dices. It is not likely that they will hear with pleasure, that in all their researches into the history of antiquity they have been in the wrong track. All this is natural, and I find no fault with it—it is what I ought to expect,—it is what has happened in almost every case where an individual has attacked old prejudices. Was it not the case with Locke? Was it not the case with Newton? some of whose best works did not go to a second edition in less than thirty years! If these master minds were so treated, would it not be absurd in me to hope to escape without illiberal attacks or censures? But there is one thing of which I must complain in Orientalists,—they always appear to speak on the subjects to which they have directed their studies with authority, as if they did not admit of any doubt. But if a person will carefully attend to them, he will find, nevertheless, that scarcely any two of them agree on a single point.
I must also make another observation which I fear will give offence. Some of them, I think, prize too highly the knowledge of the ancient Oriental dead languages,—they seem to think that these once acquired, all wisdom is acquired also as a necessary consequence. They seem to forget that the knowledge of these languages is of no other value than as a key to unlock the treasuries of antiquity. I wish to recall this to their recollection, and to remind them of the story of the Chameleon, that others can see as well as themselves. In making these observations, I hope they will not consider that I wish to depreciate their Oriental learning; far from it. I think it has not been so much appreciated as it deserves by their countrymen, and though I think they cannot pretend to compete in learning with the Jesuits or the priests of the propaganda, whose whole lives were spent in the acquisition of Oriental learning, and almost in nothing else; yet I think that the proficiency which great numbers of them have made in the learning of the East, in the midst of the performance of numerous arduous labours of civil or military life, is above all praise, and has laid their countrymen under the greatest obligation to them.
Before I conclude, I feel myself bound to acknowledge my obligations to my Printer, Mr. Smallfield, not only for his punctuality and attention, but for many orthographical and other suggestions, which have greatly improved the work. It would have been still more worthy of the reader’s perusal, if, like the monks in their works, I could have called a brotherhood to my assistance, or if, like Mr. Bryant,[1] I could have had a learned and confidential friend to advise and assist me.
After having spent many years upon this work, I have long doubted, as I have already intimated, whether I should make it public or not. I will not deny that I feel cowardly. I flatter myself that I am esteemed by many valuable friends, some of whom I may probably lose by my publication. What shall I gain by it? Nothing.—Posthumous fame? Perhaps so. Is this worth having? Pliny and Cicero so thought. Is the work worth publishing? I flatter myself the answer may be in the affirmative. Is it calculated to do good? Is it calculated to reduce the power and influence of priests,
- ↑ Vide his Preface to the third Volume of the 4to edition.
