehand.

The evening of this day, the parents, the son, and myself, being in the chamhBr where I lay, I propounded to them our going altogether to the place next morning, and after some asseveration that there was no danger in it, we all resolved upon it The morning behng come, lest we should ahurm the family of servants, they went under the pretence of seeing a field of wheat, and I took my horse and fetched a compass another way, and so met at the stile we had appointed.

Thence we all four walked leisorely into the Quartels, and had passed above half the field before the ghost made appearance. It then came over the stile just before us, and moved with that swiftness that by the time we had gone iht or

INTRODUCTION.

xiU wTen iteps it passed by. I hnmediately tamed hesd and nn after H, with the young inaD by my aUe ; we saw it pass over the stile by which we entered, bat no farther. I stepped upon the hedge at one place, he at another, but could discern nothing: whereas, 1 dare aver, that the swiftest horse In England could not have conveyed himself oat or sight in that short space of time. Two things 1 observed in this day's appearance. 1. That a spaniel dog, who followed the company unregarded, did bark and run away, as the speetmm pasnd by ; whence it is easy to oondode that it was not our fear or ihocy which made the apparition. 2. That the motion of the spectrum was not gradation, or by steps, and moving of the feet, but a kind of gliding, as chiktren upon tlie ice, or a boat down a swift river, which punctually answers the descriptions the andenU gave of their Xmaros^ which was

HEuoDomrs.

But to proceed. This ocular evidence dearly coavinced, but, withal, strangely* frightened the old gentleman and his wife, who knew this Dorothy Dingle in her lifetime, were at her burial, and now plainly saw her features in this pre sent apparition. Tenconraged them as well as I eould, but after this they went no more. However, I was resolved to proceed, and use such lawful means as God hath discovered, and learned men have successfully practised in these irregular casea

The next morning, being Thursday, I went out very early by myself, and walked for about on hour's space in meditation and prayer in the field next SMyoining to the Quartils. Soon after five I stepped over the stde into the disturbed field, and had not gone above thirty or forty paces before the ghost appeared at the ftirther stile. I spoke to it with a loud voioe, in some such sentences aa the way of these dealings directed me ; whereupon it approached, but slowly, and when I came near, it moved not I spake again, and it answered, in a voice neither very audible nor intell%fble. I was not in the least terrified, and therefore persisted until it spake again, and gave me satisfaction. But the work could not be finished at this time ; wherefore, the same evening, an boor after sunset, it met me again near the same place, and after a few words on each side, it qoietly vanished, and neither doth appear since, nor ever will more to any man's disturbance. The discourse in the morning lasted about a quarter of an hour.

These things are trae, and I know them to be so, with as much certainty as eyes and ears can give me, and until I can be persuaded that my senses do deceive me about their proper object, and by that persuasion deprive myself or the strongest inducement to believe the Christian religion, I most and will assert that these things in this paper are true.

As for the manner of my proceeding, I find no reason to be ashamed of it, for I can justify it to men of good principles, discretion, and recondite learning, though in this case 1 chose to content myself in the assurance of the thing, rather than be at the unprofitable trouble to presaade others to believe it ; for I know full well with what difficulty relations of so uncommon a nature and practice obtain belief. He that tells such a story may expect to be dealt withal as a traveller in Poland by the robbers, vis., first murdered and then searched, — first condemned for a liar, or superstitious, and then, when it is too late, have his reasons ond proofs examined. This incredulity may be attributed—