-appointing as any of the Phantoms in the following
Letter.

_Sept._ 6, 1711.

_Mr._ SPECTATOR,

'I am a Fellow of a very odd Frame of Mind, as you will find by the
Sequel; and think myself Fool enough to deserve a Place in your Paper.
I am unhappily far gone in Building, and am one of that Species of Men
who are properly denominated Castle-Builders, who scorn to be beholden
to the Earth for a Foundation, or dig in the Bowels of it for
Materials; but erect their Structures in the most unstable of
Elements, the Air, Fancy alone laying the Line, marking the Extent,
and shaping the Model. It would be difficult to enumerate what august
Palaces and stately Porticoes have grown under my forming Imagination,
or what verdant Meadows and shady Groves have started into Being, by
the powerful Feat of a warm Fancy. A Castle-builder is even just what
he pleases, and as such I have grasped imaginary Scepters, and
delivered uncontroulable Edicts, from a Throne to which conquered
Nations yielded Obeysance. I have made I know not how many Inroads
into _France_, and ravaged the very Heart of that Kingdom; I have
dined in the _Louvre_, and drank Champaign at _Versailles;_ and I
would have you take Notice, I am not only able to vanquish a People
already cowed and accustomed to Flight, but I could, _Almanzor_-like,
[1] drive the _British_ General from the Field, were I less a
Protestant, or had ever been affronted by the Confederates. There is
no Art or Profession, whose most celebrated Masters I have not
eclipsed. Where-ever I have afforded my Salutary Preference, Fevers
have ceased to burn, and Agues to shake the Human Fabrick. When an
Eloquent Fit has been upon me, an apt Gesture and proper Cadence has
animated each Sentence, and gazing Crowds have found their Passions
work'd up into Rage, or soothed into a Calm. I am short, and not very
well made; yet upon Sight of a fine Woman, I have stretched into
proper Stature, and killed with a good Air and Mein. These are the gay
Phantoms that dance before my waking Eyes and compose my Day-Dreams. I
should be the most contented happy Man alive, were the Chimerical
Happiness which springs from the Paintings of the Fancy less fleeting
and transitory. But alas! it is with Grief of Mind I tell you, the
least Breath of Wind has often demolished my magnificent Edifices,
swept away my Groves, and left no more Trace of them than