As an example of his more ambitious illustrations, take his comparison between the doctrine of passive obedience and the Copernican system:—

"I take the doctrines of passive obedience, &c., among the statesmen, to be like the Copernican system of the earth's motion among philosophers, which, though it be contrary to all ancient knowledge, and not capable of demonstration, yet is adhered to in general, because by this they can better solve and give a more rational account of several dark phenomena in nature than they could before.

"Thus our modern statesmen approve of this scheme of government; not that it admits of any rational defence, much less of demonstration, but because by this method they can the better explain, as well as defend, all coercion in cases invasive of natural right than they could before."

Contrast.-Although our author is not a studious cultivator of point or epigram, yet these arts form one among his many instruments of ridicule. We shall produce two examples. The first is an account of some of the things that he saw when he visited the moon, through a wonderful glass that penetrated beneath all disguises :

"Here we saw the state of the war among nations; here was the French giving sham thanks for victories they never got, and somebody else addressing and congratulating the sublime glory of running away; here was Te Deum for sham victories by land, and there was thanksgiving for ditto by sea; here we might see two armies fight, both run away, and both come and thank God for nothing. Here we saw a plan of a late war like that in Ireland; there was all the officers cursing a Dutch general, because the damned rogue would fight and spoil a good war, that, with decent management and good husbandry, might have been eked out this twenty years; there were whole armies hunting two cows to one Irishman, and driving off black cattle declared the noble end of the war. Here we saw a country full of stone walls and strong towns, where, every campaign, the trade of war was carried on by the soldiers with the same intriguing as it was carried on in the council-chambers; there were millions of contributions raised, and vast sums collected, but no taxes lessened; whole plate-fleets surprised, but no treasure found; vast sums lost by enemies, and yet never found by friends; ships loaded with volatile silver, that came away full and got home empty; whole voyages made to beat nobody, and plunder everybody; two millions robbed from the honest merchants, and not a groat saved for the honest subjects. There we saw captains listing men with the Government's money, and letting them go again for their own; ships fitted out at the rate of two millions ayear, to fight but once in three years, and then run away for want of powder and shot.

The next seems to be an extravagant parody of the epigram :

"He told me, as the inhabitants were the most numerous, so they were the strangest people that lived; both their natures, tempers, qualities, actions, and way of living, was made up of innumerable contradictions; that they were the wisest fools and the foolishest wise men in the world; the weakest, strongest, richest, poorest, most generous, covetous, bold, cowardly, false, faithful, sober, dissolute, surly, civil, slothful, diligent, peaceable, quarrelling, loyal, seditious nation that ever was known."

QUALITIES OF STYLE.

Simplicity. The use of homely language is one of the most remarkable features in Defoe's style. It is one of the secrets of the continued popularity of Robinson Crusoe.'

Two things may be specially exemplified under this head. One is, the coarse plainness of language that he sometimes adopted for purposes of ridicule; and the other, his orderly colloquial exposition of subjects that might have been treated in a more pretentious and abstruse style.

As an example of a very undignified tone of banter, take the beginning of his 'Reasons against the Succession of the House of Hanover,' another ironical piece that was taken for earnest, and led to his temporary imprisonment :

"What strife is here among you all? And what a noise about who shall or shall not be king, the Lord knows when? Is it not a strange thing we cannot be quiet with the queen we have, but we must all fall into confusion and combustions about who shall come after? Why, pray folks, how old is the queen, and when is she to die? that here is this pother made about it. I have heard wise people say the queen is not fifty years old, that she has no distemper but the gout, that that is a life-long disease, which generally holds people out twenty, or thirty, or forty years; and let it go how it will, the queen may well enough linger out twenty or thirty years, and not be a huge old wife neither. Now, what say the people? must we think of living twenty or thirty years in this wrangling condition we are now in? This would be a torment worse than some of the Egyptian plagues, and would be intolerable to bear, though for fewer years than that. The animosities of this nation, should they go on, as it seems they go on now, would by time become to such a height, that all charity, society, and mutual agreement among us, will be destroyed. Christians shall we be called? No; nothing of the people called Christians will be to be found among us. Nothing of Christianity, viz., charity, will be found among us! The name Christian may be assumed, but it will be all hypocrisy and delusion; the being of Christianity must be lost in the fog, and smoke, and stink, and noise, and rage, and cruelty, of our quarrel about a king. Is this rational? Is it agreeable to the true interests of the nation? What must become of trade, of religion, of society, of relation, of families, of people? Why, hark ye, you folk that call yourselves rational, and talk of having souls, is this a token of your having such things about you, or of your thinking rationally? if you have, pray what is it likely will become of you all? Why, the strife is gotten into your kitchens, your parlours, your shops, your countinghouses, nay, into your very beds. You gentlefolks, if you please to listen to your cook-maids and footmen in your kitchens, you shall hear them scolding, and swearing, and scratching, and fighting among themselves; and when you think the noise is about the beef and the pudding, the dishwater, or the kitchen-stuff, alas, you are mistaken! the feud is about the more mighty affairs of the government, and who is for the Protestant succession, and who for the Pretender. Here the poor despicable scullions learn to cry, High Church, No Dutch Kings, No Hanover, that they may do it dexterously when they come into the next mob. Here their antagonists of the dripping-pan practise the other side clamour, No French Peace, No Pretender, No Popery. The thing is the very same up," &c.

