own. For much, onthe one hand, that it may seem should have been excluded, and on the other, forgiving place to ideasnearer to empiricism than to science, I am also responsible. For vexing my friendswith problems thatseemingly do not concern ill the least men in my position, and for venturing tothink, superficially,it may be, outside the restricted lines of a science bound to the unresponsivecrucible and retort,to which my life has been given, and amid the problems of which it has nearly wornitself away,I have no plausible excuse, and shall seek none.JOHN URI LLOYD.COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY JOHN URI LLOYD.COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY JOHN URI LLOYD.[All rights reserved.] Etidorhpa, by John Uri Lloyd, [1897], at sacred-texts.com[p. iii]Click to enlarge PREFACEBOOKS are as tombstones made by the living for the living, but destined soon onlyto remind us of the dead.The preface, like an epitaph, seems vainly to "implore the passing tribute" of amoment's interest.No man is allured by either a grave-inscription or a preface, unless it beaccompanied by that ineffablecharm which age casts over mortal productions. Libraries, in one sense, representcemeteries, and the rowsof silent volumes, with their dim titles, suggest burial tablets, many of which,alas! mark onlycenotaphs--empty tombs. A modern book, no matter how talented the author, carrieswith it a[p. iv]familiar personality which may often be treated with neglect or even contempt, buta volume a centuryold demands some reverence; a vellum-bound or hog-skin print, or antique yellowparchment, two, three,five hundred years old, regardless of its contents, impresses one with anindescribable feeling akin to
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