Now, in the Isle of Fantaisie, unfortunately for our
revolutionizer, there was not a single grumbler.
Unable, therefore, to make the bad passions of his fellow creatures the
unconscious instruments of his good purposes, Popanilla must have been
contented to have monopolised all the wisdom of the moderns, had he not,
with the unbaffled wit of an inventor, hit upon a new expedient. Like
Socrates, our philosopher began to cultivate with sedulousness the
society of youth.
In a short time the ladies of Fantaisie were forced to observe that the
fair sex most unfashionably predominated in their evening assemblages;
for the young gentlemen of the island had suddenly ceased to pay their
graceful homage at the altar of Terpsichore. In an Indian isle not to
dance was as bad as heresy. The ladies rallied the recreants, but their
playful sarcasms failed of their wonted effect. In the natural course
of things they had recourse to remonstrances, but their appeals were
equally fruitless. The delicate creatures tried reproaches, but the
boyish cynics received them with a scowl and answered them with a sneer.
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