Here were astonishing results to follow from the vivid fiction of a gouty
pamphleteer who wrote to catch the market and was hoisted into immortal
fame by the effort: that his book should, like a spark falling on straw,
fire the brains of a French shoemaker's apprentice and a Lincolnshire
schoolboy, impelling each to a career crowded with adventure, and crowned
with memorable achievements. There could hardly be better examples of the
vitalising efficacy of fine literature.

A love of Robinson Crusoe remained with Flinders to the end. Only a
fortnight before his death he wrote a note subscribing for a copy of a
new edition of the book, with notes, then announced for publication. It
must have been one of the last letters from his hand. Though out of its
chronological order, it may be appropriately quoted here to connect it
with the other references to the book which so profoundly influenced his
life:

"Captain Flinders presents his compliments to the Hydrographer of the
Naval Chronicle, and will thank him to insert his home in the list of
subscribers in his new edition of Robinson Crusoe; he wishes also that
the volume on delivery should have a neat, common binding, and be
lettered.--London Street, July 5, 1814."

It seems clear that Flinders had promised himself the pleasure of
re-reading in maturity the tale that had so delighted his youth. Had he
lived to do so, he might well have underlined, as applicable to himself,
a pair of those sententious observations with which Defoe essayed to give
a sober purpose to his narrative. The first is his counsel of "invincible
patience under the worst of misery, indefatigable application, and
undaunted resolution under the greatest and most discouraging