clxxxii 
LIFE OF WILSON. 
tongue, it is indispensable that one should qualify one’s self for 
the task, by a careful investigation of its principles. But when 
the language of barbarians becomes the subject of attention, the 
rule is reversed, and, provided a copious list of names be given, 
it is not required of the collector, that he should have explored 
the sources whence they are derived: his learning is estimated 
by the measure of his labour, and our applause is taxed in pro- 
portion to his verbosity. 
The style of Wilson appears to be well adapted to the sub- 
jects upon which he wrote. It is seldom feeble, it is sometimes 
vigorous, and it is generally neat. He appears to have “un- 
derstood himself, and his readers always understand him.” 
That he was capable of graceful writing, he has given us, in the 
preface to his first volume, which we here insert, a remarkable 
instance; which is one of the happiest, and most appropriate, 
compositions that our literature can boast of. 
“ The whole use of a preface seems to be, either to elucidate 
the nature and origin of the work, or to invoke the clemency 
of the reader. Such observations as have been thought neces- 
sary for the former, will be found in tbe Introduction ; extreme- 
ly solicitous to obtain the latter, I beg leave to relate the fol- 
lowing anecdote. 
“ In one of my late visits to a friend’s in the country, I found 
their youngest son, a fine boy of eight or nine years of age, who 
usually resides in town for his education, just returning from a 
ramble through the neighbouring woods and fields, where he had 
collected a large and very handsome bunch of wild flowers, of 
a great many different colours; and presenting them to his mo- 
ther, said, with much animation in his countenance, ‘ Look, 
‘ my dear ’ma, what beautiful flowers I have found growing 
‘ on our place ! Why all the woods are full of them ! red, orange, 
‘ blue, and ’most every colour. 0, I can gather you a whole 
‘ parcel of them, much handsomer than these, all growing in 
‘ our own woods! Shall I, ’ma? Shall I go and bring you more?’ 
The good woman received the bunch of flowers with a smile of 
affectionate complacency; and after admiring for some time the 
