A lively sketch of “the aboriginal inhabitant” introduces some smart satire on the agriculturists, and proves that, “between force, and fear, and flattery, the Vraibleusians paid for their corn nearly its weight in gold; but what did it signify to a nation with so many pink shells.”  Popanilla is next introduced to an eminent bookseller, who craves the honour of publishing a narrative of his voyage:  he informs the “mercantile Mecaenas” that he does not know how to write; who replies that “he never had for a moment supposed that so sublime a savage could possess such a vulgar accomplishment, and that it was by no means difficult for a man to publish his travels without writing a line.”  This is a stale affair; but Popanilla’s drinking a dozen of the bookseller’s wine smacks more of novelty.  His voyage is published, and contains a detailed account of every thing which took place during the whole of the three days, forming a quarto volume!  Then we have a shower of squibs on converzazioni—­as dukes imbibing a new theory of gas, a prime-minister studying pinmaking, a bishop the escapements of watches, a field-marshal intent on essence of hellebore.  “But what most delighted Popanilla was hearing a lecture from the most eminent lawyer and statesman in Vraibleusia, on his first and favourite study of hydrostatics.  His associations quite overcame him; all Fantaisie rushed upon his memory, and he was obliged to retire to a less frequented part of the room, to relieve his too excited feelings.”  The hostess too declares it “impossible for mankind ever to be happy and great, until, like herself and her friends,” her company are “all soul!”

Popanilla is now constituted ambassador from Fantaisie, and goes through all the courtly scenes of diplomacy, for which we have not room; but their gist will be readily understood among the stars of St. James’s, especially the authors allusions to Navarino and the late ministry, which are in good set terms.  The “Aboriginal,” too, tells Popanilla “some long stories about a person who was chief manager, about five hundred years ago, to whom he said he was indebted for all his political principles.”

During Popanilla’s sight-seeing career, he, of course, visits our theatres, and a tolerably broad caricature he gives of them.  “To sit in a huge room hotter than a glass-house, in a posture emulating the most sanctified Faquir, with a throbbing head-ache, a breaking back, and twisted legs, with a heavy tube held over one eye, and the other covered with the unemployed hand, is, in Vraibleusia, called a public amusement.”  In one morning’s lionizing, too, he acquires “a general knowledge of the chief arts and sciences, eats three hundred sandwiches, and tastes as many bottles of sherry.”