nent.

Mr. PUNCH found himself in the lovely "Isle of Venus," the delicious
floral Paradise which the Queen of Love, "the guardian goddess of the
Lusian race," created "amid the bosom of the watery waste," as "a place
of glad repast and sweet repose," for the tired home-returning GAMA and
his companions.

"Of 'glad repast,'" said a familiar voice, "there is plenty and to
spare; but for the 'sweet repose,' 'tis not to be found in this 'Isle of
Banqueting.'"

"Mr. STANLEY, I presume?" said the Sage.

"You _cannot_ presume," rejoined H. M. neatly. "But some of these
gregarious dinner-givers _do_, and sometimes,--yes, sometimes I'm afraid
I let them see that I'm aware of it."

"As fame-preoccupied, country-loving GAMA, wearied of the 'feasts,
interludes, and chivalrous entertainments,' with which 'the taste of
that age demonstrated the joy of Portugal,' might perchance have snubbed
some too importunate Don. 'The compliments of the Court and the shouts
of the streets were irksome to him,' says the chronicle."

"SALISBURY is not quite a Prince HENRY apparently," remarked the modern
GAMA. "He and his father JOHN did not find the discoveries and
acquisitions of their heroic compatriot 'embarrassing.' 'The arts and
valour of the Portuguese had now made a great impression on the minds of
the Africans. The King of CONGO, a dominion of great extent, sent the
sons of some of his principal officers to be instructed in arts and
religion.' This was four hundred years ago! And now the Portuguese can
be safely snubbed and sat upon, even by a SALISBURY! But if your prudent
Premier doesn't 'stiffen his back' a bit, with regard to the tougher and
tentative Teuton, 'the arts and valour' of the Britishers will not make
as great an impression on the minds of the Africans as your ill-used
East African Company could desire."

"Don't be _too_ downhearted, HENRY," smiled the Sage. "Much dining-out
doth breed dyspepsia, and atrabilious views are apt to be a _leetle_
lop-sided."

"Right, _Mr. Punch!_" said a musical but somewhat mournful voice, that
of the great but ill-starred LUIS DE CAMOENS himself. "I wrote much of
my _Lusiadas_ in Africa.

"'One hand the pen, and one the sword employed.'

"_My_ reward was banishment, imprisonment, poverty, neglect, and a
miserable death in an almshouse. 'Soon after, however,' says the record,
'many epitaphs honoured his memory: the greatness of his merit was
universally confessed, and his _Lusiad