nature or consistency. De Foe's villains never prosper; they find the whole course and force of the world against them; misery walks behind them like their shadows; and in the end they either die in misery, or are reformed through the discipline of a severe repentance. Vice is exhibited only that it may be detested and avoided. Still, Falstaff's observation about the polluting tendencies of pitch is deserving of remembrance; and those who cannot handle it without danger of defilement, will always do wisest not to meddle with it. In any notice of De Foe's smaller fictions, the curious 'Relation of the Apparition of Mrs Veal,' published in 1705, ought not to be omitted. Could a ghost story, under any circumstances, be true, one could not fail to believe this it seems as plain and indubitable matter of fact as ever passed before one's eyes. The air of credibility in it is astonishing. As Sir Walter Scott says, "The whole is so distinctly circumstantial, that were it not for the impossibility, or extreme improbability at least, of such an occurrence, the evidence could not but support the story.' One regrets that it should have been published with no worthier intention than that of puffing a dull book which the publisher could not sell-'Drelincourt's Book of Consolations against the Fear of Death.' This work is incidentally spoken of approvingly by the ghost, and the story, as desired, had the effect of creating a large demand for it. The whole thing of course was a bold and indefensible imposition-one of the few transactions of De Foe which we can neither justify nor are careful about excusing, though we do not know that it is a whit more discreditable than any of the innumerable other forms of puffery now regularly practised by people who pass muster for very honourable men.

Besides the works already mentioned, De Foe published several other popular productions, some of which still continue in circulation. There is the Religious Courtship,' known familiarly to most serious servant-maids, and formerly a favourite companion of their mistresses. 'Christian Conversation' and the Family Instructor' have likewise their admirers in certain quarters; and the Complete Tradesman' is also now and then republished for the benefit of apprentices who may have pocket-money to invest in it. But by far the most beautiful and interesting of these popular compositions is the Journal of the Plague - Year'a work which is often received as a veritable history, but which is in fact as much a fiction as 'Robinson Crusoe' or 'Captain Singleton.' It is true that in this touching narrative the author has contrived to mingle much that is authentic with the inventions of his own brain; but it is impossible to distinguish the real from the imaginary; and the whole is such a likeness to the dread original, 'as to confound the sceptic, and encircle him with enchantments.' 'So faithful,' says one, 'is the portrait of that distressing calamity-so entire its accordance with what has been delivered by other writers-so probable the circumstances of all the stories, and so artless the style in which they are delivered, that it would baffle the ingenuity of any one but De Foe to frame a history with so many attributes of truth upon the basis of fiction.' 'Had he not been the author of Robinson Crusoe,' says Scott, 'De Foe would have deserved immortality for the genius which he has displayed in this work.'

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30

* De Foe's Life and Times, by Walter Wilson.

The whole of De Foe's later writings were exceedingly successful, and enjoyed an extensive circulation. While these were severally proceeding in rapid succession from his pen, he occasionally interrupted them to bring out some temporary pamphlet. In a preface to one such publication he alludes to his growing infirmities and advancing age, but holds himself prepared to devote his still remaining days to the advocacy of the public interests. 'I hope,' says he, 'the reader will excuse the vanity of an officious old man, if, like Cato, I inquire whether or no I can yet do anything for my country?'

In all his latter years De Foe appears to have realised a reasonable income by his writings; yet it is melancholy to contemplate him journeying heavily towards the end, tormented with severe diseases, and plundered and abandoned by an ungrateful son, whose despicable worthlessness fulfilled old Jacob's most intolerable apprehension-hurrying down his father's gray and venerable hairs with sorrow to the grave. He passed out of this earthly existence on the 24th April 1731, and his remains were interred in the burial-ground of Bunhill Fields.

