Mr Secretary,

Sir,

I know not what you will think of my assurance in daring to send you a riddle, of all things for insertion in Our Class Book. What (you will exclaim) a riddle among the lucubrations of Metaphysicians, poets and moralists? Yes, indeed, and it will be no uncommon thing either. What does the metaphysician, but continually form riddles in his brain which he cannot solve? For instance whether matter is or is not; or mind is matter or matter is mind or both no matter at all; or whether right may not be wrong and wrong, right (and in truth, for want of being kept seperate, they are often alarmingly confused) or whether all is not wrong and nothing right: or that man is all ideas, that ideas are nothing and yet nothing must be something: and so man is his great riddle. Next come the Poets—and yet they are happy poor fellows; in their own vain imaginations: continually living on the productions of their fancies, altho’ they may not produce that material, which is necessary for the support of their visible self; yet temperance surprizingly assists the mind in its extensive flights. they soon wing their way to regions of bliss; and delightful odours, delicious viands and celestial harmonies conspire to increase their felicity. The better the poet the longer he will live upon this unsubstantial ambrosia. But woe to those who soon feel the Cravings of their earthly nature. too much addicted to groveling, they cannot ascend high enough to weaken the earth's attraction: down, down they come, with broken wing, and a hobbling gait & dolefully discordant cries alarming all the neighbourhood, having solved their riddle and found that the flights of Imagination are only to be undertaken by strong pinions, and that they are of no real benefit, but as they are under the guidance of a well regulated mind.—

Now for the Moralists—far be it that I should attempt to prove all their doctrines riddles; yet as they are of mankind and mankind is a riddle (as proved before) so they are riddles.—Their spirit is willing, but their flesh is too—too—weak. They are too often pointing out the road to others, with their finger over their left shoulder while they themselves are proceeding with hasty strides in an opposite direction.