e of all the women, the envy of all the men, &c.
&c, and--you know the rest,--Popanilla passed an extremely pleasant
life. No one was a better judge of wine--no one had a better taste for
fruit--no one danced with more elegant vivacity--and no one whispered
compliments in a more meaning tone. What a pity that such an amiable
fellow should have got into such a scrape!"

Instead of the dear lock, Popanilla finds a chest saved from the wreck,
and filled with "Useful Knowledge Tracts," books on "the Hamiltonian
system," &c. which our adventurer, like Faustus and his bible, turns to
bad account; he falls asleep, is swallowed by a whale, and spouted forth
again. "The dreamer awoke amidst real chattering, and scuffling, and
clamour. A troop of green monkeys had been aroused by his unusual
occupation, and had taken the opportunity of his slumber to become
acquainted with some of the first principles of science. What progress
they had made it is difficult to ascertain. It is said, however, that
some monkeys have been since seen skipping about the island, with their
tails cut off; and that they have even succeeded in passing themselves
for human beings among those people who do not read novels, and are
consequently unacquainted with mankind. As for Popanilla, he took up a
treatise on hydrostatics, and read it straight through on the spot. For
the rest of the day he was hydrostatically mad; nor could the commonest
incident connected with the action or conveyance of water take place,
without his speculating on its cause and consequence." So much for the
first steps of "intellect;" now for the "march." Popanilla soon becomes
a man of science: his wit flies off in tangents, and he tries to prove
his sovereign a lantern, and himself a sun,[10] by undertaking to
re-shape all the institutions of Fantaisie. Then follow a string of
dogmas about utility, &c.; and man being a _developing animal_, till he
decides that "there is no such thing as Nature; Nature is Art, or Art is
Nature; that which is most useful is most natural, because utility is
the test of Nature; therefore, a steam-engine is in fact a much more
natural production than a mountain." Here, observing a smile upon his
majesty's countenance, Popanilla tells the king that he is only a chief
magistrate, and he has no more right to laugh at him than a constable.
This is "too bad" for the royal mind; Popanilla is cut; rather
crest-fallen, he sneaks home, and consoles himself for havi