We have thus briefly traced the life of the greatest political pamphleteer, and most ingenious, ready writer for the million that England has produced. We have necessarily left unnoticed an immense number of his writings; but we have, nevertheless, seen something of the manner of man he was. It seems to us that he is of a kind who will bear looking at. A brawny, resolute, substantial Englishman: one who, with right on his side, was afraid of neither man nor devil. Not entirely a pacific man, but rather constitutionally pugnacious; and decidedly given to interfere with anything and everything about him which he might fancy to be going wrong. Judging from these two hundred publications, it would appear that he did not particularly cultivate the ordinarily commendable ‘talent of silence.' He had very little talent of that kind. He was a downright noisy man; prompt to controvert, contentious, prone to disputation; a perpetual motion of thoughts and thick-flowing fancies, which he had neither power nor disposition to suppress, but of which, on the contrary, he must and would deliver himself. But what he had to say was full of sense and spirit, and therefore worthy of the saying. People listened to him too with more than common attention. There is no doubt that De Foe's influence among the masses was greater than that of any of the political writers of his age. He was the Cobbett of the Revolution. But he was a greater and a better man than Cobbett―a man of firmer principle, and of a larger candour and liberality. He is considerately tolerant: he is a lover of fairness-a faithful respecter and adorer of the truth. The views he gives you have been arrived at by just insight, or at anyrate by a careful examination of the things and circumstances to which they are related.

As a man, he seems to have been eminently sincere in his opinions. Whatsoever he believed, that he boldly professed, and manifested in his conduct without disguise. There is no trimming to party notions, no adroit subserviency, no cunning dodgery to avoid the censures of such as may think fit to take offence, but a direct and manly expression of all he thinks and feels. Honesty is engrained in his constitution. We have

seen how he stood by his obligations in the midst of his misfortunes, and how he strove to realise in his transactions the high integrity which he admired and recommended in his teachings. He is the same man in his life as in his writings. In these he has a keen regard for whatsoever is graphic, interesting, and effective. Though he hopes to instruct, he desires to be entertaining; but in every case he maintains a purpose, and writes for the accomplishment of an end. There are few instances in history of so entire a surrendering of a man's self to popular and public interests. He lives, moves, and has his being in one lifelong effort to advance the public welfare. As a politician, all his aims are honest, liberal, and thoroughgoing. In all his endeavours he seeks to advance his object, and not himself; and in this respect he is worthy of universal admiration. How immeasurably superior, in this respect, to many a popular champion of later times! His patriotism and philanthropy are not professional-are not assumed for purposes of vanity or ambition; but they are real and earnest, and he grudges not to suffer penalties on their account. There is in him an admirable self-abandonment-a prodigal generosity, which sacrifices comfort, interest, and reputation for the sake of a cherished cause that has been conscientiously and deliberately embraced. This, indeed, is the sign of a true patriot-that he will give himself, and boast nothing of his devotion; counting lightly of all losses and chagrins, and, if needs be, accepting even Danton's reckless and stern alternative- Let my name be blighted, if so only the good cause may prosper!' De Foe evidently lived much under a blighted name;' but he endured it with a noble patience, and along with it manifold persecutions, exposures in the pillory, and imprisonments and all for an able and manly advocacy of principles and sentiments whose truth and rightfulness time has since asserted and confirmed. Whoso marcheth in the van of the unborn events, under the contempt and hootings of the faithless, let him courageously hold on along the path of his aspirations

'My faith is large in Time,
And that which shapes it to some perfect end.'

CONFUCIUS.

THE

HE most instructive chapter in the comprehensive records of philosophy is example. There its principles are illustrated in action; its spirit typified in life. By this agency has the Divine Being most perfectly revealed himself; and by it, in the moral economy of his universe, are the virtuous energies of humanity continually renewed. The happiest inspiration of which society is the source is the influence diffused through it in various attractive forms by its most distinguished members. Coleridge has beautifully, and with his accustomed significance, remarked that 'it is only by celestial observations that even terrestrial charts can be constructed scientifically.' To gaze steadfastly at the intellectual and moral lights of the world is at once the criterion and pledge of our own advancement; and in that constellation there are for all of us some bright particular stars, which, on account of the brilliancy with which they have shone forth upon mankind under the most peculiar circumstances, should be most earnestly and studiously regarded. Such a one was Confucius : a man who, to use the language of a distinguished living writer,' six centuries before Christ, considered the outward economy of an empire a worthier object of study than all hidden and abstracted lore; who prized maxims of life and conduct more than all speculations regarding the Divinity; who had actually anticipated some of the most modern propositions respecting the governor and the governed. This man was not a mere name for a set of opinions: he had a distinct, marked personality. And his words and acts have not been limited to a narrow circle or to one or two centuries. He has left an impression of himself upon the most populous empire in the world. After two thousand years his authority is still sacred among the people, the mandarins, the emperors of China; his influence is felt in every portion of that vast and complicated society.' Of this man it is our intention here to give some account.

