_The Situation of the Country._ Crapulia is a very fair and large territory, which on the north is bounded with the Æthiopic Ocean, on the east with Laconia and Viraginia, on the south by Moronia Felix, and westward with the Tryphonian Fens. It lies in that part of the universe where is bred the monstrous bird called Ruc, that for its prey will bear off an elephant in its talons; and is described by the modern geographers. The soil is too fruitful, and the heavens too serene; so that I have looked upon them with a silent envy, not without pity, when I considered they were blessings so little deserved by the inhabitants. It lies in seventy-four degrees of longitude, and sixty degrees of latitude, and eleven degrees distant from the Cape of Good Hope; and lies, as it were, opposite to the whole coast of Africa. It is commonly divided into two provinces, Pamphagonia and Ivronia, the former of which is of the same length and breadth as Great Britain (which I hope will not be taken as any reflection), the other is equal to the High and Low Dutch Lands. Both obey the same prince, are governed by the same laws, and differ very little in their habit or their manners. CHAPTER II. _Pamphagonia; or, Glutton's Paradise._ Pamphagonia is of a triangular figure, like that of ancient Egypt, or the Greek letter delta, Δ. It is mountainous, inclosed with very high hills; its soil is of the richest, so that birds which come thither to feed, if they tarry but three months, grow so very fat and weighty, that they cannot fly back again over the mountains, but suffer themselves to be taken up in the hand, and are as delicious as the ortolan or the beccaficos of the Italians. And it is no wonder to them who know that geese in Scotland are generated from leaves fallen into the water, and believe the testimony of one of our ambassadors, that in the north-east parts of the world lambs grow upon stalks like cabbages and eat up the grass all around about them, to find the same sort of provisions in this country. Besides, the fish upon that coast are in such plenty, and so voracious (whether they conform themselves to the genius of the place and people, or presage to themselves the honour of so magnificent a sepulchre as was given to Nero's turbot), that, as soon as the hook is cast in, they press to it as the ghosts in Lucian did to Charon's boat, and cling to the iron as miners do to a rope that is let down when the light of their candle forbodes some malignant exhalation.