"Yet, admitting that the 'Nights' are often coarse and indelicate, and sometimes even gross, it is a mistake to suppose that they are demoralizing in the same way that a French novel of the Zola type is, or might be. Indeed, what we would call its impropriety is only a reflection of the _naïve_ freedom with which talk is to this day carried on in the family circles of the East. They see no harm in what we should regard as indecency. So that when Captain Burton prefaces his unbowdlerized version with the Arab proverb, 'To the pure in heart all things are pure,' he presents perhaps the best defence he could against the attack which it is quite possible may be made on him for devoting many years of his life to what he terms 'a labour of love.' One hundred and eighty years have passed since Galland, the French Orientalist, published his version in twelve small volumes. But though even at that time it was not thought proper to issue a verbatim edition--so far as the accessible manuscripts permitted--the best scholars of the age did not hesitate to pronounce them forgeries. In brief, they were regarded in much the same light that Macpherson's 'translations' of 'Ossian's Poems' were at a later date. But the less critical world cared very little whether Antony Galland had invented them or merely translated them from some 'unknown Arab writer.' They eagerly read these wondrous stories. Europe was on fire with delight at anything so unconventional, so entirely undidactic, so completely without any religious, moral, or philosophical purpose, and which delineated the primitive manners and customs of the East. The fine gentlemen and gay ladies could talk about nothing else than 'jins' or genii, as they were called after the French fashion, viziers--or 'Wazirs,' as Captain Burton has it--caves of jewels, underground palaces, enchanters and kalendars, princes of black islands, and kings in disguise. The terrible justice of the Kazi, or Cadai, as he used to be called, and the equally fearful vengeance of the husband who is at last undeceived, were revelations to the easy-going, utterly corrupt Europe of the _ancien régime_. Edition after edition appeared, though in nearly every case these so-called fresh versions were little more than translations, more or less abridged, from Galland. Of late, however, several more or less complete editions have appeared. Among them may be mentioned those of Torrens, Lane, Payne. Torrens was, however, a poor Arabic scholar, and though Lane was a better one--if not quite so good as he afterwards became--he was, like his predecessors, in terror of offending propriety. Hence, though some simple folk supposed that his language was sufficiently plain, it only required the consultation of the Breslau, the Bulak, or the Calcutta edition of the original to be convinced to the contrary. Mr. Payne brought out a nine-volumed translation for the Villon Society. But it