ed by the prospect of
good; to be exposed to censure, without hope of praise; to be disgraced
by miscarriage, or punished for neglect, where success would have been
without applause, and diligence without reward.

Among these unhappy mortals is the writer of dictionaries; whom mankind
have considered, not as the pupil, but the slave of science, the pioneer
of literature, doomed only to remove rubbish and clear obstructions from
the paths, through which Learning and Genius press forward to conquest
and glory, without bestowing a smile on the humble drudge that
facilitates their progress. Every other author may aspire to praise; the
lexicographer can only hope to escape reproach, and even this negative
recompense has been yet granted to very few.

I have, notwithstanding this discouragement, attempted a Dictionary of
the English language, which, while it was employed in the cultivation of
every species of literature, has itself been hitherto neglected;
suffered to spread, under the direction of chance, into wild exuberance;
resigned to the tyranny of time and fashion; and exposed to the
corruptions of ignorance, and caprices of innovation.

When I took the first survey of my undertaking, I found our speech
copious without order, and energetick without rules: wherever I turned
my view, there was perplexity to be disentangled, and confusion to be
regulated; choice was to be made out of boundless variety, without any
established principle of selection; adulterations were to be detected,
without a settled test of purity; and modes of expression to be rejected
or received, without the suffrages of any writers of classical
reputation or acknowledged authority.

Having, therefore, no assistance but from general grammar, I applied
myself to the perusal of our writers; and, noting whatever might be of
use to ascertain or illustrate any word or phrase, accumulated in time
the materials of a dictionary, which, by degrees, I reduced to method,
establishing to myself, in the progress of the work, such rules as
experience and analogy suggested to me: experience, which practice and
observation were continually increasing; and analogy, which, though in
some words obscure, was evident in others.

In adjusting the ORTHOGRAPHY, which has been to this time unsettled and
fortuitous, I found it necessary to distinguish those irregularities
that are inherent in our tongue, and, perhaps, coeval with it, from
others, which the ignorance or n