Koong-foo-tse, or Confucius, as his name has been Latinised by the Jesuits, was born in the autumn of the year 551 B. C. at Shang-Ping, in the kingdom of Loo, within the district now called Keo-fow Hiew, just to the eastward of the great canal, in Shan-tung province. It will be observed from the date that he was a contemporary of Pythagoras. Various prodigies, as in other instances, were, we are told, the forerunners of his birth. On the eve of his appearance upon earth, two dragons encircled the house, five celestial sages entered it at the moment of the portentous

birth, and vocal and instrumental music filled the air. When he was born this inscription appeared on his breast: The maker of a rule for settling the world. His pedigree is traced back in a summary manner to the mythological monarch Hoang-hj, who is said to have lived more than two thousand years before Christ. His father was a magistrate in his native kingdom; for China was then divided into a number of small feudal states, nominally dependent on one head, but each ruled by its own laws. Confucius, therefore, undoubtedly belonged to the literary class from which the mandarins are chosen; and it is said that from his infancy he distinguished himself by his remarkable progress in philosophy. Certain it is that he made those advances in rank and dignity which in China could not be made without much study and an acquaintance with the works of his predecessors in different branches of learning; for he became, say his biographers, one of the first mandarins in the kingdom of Loo.

The early part of his life, as recorded by his followers, presents some curious traits. He was but three years old, says the tale, when his father, Shuh-Leang-Ho, died in a state of honourable poverty, leaving young Confucius to the care of his wife Yan-She. The young philosopher, we are told, took no delight in playing like other boys-a very bad symptom, as we should have apprehended, of the vigour of his intellectual faculties, but which is, of course, recorded to his honour. He was remarkably grave and serious in his deportment, and endeavoured in all things to imitate his grandfather. For this old gentleman he entertained an extraordinary degree of veneration, but nevertheless he one day ventured to reprove him with much philosophic dignity. The occasion was as follows the grandfather was sitting absorbed in a melancholy reverie, in the course of which he frequently sighed deeply. The child observing him, after some time approached him, and, with many bows and formal reverences, spoke thus: If I may presume, without violating the respect which I owe you, sir, to inquire into the cause of your grief, I would gladly do so. Perhaps you fear that I, who am descended from you, may reflect discredit on your memory by failing to imitate your virtues.' His grandfather, astonished, asked him from whom he had learned to speak in such a manner. From yourself, sir,' replied the boy. I listen attentively to your words, and I often hear you say that a son who does not imitate the virtues of his forefathers is not worthy to bear their name.' The result of this sage discourse is not mentioned, but it is evidently a story fabricated to hold him up to admiration among a people whose distinguishing character is that of filial respect for their parents. Another tale is told to exemplify his veneration for the ancients. After the death of his grandfather, which happened when Confucius was a mere child, the latter pursued his studies under a learned doctor, who was likewise a magistrate and governor, although a teacher in a public school, by whose instruction he was soon enabled to read and comprehend many ancient works long since lost. This progress he had made at the age of sixteen, when he fell into company with a person of high rank, and more than twice as old as himself. The great man, who did not entertain so high a respect as Confucius for the works in question, declared that they were obscure, and not worth the trouble of studying. Whereupon our young student sharply reproved him, saying: 'The books which you despise are full of profound knowledge,