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ETIDORHPA
by John Uri Lloyd
[1897]
ETIDORHPA
OR
THE END OF EARTH.
THE STRANGE HISTORY OF A MYSTERIOUS BEING
AND
The Account of a Remarkable Journey
AS COMMUNICATED IN MANUSCRIPT TO
LLEWELLYN DRURY
WHO PROMISED TO PRINT THE SAME, BUT FINALLY EVADED THE RESPONSIBILITYWHICH WAS ASSUMED BY
JOHN URI LLOYD
WITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS BY
J. AUGUSTUS KNAPPEIGHTH EDITION.CINCINNATITHE ROBERT CLARKE COMPANY[1897]
Click to enlargeFrontispiece: I
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Am
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The
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Man.
Click to enlargeTitle Page
Scanned, proofed and formatted at sacred-texts.com, November-December 2007 by John Bruno Hare. Thisbook is in the public domain in the US because it was published prior to 1923. These files may be used forany purpose.
p. ii
ASCRIPTION.
To Prof. W. H. Venable, who reviewed the manuscript of this work, I am indebted formany valuable suggestions, and I call not speak too kindly of him as a critic.The illustrations, excepting those mechanical and historical, making in themselves abeautiful narrative without words, are due to the admirable artistic conceptions and touchof Mr. J. Augustus Knapp.Structural imperfections as well as word selections and phrases that break all rules incomposition, and that the care even of Prof. Venable could not eradicate, I accept aswholly my own. For much, on the one hand, that it may seem should have been excluded,and on the other, for giving place to ideas nearer to empiricism than to science, I am alsoresponsible. For vexing my friends with problems that seemingly do not concern ill theleast men in my position, and for venturing to think, superficially, it may be, outside therestricted lines of a science bound to the unresponsive crucible and retort, to which mylife has been given, and amid the problems of which it has nearly worn itself away, I haveno plausible excuse, and shall seek none.JOHN URI LLOYD.
COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY JOHN URI LLOYD.COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY JOHN URI LLOYD.[
All rights reserved
.]
p. iii
PREFACE
BOOKS are as tombstones made by the living for the living, but destined soon only toremind us of the dead. The preface, like an epitaph, seems vainly to "implore the passingtribute" of a moment's interest. No man is allured by either a grave-inscription or apreface, unless it be accompanied by that ineffable charm which age casts over mortalproductions. Libraries, in one sense, represent cemeteries, and the rows of silent volumes,with their dim titles, suggest burial tablets, many of which, alas! mark only cenotaphs
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empty tombs. A modern book, no matter how talented the author, carries with it a
p. iv
familiar personality which may often be treated with neglect or even contempt, but avolume a century old demands some reverence; a vellum-bound or hog-skin print, orantique yellow parchment, two, three, five hundred years old, regardless of its contents,impresses one with an indescribable feeling akin to awe and veneration,
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as does thewheat from an Egyptian tomb, even though it be only wheat. We take such a work fromthe shelf carefully, and replace it gently. While the productions of modern writers arehandled familiarly, as men living jostle men yet alive; those of authors long dead are
touched as tho’ clutched by a hand from the unseen world;
the reader feels that a phantomform opposes his own, and that spectral eyes scan the pages as he turns them.The stern face, the penetrating eye of the personage whose likeness
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