Such was the style in which the Fantasian females saluted the long-absent Popanilla; and really, when a man shuts himself up from the world for a considerable time, and fancies that in condescending to re-enter it he has surely the right to expect the homage due to a superior being, the salutations are awkward.  The ladies of England peculiarly excel in this species of annihilation; and while they continue to drown puppies, as they daily do, in a sea of sarcasm, I think no true Englishman will hesitate one moment in giving them the preference for tact and manner over all the vivacious French, all the self-possessing Italian, and all the tolerant German women.  This is a clap-trap, and I have no doubt will sell the book.

Popanilla, however, had not re-entered society with the intention of subsiding into a nonentity, and he therefore took the opportunity, a few minutes after sunset, just as his companions were falling into the dance, to beg the favour of being allowed to address his sovereign only for one single moment.

“Sire!” said he, in that mild tone of subdued superciliousness with which we should always address kings, and which, while it vindicates our dignity, satisfactorily proves that we are above the vulgar passion of envy.  “Sire!” But let us not encourage that fatal faculty of oratory so dangerous to free states, and therefore let us give the “substance of Popanilla’s speech".[233] He commenced his address in a manner somewhat resembling the initial observations of those pleasing pamphlets which are the fashion of the present hour, and which, being intended to diffuse information among those who have not enjoyed the opportunity and advantages of study, and are consequently of a gay and cheerful disposition, treat of light subjects in a light and polished style.  Popanilla, therefore, spoke of man in a savage state, the origin of society, and the elements of the social compact, in sentences which would not have disgraced the mellifluous pen of Bentham.  From these he naturally digressed into an agreeable disquisition on the Anglo-Saxons; and, after a little badinage on the Bill of Rights, flew off to an airy apercu of the French Revolution.  When he had arrived at the Isle of Fantaisie he begged to inform His Majesty that man was born for something else besides enjoying himself.  It was, doubtless, extremely pleasant to dance and sing, to crown themselves with chaplets, and to drink wine; but he was “free to confess” that he did not imagine that the most barefaced hireling of corruption could for a moment presume to maintain that there was any utility in pleasure.  If there were no utility in pleasure, it was quite clear that pleasure could profit no one.  If, therefore, it were unprofitable, it was injurious, because that which does not produce a profit is equivalent to a loss; therefore pleasure is a losing business; consequently pleasure is not pleasant.