Ere the pages now given to the public had left the press, the hand that had written them was cold, the heart—of which few could know the loving depth—had ceased to beat, the far-ranging mind was forever still, the fervent spirit was at rest.
Let this be remembered by those who read, and add solemnity to the solemn purpose of the book.
May those who find in it their most cherished beliefs questioned or contemned, their surest consolations set at naught, remember that he had not shrunk from pain and anguish to himself, as one by one he parted with portions of that faith which in boyhood and early youth had been the mainspring of his life.
Let them remember that, however many the years granted to him on earth might have been, his search after truth would have ended only with his existence; that he would have been the first to call for unsparing examination of his own opinions, arguments, and conclusions; the first to welcome any new lights thrown by other workers in the same field on the mysteries of our being and of the universe.
Let them remember that while he assails much which they reckon unassailable, he does so in what to him is the cause of goodness, nobleness, love, truth, and of the mental progress of mankind.
Let them remember that the utterance of that which, after earnest and laborious thought he deemed to be the truth, was to him a sacred duty; and may they feel, as he would have felt, the justness of these words of a good man and unswerving Christian lately passed away: "A man's charity to those who differ from him upon great and difficult questions will be in the ratio of his own knowledge of them: the more knowledge, the more charity."
F. R.
