BO OK.

'WILLIAM CHADWICrS LIFE AND TIMES' OF DE FOE.* THE world-wide popularity of "Robinson Crnsoe," and the extra- ordinary reality of the "Journal of the Plague Year," have given to De Foe a higher literary reputation than the grade of his genius strictly entitles him to. As a politician, (for it is hyperbole to call him a political philosopher ) he was in several things be- fore his age ; and the obloquy that his opinions, or may be his proceedings, brought upon him then, tell in his favour now. He is looked upon as an ill-used man, who was prosecuted by Go- vermnents' persecuted by parties' assailed by opposing writers, sneered at by wits and dignified authors undervalued or ne- glected by the world at large, and deserted by his own sect the Presbyterian Dissenters. As a simple fact, there is no doubt as to the truth of much of this ; but countervailing-or explanatory causes are overlooked. De Foe was undoubtedly what would now be called a Liberal, and of the first water ; but his principles sat loose upon him. While professing Whig doctrines, there is little doubt but that he was willing for a consideration to write for the other side, or at least for members of the other side,—Harley to wit. He brought the conduct of other men to the test of abstract principle. He assailed his " respectable " fellow Presbyterians—Lord Mayors Aldermen, and Ministers, for complying or permitting compliance with the Test Act, for the purpose of civic honours or social advantages. And though it may be doubted whether the Presbyterians of that age attached any idea of sin to receiving the sacrament of the English church, their defence mainly rests upon expediency or social convention. At the same time the excuse of De Foe for literary frauds, such as 'Hrs. Veal's apparition, rests entirely on literary convention, for there was nothing expedient in them, beyond .making money for their author, and on abstract grounds they were utterly indefen- sible; while some of his fictions were indefensible on any ground whatever. His conduct as a party writer, and as an agent—open or secret—of government, must be judged by the standard of his 'own times ; but his own times condemned him ; though it may be through party enmity. Like many of the wits of his day, his affairs were always embarrassed. His first emergence into public life was in 1689, when Oldmixon saw him riding as one of the volunteer guards of King William on his visit to the city; in 1692, before he could be said to have embarked in the career of professional authorship, he was obliged to abscond from his credi- tors; and in similar hidings a large portion of his life was passed. Unlike many wits, however' he lived. in something like splen- dour. He occasionally kept a carriage-and a suitable establish- ment; once when immured all the week to avoid the bailiffs, he Appeared on Sunday in flowing wig, lace ruffles, and a sword ; a few years before his death he had "newly built a very handsome house" at Stoke Newington, to which was attached "a large and pleasant garden," though his affairs were then, in confusion, and. he died from home, (which he had left to avoid his creditors,) at lodgings in Cripplegate. Unlike most other wits of the day, he made a great deal of money by his writings, and there is no doubt "that he received a great deal of money from Ministers, some of it -earned very legitimately, and some of it we fear not so, even ac- cording to the theory of his age. All these things were well known to his contemporaries ; and though the number of his .peccadilloes might be increased, and their nature enlarged by -prejudice and party animosity, yet we remember that his age saw him, not as we see him, merely as the author of Robinson Crusoe -and other remarkable works, and as the bold advocate of civil and religions liberty, far beyond the then received opinions, but -as the vigorous and virulent party writer, the secret agent of Min- isters, the man of imprudent conduct in life very frequently of ‘nnpopular opinions, and the theoretical moralist who brought other men to tests, which he did not always submit to himself.

The far-famed line " Earless on high stood unabashed De Foe," has furnished constant ground of attack to the enemies of Pope, and of regret to his friends. It should be remembered that the

• poet was writing satire, and attacking a party opponent. The ground of attack, too, was not De Foe's abilities but his confi- dence, and he himself had written a Hymn to the Pillory. De Foe's powers Pope always admitted, even in the Dunciad, con- fining his satire to his alleged impudence. To the couplet,

"Norton, from Daniel and Ostrcea sprung, Blest with his father's front, and mother's tongue "-

be adds, in a note, "Norton be Fee, son of the famous Daniel." In the first edition of the Dunciad, there was a line,

"She [Dulness] saw in Norton all his father shine."

This he corrected to "old Pryn in restless Daniel," observing that the first was "a great mistake, for Daniel De Foe had. parts." In the Conversations with Spence, Pope gives a fuller and fairer critical opinion upon De Foe as a writer. "The first part of .1Zobinson Creme is very good. De Foe wrote a vast many things, and none bad, though none excellent, except this. There is some- thing good in all he has written."

