’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 if they had never been.  My Exchequer has sunk and vanished by a Rap on my Door, the Salutation of a Friend has cost me a whole Continent, and in the same Moment I have been pulled by the Sleeve, my Crown has fallen from my Head.  The ill Consequence of these Reveries is inconceivably great, seeing the loss of imaginary Possessions makes Impressions of real Woe.  Besides, bad Oeconomy is visible and apparent in Builders of invisible Mansions.  My Tenant’s Advertisements of Ruins and Dilapidations often cast a Damp on my Spirits, even in the Instant when the Sun, in all his Splendor, gilds my Eastern Palaces.  Add to this the pensive Drudgery in Building, and constant grasping Aerial Trowels,