LETTER XLII.
Georgetown, Feb. 12, 1809.
Sunday morning.
My dear Theodore,
I thank you for your letters as marks of your remembrance
and regard; but I could wish to see in them evidences
of your reading and observation. Your last, for example,
contains only a scanty page, loosely written, in which
no mention is made of your studies, and is accompanied (like
the two preceding it) by no exercise. Amend this defect, I
pray you.
Did I caution you against mixing ancient with modern history?
Avoid it, by all means. It is as pernicious as the
reading of different histories of the same, or contemporary
events, is the reverse. I recommended Rollin, because he will
give you a pretty good general notion of the more ancient
nations, and a tolerable account of Alexander's successors,
concerning whom our compilations are very defective. This
outline, however, is not always correct. Of him and Bishop
Newton, who wrote on the prophecies, it has been remarked
that "both these authors represent Herodotus as a fabler;—
Xenophon's Cyropædia," a romance which probably served
as the model for Fenelon's Telemachus, "as history;—Isaiah's
prophecies, as applying to the siege of Babylon, by Cyrus,
instead of that by Darius;—and Darius as having preceded
Astyages: four notorious and fundamental historical
blunders." Indeed, compilations are, generally, but a sort
of apology for history. The original authors ought, in all
cases, to be consulted, when practicable. Thus, Herodotus,
Thucydides, Polybius, and Livy, should be read, in preference
to those who have made books, merely by pillaging
these invaluable ancients. I have passed a very bad night.
The pain (in my side, particularly,) is much increased. I
must, therefore, bid you farewell.
I am your friend and kinsman,
JOHN RANDOLPH.
Theodorick Bland Dudley.
Take care of the New York Herald, which I enclosed your
cousin last night. Remember me kindly to the Doctor and
Mrs. Robinson, and Tom Murray, and little Will. Also, to
Mr. Dillon.
There was a sudden change of weather in the course of
last night. It is raw and cold. A little snow has fallen, and
we are threatened with more. I hope this is the source of
my increased pain. Tell your cousin so. My love to her
and Sally, and Tudor.