Swift has also been censured for his contempt—professing not to know Do Foe's name ; but this was the mere trick of a party writer, thrusting at an opponent; and it may be observed that .De Foe had not then written any of his greater works. Hume likewise speaks but slightingly of him as a party writer, but that

is the fashion of historians of the old school, who only treat mo- narchs, ministers and other great folk, with respect. Hume, how- * The The Life and Times of Daniel Be Foe; with Remarks Digressive. mad Miscar- sive. By William Chadwick. Published by Russell Smith. ever, had not Swift's chronological excuse ; and though he was for twenty years a contemporary of Be Foe, he was not like Pope a lite- rary contemporary. In reality, however, the man who placed Virgil at the. head of all -writers, and in his heart of hearts preferred Cato and French tragedies to Shakspeare; was not likely to ap- -predate De Foe. -For the reasons intimated above' we think a new life

Foe is not uncalled for ; and from the peculiar nature of his veer, his " times " might properly be joined with the life.

this task Mr. William Chadwick is quite unequal ; perhaps is in- capable of writing a life at all. He has some vigour, and an ex- tent of self satisfaction which induces him to form his conclusions promptly., to stick to them stubbornly, andto " speak his mind" freely. This gives a sort of character to his book, which renders it more readable than such a gallimaufry would otherwise be, and as he quotes largely from De Foe's political works, when they have a biographical character, and often when they have not, he strings together a large amount of curious matter, throw- ing light upon De Foe and his age. This " light " however, is upon the political writer ; the novelist is doubled up in little more than a catalogue of his works. Neither is De Foe's political life -very clearly stated ; and though Mr. Chadwick affects scrupulo- sity, declining to narrate stories of biographers on De Foe's early life, because he wants " evidence " of their truth ; yet on the very same page he proceeds, without any authority whatever' to give his " impression " of De Foe's mother. He also exercisesthe pri- vilege of putting any interpretation he pleases upon the facts he meets, and of disbelieving biographical circumstances, even when asserted by De Foe himself, though here perhaps he may be right —we suspect that De Foe was not over scrupulous in his written statements. The claim Mr. Chadwick advances on the title page, to "remarks digressive and discursive," is pushed to an extent which savours of abuse of privilege, and a like observation may be applied to his logic. In fact the book is a jumble of extracts from De Foe and other writers, throwing scattered light upon his life, and upon the manners of the age, but often as much -upon the latter as the former, even when drawn from De Foe himself. Among other things in which he was in advance of his contempo- raries in general,. was temperance ; and a passage from one of his writings on that subject is curious for its picture of opinion upon tippling more than a century and a half ago, and the style in which men of rank were in the habit of- addressing persons evi- dently in the position of gentlemen. " ' After the restitution of King Charles II., when drinking the King's health became thedistinetion between a Cavalier and a Roundhead, drunk- enness began to reign, -and it has reigned almost forty years. The gentry caressed this beastly vice at such a rate, that no companion, no servant, was thought proper unless he could bear a quantity of wine ; and to this day, 1698, 'tis added to the character of a man as an additional title, when you would speak well of him, He is an honest drunken fellow, as if his drunken- ness was a recommendation of his honesty.' "Again—' The further perfection of this vice among the gentry will ap- pear. in two things : that 'tie become the subject of their glory, and the way of expressing their joy for any publick blessing. "Jack," said a gentle- man of very high qiudity, when, after the debate in the House of Lords, King William nT. was voted into the vacant throne—" Jack," says he, "Goddamn ye, Jack, go home to your lady, and tell her we have got it Pro- testant King and Queen ; and go make a bonfire as big as a throne, and bid She butler make ye all drunk, ye dog." Here was sacrificing to the devil, for a thanksgiving to God.' " We are prone to censure the Southern or newly-settled States of America for the violence with which personal quarrels are con- ducted, and the brawls that are frequently taking place in the streets. Yet within the period of two long lives, similar if not worse scenes took place in the streets of London. Colepeper a politican of those days, and De Foe's legal adviser, had in con- versation in the anti-room of the council chamber at Windsor, made some remark on Sir George Rooke, which the admiral es- teemed a reflexion on his courage. In revenge it would seem Colepeper was suddenly set upon in the Strand, on a Sunday morning, by three bullies, though in the nominal rank of gentle- men, and challenged to fight on the spot. And if we could trust the indictment literally, one might conclude that a profession was to be found in London during our Augustan age, such as Sal- lust describes Jugurtha making use of to remove Massinissa at Rome—" per hommes tails negotii artifices." " Mid.'ss. The jurors for our Sovereign Lady the Queen present, that Nathaniel Denew, late of the Parish of St. Clement's Dane, in the county aforesaid, gent. ; John Merriam, late of that parish, in the said county, gent. ; and Richard Britton, late of the same parish, in the same county, gent. ; being fighters, swordsmen, and disturbers of the peace, and skilled and verse in fighting duels; on the 21st day of August,' &cc. * * * * did in the parish of St. Clement's Dane, in the said county of Middlesex, un- lawfully' clandestinely, devilishly, wickedly, and maliciously, under pre- tence of discord, strife, and contention, between Sir George Itooke, Ent., one of Her Majesty's Honourable Privy Council, and William Colepeper, Esq., then and before .mov'd, had, and being, consult, machinate, propose, and intend, and did, among themselves, and others to the jurors unknown, confederate and conspire, So. * * * * and lying in wait of his malice fore- thought and assault premeditated, then and there offered himself to fight a mortal duel, in behalf (as he said) of the said Sir George Rooke against the said William Colepeper; and with threatening, spightful, and opprobrious words, then and there daringly' wickedly, maliciously, and vehemently, urged, provoked, and stirred up the said William Colepeper to fight with him the said mortal duel, &e.

