continue to do mischief when his body was laid in ashes. The curate finding no other way to comfort him, told him, that he did well in being afflicted for the evil design with which he published his book; but that he ought to be very thankful that there was no danger of its doing any hurt: that his cause was so very bad, and his arguments so weak, that he did not apprehend any ill effects of it: in short, that he might rest satisfied his book could do no more mischief after his death than it had done whilst he was living. To which he added, for his farther satisfaction, that he did not believe any besides his particular friends and acquaintance had ever been at the pains of reading it, or that any body after his death would ever inquire after it. The dying man had still so much the frailty of an author in him, as to be cut to the heart with these consolations, and without answering the good man, asked his friends about him (with a peevishness that is natural to a sick person) where they had picked up such a blockhead? And whether they thought him a proper person to attend one in his condition? The curate finding that the author did not expect to be dealt with as a real and sincere penitent, but as a penitent of importance, after a short admonition withdrew; not questioning but he should be again sent for if the sickness grew desperate. The author, however, recovered, and has since written two or three other tracts with the same spirit, and very luckily for his poor soul with the same

* Mr. Toland is supposed to be here alluded to.

No. 167.

TUESDAY, SEPT. 11. By Steele.

-Fuit haud ignobilis Argis,

Qui se credebat miros audire tragados,
In vacuo lætus sessor plausorque theatro;
Cætera qui vitæ servaret munia recto
More; bonus sane vicinus, amabilis hospes,
Comis in uxorem; posset qui ignoscere servis,
Et signo laso non insanire lagenæ;

Posset qui rupem et puteum vitare patentem.
Hic ubi cognatorum opibus curisque refectus
Expulit elleboro morbum bilemque meraco,
Et redit ad sese: pol me occidistis, amici,
Non servastis, ait; cui sic extorta voluptas,
Et demptus per vim mentis gratissimus error.

IMITATED.

There liv'd in Primo Georgii (they record)
A worthy member, no small fool, a lord;
Who, though the house was up, delighted sate,
Heard, noted, answer'd, as in full debate:
In all but this, a man of sober life,
Fond of his friend, and civil to his wife;
Not quite a madman, though a pasty fell,

And much too wise to walk into a well.

Him the damn'd doctor and his friends immur'd:

Hon. Ep.

They bled, they cupp'd, they purg'd, in short they cur'd.
Whereat the gentleman began to stare-

My friends! he cried: Pox take ye for your care!
That from a patriot of distinguish'd note,
Have bled and purg'd me to a simple vote.

РОРЕ.

THE unhappy force of an imagination, unguided by the check of reason and judgment, was the subject of a former speculation (No. 136.) My reader may remember that he has seen in one of my papers a complaint of an unfortunate gentleman, who was unable to contain himself, when

any ordinary matter was laid before him, from adding a few circumstances to enliven plain narrative. That correspondent was a person of too warm a complexion to be satisfied with things merely as they stood in nature, and therefore formed incidents which should have happened to have pleased him in the story. The same ungoverned fancy which pushed that correspondent on, in spite of himself, to relate public and notorious falsehoods, makes the author of the following letter do the same in private: one is a prating, the other a silent, liar.

There is little pursued in the errors of either of these worthies but mere present amusement: but the folly of him who lets his fancy place him in distant scenes untroubled and uninterrupted is very much preferable to that of him who is ever forcing a belief, and defending his untruths with new inventions. But I shall hasten to let this liar in soliloquy, who calls himself a CastleBuilder, describe himself with the same unreservedness as formerly appeared in my correspondent above-mentioned. If a man were to be serious on this subject, he might give very grave admonitions to those who are following any thing in his life, on which they think to place their hearts, and tell them that they are really Castle Builders. Fame, glory, wealth, honour have in the prospect pleasing illusions; but they who come to possess any of them will find they are ingredients towards happiness, to be regarded only in the second place; and that when they are valued in the first degree, they are as disappointing as any of the phantoms in the following

letter.

MR. SPECTATOR,

Sept. 6th, 1711.

'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 porticos 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 sceptres, and delivered uncontrollable edicts, from a throne to which conquered nations yielded obeisance. 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, 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. Wherever I have afforded my salutary presence, fevers have ceased to burn and agues to shake the human fabric, When an eloquent fit has been up

I

on me, an apt gesture and proper cadence has animated each sentence; and gazing crowds have found their passions worked up into rage or soothed into a calm. I am short, and not very well made; yet upon sight of a fine woman, have stretched into proper stature, and killed with a good air and mien. 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 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 wo. Besides, bad economy 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 splendour, gilds my eastern palaces. Add to this the pensive drudgery in building and constant grasping aerial trowels, distracts and shatters the mind, and the fond builder of Babels is often cursed with an incoherent diversity and confusion of thoughts. I do not know to whom I can more properly apply myself for relief from this fantas