declared how he had, “in the pursuit of peace, brought himself into innumerable broils;” how he had been “sued for other men’s debts, and stripped naked by public opinion, of what should have enabled him to pay his own;” how, “with a numerous family, and with no helps but his own industry, he had forced his way, with undiscouraged diligence, through a sea of debt and misfortune,” and “in gaols, in retreats, and in all manner of extremities, supported himself without the assistance of friends and relations.”  Surely, there never was such a life of struggle and of difficulty as that of the indefatigable De Foe.  Yet all his literary labours, and they were enormous, did not suffice to keep him clear of debt, for it is believed that he died insolvent.[2]

[Footnote 2:  George Chalmers—­Life of De Foe, p. 92.]

Southey was, in his own line, almost as laborious a writer as De Foe; though his was the closet life of the student, and not the aggressive life of the polemic.  Though he knew debt, it never became his master; and from an early period in his career, he determined not to contract a debt that he was not able to discharge.  He was not only enabled to do this, but to help his friends liberally—­maintaining for a time the families of his brothers-in-law, Coleridge and Lovell—­by simply not allowing himself any indulgences beyond his actual means, though these were often very straitened.  The burthen he carried would have borne down a man less brave and resolute; but he worked, and studied, and wrote, and earned money enough for all his own wants, as well as the wants of those who had become dependent upon him.  He held on his noble way without a murmur or complaint.  He not only liberally helped his relatives, but his old schoolfellows, in distress.  He took Coleridge’s wife and family to live with him, at a time when Coleridge had abandoned himself to opium-drinking.  To meet the numerous claims upon him, Southey merely imposed upon himself so much extra labour.  He was always ready with good advice to young men who sought his help.  Thus he encouraged Kirke White, Herbert Knowles, and Dusantoy, all of whom died young and full of promise.  He not only helped them with advice and encouragement, but with money; and his timely assistance rescued the sister of Chatterton from absolute want.  And thus he worked on nobly and unselfishly to the last—­finding happiness and joy in the pursuit of letters—­“not so learned as poor, not so poor as proud, not so proud as happy.”  These were his own words.

The most touching story in Sir Walter Scott’s life, is the manner in which he conducted himself after the failure of the publishing house of Constable and Co., with which he had become deeply involved.  He had built Abbotsford, become a laird, was sheriff of his county, and thought himself a rich man; when suddenly the Constable firm broke down, and he found himself indebted to the world more than a hundred thousand pounds.  “It is very hard,” he said,