Examples of his simple expositions may be found in any page of the Complete Tradesman. The following is a very fair speci

men:

"Another trading license is that of appointing and promising payments of money, which men in business are oftentimes forced to make, and forced to break, without any scruple; nay, and without any reproach upon their integrity. Let us state this case as clearly as we can, and see how it stands as to the morality of it, for that is the point in debate.

"The credit usually given by one tradesman to another, as particularly by the merchant to the wholesale-man, and by the wholesale-man to the retailer, is such, that, without tying the buyer up to a particular day of payment, they go on buying and selling, and the buyer pays money upon account, as his convenience admits, and as the seller is content to take it. This occasions the merchant or the wholesale-man to go about, as they call it, a-dunning among their dealers, and which is generally the work of every Saturday. When the merchant comes to his customer the wholesaleman, or warehouse-keeper, for money, he tells him, 'I have no money, sir; I cannot pay you now; if you call next week, I will pay you.' Next week comes, and the merchant calls again; but it is the same thing, only the warehouseman adds, 'Well, I will pay you next week, without fail.' When the week comes, he tells him he has met with great disappointments, and he knows not what to do, but desires his patience another week: and when the other week comes, perhaps he pays him, and so they go on.

"Now, what is to be said for this? In the first place, let us look back to the occasion. This warehouse-keeper, or wholesale-man, sells the goods which he buys of the merchant-I say, he sells them to the retailers, and it is for that reason I place it first there. Now, as they buy in smaller quantities than he did of the merchant, so he deals with more of them in number, and he goes about among them the same Saturday, to get in money that he may pay his merchant, and he receives his bag full of promises, too, everywhere instead of money, and is put off from week to week, perhaps by fifty shopkeepers in a day; and their serving him thus obliges him to do the same to the merchant.

'Again, come to the merchant. Except some, whose circumstances are above it, they are by this very usage obliged to put off the Blackwellhall factor, or the packer, or the clothier, or whoever they deal with, in proportion; and thus promises go round for payment, and those promises are kept or broken as money comes in, or as disappointments happen: and all this while there is no breach of honesty, or parole; no lying, or supposition of it, among the tradesmen, either on one side or other.

"But let us come, I say, to the morality of it. To break a solemn promise is a kind of prevarication; that is certain, there is no coming off of it; and I might enlarge here upon the first fault, namely of making the promise, which, say the strict objectors, they should not do. But the tradesman's answer is this: all those promises ought to be taken as they are made -namely, with a contingent dependence upon the circumstances of trade, such as promises made them by others who owe them money, or the supposi tion of a week's trade bringing in money by retail, as usual, both of which are liable to fail or at least to fall short; and this the person who calls for the money knows, and takes the promise with those attending casualties; which if they fail, he knows the shopkeeper, or whoever he is, must fail him too."

Clearness. The last-quoted passage is a specimen of our author's

most distinct style of expression. When, as in the above case, he is put upon his mettle to be perspicuous, he observes a certain precision of method, giving express notice when he passes from one consideration to another: "In the first place, let us look back to the occasion;"" Again, come to the merchant;" But let us come, I say, to the morality of it." to the morality of it." But he writes too hurriedly to be precise in expression. When we study for a little what he writes, we can see that he has clear and vigorous mind, and is seldom oppressed by confusion of thought. But his expression is often imperfect. He hurries on, and is content to leave it incomplete. The above phrases of transition, for example, are incomplete the first particularly. We see what they mean after we have read the paragraph they introduce, but not before.

