A JOURNAL OF THE PLAGUE YEAR By Daniel Defoe, being observations or memorialsof the most remarkable occurrences, as well public as private, which happened in London during the last great visitation in 1665. Written by a Citizen who continued all the while in London. Never made public before

That homely proverb, used on so many occasions in England, viz. "That what is bred in the bone will not go out of the flesh," was never more verified than in the story of my Life. Any one would think that after thirty-five years' affliction, and a variety of unhappy circumstances, which few men, if any, ever went through before, and after near seven years of peace and enjoyment in the fulness of all things; grown old, and when, if ever, it might be allowed me to have had experience of every state of middle life, and to know which was most adapted to make a man completely happy; I say, after all this, any one would have thought that the native propensity to rambling which I gave an account of in my first setting out in the world to have been so predominant in my thoughts, should be worn out, and I might, at sixty one years of age, have been a little inclined to stay at home, and have done venturing life and fortune any more.

That all Defoe's novels, with the exception of 'Robinson Crusoe, '' should have been covered with the dust of neglect for many generations, is a plain proof of how much fashions in taste affect the popularity of the British classics. It is true that three generations or so ago, Defoe's works were edited by both Sir Walter Scott and Hazliit, and that this masterly piece of realism, 'Captain Singleton, ' was reprinted a few years back in 'The Camelot Classics, ' but it is safe to say that out of every thousand readers of 'Robinson Crusoe' only one or two will have even heard of the 'Memoirs of a Cavalier, ' 'Colonel Jack, ' 'Moll Flanders, ' or 'Captain Singleto

That homely proverb, used on so many occasions in England, viz. "That what is bred in the bone will not go out of the flesh," was never more verified than in the story of my Life. Any one would think that after thirty-five years' affliction, and a variety of unhappy circumstances, which few men, if any, ever went through before, and after near seven years of peace and enjoyment in the fulness of all things; grown old, and when, if ever, it might be allowed me to have had experience of every state of middle life, and to know which was most adapted to make a man completely happy; I say, after all this, any one would have thought that the native propensity to rambling which I gave an account of in my first setting out in the world to have been so predominant in my thoughts, should be worn out, and I might, at sixty one years of age, have been a little inclined to stay at home, and have done venturing life and fortune any more.

That all Defoe's novels, with the exception of 'Robinson Crusoe, '' should have been covered with the dust of neglect for many generations, is a plain proof of how much fashions in taste affect the popularity of the British classics. It is true that three generations or so ago, Defoe's works were edited by both Sir Walter Scott and Hazliit, and that this masterly piece of realism, 'Captain Singleton, ' was reprinted a few years back in 'The Camelot Classics, ' but it is safe to say that out of every thousand readers of 'Robinson Crusoe' only one or two will have even heard of the 'Memoirs of a Cavalier, ' 'Colonel Jack, ' 'Moll Flanders, ' or 'Captain Singleto

A JOURNAL OF THE PLAGUE YEAR By Daniel Defoe, being observations or memorialsof the most remarkable occurrences, as well public as private, which happened in London during the last great visitation in 1665. Written by a Citizen who continued all the while in London. Never made public before

Large format paper back for easy reading. Famous politician, journalist and novelist seeks to improve society through, practical, political and humerous essay.