_To the Editor._
Sir,--I am a person unable to reckon upon the certain receipt of
sixpence per annum, and yet I enjoy all the pleasures this sublunary
world can afford. My assertion may startle, but its truth will be
apparent when I declare myself a visionary, or, what is called by the
world, “a castle builder.” Many would denounce my profession as useless
and unprofitable; but the object constantly desired and incessantly
pursued by mankind is happiness, which they find as evanescent and
delusive as the silver of the moon upon the waters. Most men attach to
certain states of existence every pleasure that the earth can bestow.
Some enter these by laborious and careful steps, but find them, upon
examination, devoid of the charms which their enthusiastic imaginations
had painted. Others, more ardent and less calculating, rapidly ascend
towards the object of their wishes, and when their hands are stretched
forth to grasp it they lose their high footing by an incautious step,
and fall into an abyss of despondence and are lost for ever. How
different a fate is mine! I have been the conqueror of nations, without
feeling a pang at the recollection of the blood spilled in raising me to
my exalted situation. I have been the idol and defender of my country,
without suffering the anxieties of a statesman. I have obtained the
affections of an amiable girl, without enduring the solicitudes of a
protracted courtship. In fact, I possess every earthly pleasure, without
any of the pains of endeavouring to obtain them. True it is, that the
visions I create are easily dispelled, but this is a source of
gratification rather than regret. When glutted with conquest, I sink
into love; and on these failing to charm me, I enter upon scenes more
congenial to the desires with which I feel myself inspired. Every wish
that I conceive is instantly gratified, and in a moment I possess that
which many devote their whole lives to obtain. Surely the existence I
lead is an enviable one; yet many calling themselves my friends (and I
believe them to be such) would wish me to think otherwise. Sometimes, to
gratify their desires, I have endeavoured to break the fairy spells that
bind me; but when I dissipate the mist in which I am almost constantly
surrounded, the scenes of misery that present themselves to my view have
such an effect upon my senses, that on returning to my peculiar regions
they appear doubly delightful, from being contrasted by those of the
real world.
I have obtruded this epistle on your notice, in vindication of a
practice which has been deprecated by many; solely, as I believe, from
their powers of imagination being unable to lead them into the abodes
where I so happily dwell. Should you think it unworthy a place in your
miscellany, its rejection will not occasion me a moment’s mortification,
as I already possess a reputation for literary acquirements, far
surpassing any which has been given to the most celebrated writers that
have flourished since the creation of your miserable world.
_November 6, 1827._