His prose rises on occasion to a measured and stately grandeur above
the reach of any of his contemporaries.
It was not often that he unveiled to the public gaze the beatings of his
own noble heart, or invited the world to contemplate the depression
and suffering amid which his unending labours were accomplished.
The concluding page of the preface to the first edition of the great
_Dictionary_ is, therefore, the more precious and moving. I know not
why this majestic utterance came to be deleted in later editions;
certainly it sanctifies, and as it were crowns with a crown of sorrow, the
greatest work of his life; and with reverent sympathy and unstinted
admiration I reproduce it here:--
"Life may be lengthened by care, though death cannot ultimately be
defeated: tongues, like governments, have a natural tendency to
degeneration: we have long preserved our constitution, let us make
some struggles for our language.
"In hope of giving longevity to that which its own nature forbids
to be immortal, I have devoted this book, the labour of years, to
the honour of my country, that we may no longer yield the palm of
philology to the nations of the continent. The chief glory of
every people arises from its authors; whether I shall add anything
by my own writings to the reputation of English literature, must
be left to time: much of my life has been lost under the pressure
of disease; much has been trifled away; and much has always been
spent in provision for the day that was passing over me; but I
shall not think my employment useless or ignoble, if by my
assistance foreign nations, and distant ages, gain access to the
propagators of knowledge, and understand the teachers of truth;
if my labours afford light to the repositories of science, and add
celebrity to Bacon, to Hooker, to Milton, and to Boyle.
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