Strength.-Defoe's general style may be described as nervous. It has the strength arising from variety, copiousness, and vigorous fitness of plain words and metaphors, with an occasional "tang" of antithesis.

He wants the power of sonorous declamation; as may be seen in the coarse vigour of his familiar expostulation with the people of England concerning their political dissensions. In his 'Seasonable Warning and Caution,' touching the same theme, he attempts a loftier flight, but mars the effect by occasional expressions in his more usual tone of familiarity. Thus

"Why, how now, England! what ailest thee now? What evil spirit now possesseth thee? Ŏ thou nation famous for espousing religion, and defending liberty; eminent in all ages for pulling down tyrants, and adhering steadily to the fundamentals of thy own constitution: that has not only secured thy own rights, and handed them down unimpaired to every succeeding age, but has been the sanctuary of other oppressed nations; the strong protector of injured subjects against the lawless invasion of oppress ing tyrants.

"To thee the oppressed Protestants of France owed, for some ages ago, the comfort of being powerfully supported, while their own king, wheedled by the lustre of a crown, became apostate, and laid the foundation of their ruin among themselves; in thee their posterity find a refuge, and flourish in thy wealth and trade, when religion and liberty find no more place in their own country.

"To thee the distressed Belgii owe the powerful assistance by which they took up arms in defence of liberty and religion against Spanish cruelty, the perfidious tyranny of their kings, and the rage of the bloody Duke d'Alva. But what has all this been for? And to what intent and purpose was all this zeal, if you will sink under the ruin of the very fabric ye have pulled down? If ye will give up the cause after ye have gained the advantage, and yield yourselves up after you have been delivered; to what purpose then has all this been done? Why all this money expended? Why all this blood spilt? To what end is France said to be reduced, and peace now concluded, if the same Popery, the same tyranny, the same arbitrary methods of government shall be received among you again? Sure your posterity will stand amazed to consider how lavish this age has been of their money and their blood, and to how little purpose; since no age since the

creation of the world can show us a time whenever any nation spent so much blood and treasure to end just where they begun: as, if the arts of our enemies prevail, we are like to do."

His homely nervous style is well suited to the relation of lively horrors, or of exciting commotions, such as riots and mutinies. In recording the alarms caused by the fear of infection during the Great Plague of 1666, he is incomparably graphic and impressive. He produces his effects not by ponderous epithets, or impressive reflections, but by the accumulation of striking details in homely language. As an example :

6

"Another infected person came and knocked at the door of a citizen's house, where they knew him very well; the servant let him in, and being told the master of the house was above, he ran up, and came into the room to them as the whole family were at supper. They began to rise up a little surprised, not knowing what the matter was; but he bade them sit still, he only came to take his leave of them. They asked him, 'Why, Mr where are you going?' Going,' says he, I have got the sickness, and shall die to-morrow night.' It is easy to believe, though not to describe, the consternation they were all in; the women and the man's daughters, which were but little girls, were frightened almost to death, and got up, all running out, one at one door and one at another, some down-stairs and some up-stairs, and getting together as well as they could, locked themselves into their chambers, and screamed out at the window for help, as if they had been frighted out of their wits. The master, more composed than they, though both frighted and provoked, was going to lay hands on him and throw him down-stairs, being in a passion; but then considering a little the condition of the man, and the danger of touching him, horror seized his mind, and he stood like one astonished. The poor distempered man, all this while, being, as well, diseased in his brain as in his body, stood still like one amazed; at length he turns round, 'Ay!' says he, with all the seeming calmness imaginable, is it so with you all? Are you all disturbed at me? Why then I'll e'en go home and die there.' And so he goes immediately down-stairs. The servant that had let him in goes down after him with a candle, but was afraid to go past him and open the door, so he stood on the stairs to see what he would do; the man went and opened the door, and went out and flung the door after him."

The Ludicrous.-The extravagance of Defoe's sense of the ludicrous is in proportion to the marvellous energy of the man. He deals in the same kind of undisguised banter as Macaulay; only he is more exuberant, stands less upon his dignity, hits fearlessly at greater antagonists, and altogether has a more magnanimous air. At the risk of being formal, we may compare him with the other three great prose wits in this age of wits, Addison, Steele, and Swift. He is more openly derisive and less bitter than Addison, having no mastery of the polite sneer: he is not a loving humorist like Steele, but sarcastically and derisively humorous; and he is more magnanimous and less personal than Swift, dealing with public not with private conduct, and carrying into the warfare a spirit less savagely ferocious.

Ꮓ