• • •

"Mr. Colepeper examined.—The same Sunday morning, about two or 'three hoes after I had been with Sir George Rooke : I had my eyes about -me, as I thought it concerned mete have, and I often turned about to see ,who was coming ; I saw Mr. Denew running after me seeing hint rune' .thought it not worthy of a man to run from him. I stood; he comes up to me : says he, "Well overtaken"; said I to him again, "Tour business, Sir?" Says he, "I come to demand satisfaction of you"; said I, "I have been with Sir George llooke, and I have satisfied him.' "Well, but" says he, "you have not satisfied me : and you are a scoundrel and a rascal ; and, if you will not draw, I'll cane you." I thought not fit to return his ill language again ; and in the next place, I would give no colour to the quarrel, being upon their own accounts. Said I, "I see you are two to one," because Mr. Merriam was there. "No," said Mr. Denew, "you are three to two," for I had this Mr. Cumin and Mr. Bentley my friends, with me. "No," said I, "I will engage no man in my quarrel, but I will go with you myself"; so I went with him, and as we- were going, said I, "Mr. Denew, what quarrel have you with me ? " Says he, "You spread out your hands thus, and raised your voice." Seidl, "Mr. Britton hath been with me, and told me thy own consultation ; but Sir George Rooke will not thank you for this, for I have been with him." Says he, "I know Sir George Rooke's mind. Said I, "I have been with him this morning—have you seen him since ? " "I know his mind better than you," said he, "and you must fight with me." So I went along with him. When I came to the corner of Little Drury Lane, I ob- served him to have a very great cane in his hand ; said!, "You have a great cane, which is an advantage, if you have skill to use it ; you must lay down your cane." Instead of laying it down, he up with it as fast as he could to strike me; with that, I stepped back, and drew mrsword, and he did the same; but he fumbled, having his cane in his hand, so that! believe my sword was out rather sooner than his. I walked back about the length of this court, and there I stood ; Mr. Denew came to me : -though I knew something of fencing, I had heard so much of Mr. Denew's skill that! was not willing to venture my skill against his ; I held my sword close to on body, with the point up, and thrust without parrying, and drew it back again to myself. This was the way of my defence ; and we had in this manner, about seven or eight passes at each other ; at last seeing the ad- vantage'ffe had of me with his cane, I threw first my hat at him, which missed him ; afterwards I threw my peruke, which hit upon his shoulder; I took that opportunity, and made a home pass at him. • Says Mr. Denew, "That is not fair," and dropt his sword ; "that is not fair,." said he. "Fair," said I, "anything to an assassin: yen are a villian' hired by Sir George Rooke to assassinate me." This my lord, was what I said.'

"Again.—' Counsel for the Queen.—What is this Denew ? '

" ' Mr. Colepeper.—I don't know that he is a gentleman ; I believe he is not. He has, by report, no very good fortune, and is said to have fought in other people's quarrelsprstty frequently.' "'Counsel for the Queen.—Is he a soldier, or a fencing-master, or a gentleman ? What is he ? '

"'Mr. Colepeper.—He is one that hath great skill in fencing, and I thought him called out for that reason.'"