Dedication to Thomas Henshaw

To the most excellently accomplished Mr Thomas Henshaw, my best of friends.

Sir,

Solomon asked—and the question showed the supremacy of [Marginal reference: Ecclesiastes 2:3.] his wisdom—what was best for a person to do throughout the days of their vanity under the sun. If I wish myself wise enough to know this great business

of life, it is because you are fit to manage it. I shall not advise you to pleasures, to building houses and planting vineyards, to enlarging your private possessions or multiplying your gold and silver. These are old errors, like vitriol for the Stone: so many false recipes which Solomon tried before you. “And behold, all was vanity and [Marginal reference: Ecclesiastes 2:11.] vexation of spirit.” I have sometimes seen actions as varied as they were great, and my own sullen fate has forced me into several courses of life; yet I have so far found none that does not end in surfeit or satiety. Let us imagine a man as fortunate as this world can make

him. What does he do but move from bed to table and provide for the circumstances of those two scenes? Today he eats and drinks, then sleeps so that he may do the same tomorrow. A great happiness indeed: to live by cloying repetitions which contain more necessity than freely chosen pleasure! This is “the same thing by the same thing”; and what is considered absurd in reasoning cannot, by that same reasoning, be the true perfection of life. I do not deny that temporal blessings support a temporal life and therefore please the body; but if we consider the soul, all this time she is on the

wing, like the dove sent out of the ark, looking for somewhere to rest. She is occupied in a restless inquiry; and although, for lack of true knowledge, her thoughts scarcely differ from desires, they sufficiently prove that she has not found satisfaction. Show me, then, a practice in which my soul can rest without further questioning—for this is what Solomon calls vexation of spirit—and you show me what is best for a person to do under the sun. Certainly, sir, this is not the philosophers’ stone. Nor shall I undertake to define it; but allow me to speak to you in the language of Zoroaster:

“Seek the channel of the soul.”

I have too much confidence in your opinion of me to tell you that I love you; and for my present boldness you must thank yourself, since you taught me this familiarity. Here I trouble you with a short discourse, the fragments and faint recollections of my former, more sustained studies. It is no laboured piece and, indeed, no fitting present; but I beg you to accept it as a warning, so that you may see what unprofitable affection you have acquired. I do not offer it for your instruction: Nature has already admitted you to her school. I would make you my judge,

rather than my pupil. If, therefore, amid your serious and more cherished retirements, you can allow this trifle a few minutes and consider them well spent, you will fulfil my ambition. You will place me, sir, at my full height; and even if, like Statius, it were among gods and stars, I shall soon find the earth again and at the first opportunity present myself as

Sir, your most humble servant, E. P.