_ was translated into various
languages.' 'The whirligig of time brings its revenges,' as your own
illustrious Singer saith. How think you myself and my friend VASCO de
GAMA here look upon the fallen state of our beloved native land? In vain
he ventured for her. In vain I warningly sang:--

"'Chill'd by my nation's cold neglect, thy fires
Glow bold no more, and all thy rage expires.
Shall haughty Gaul or sterner Albion boast
That all the Lusian fame in thee is lost!'"

Mr. PUNCH bowed low to the illustrious Poet and the indomitable
Explorer. "Greatness," said he, courteously, "claims reverence, and
misfortune respect. Your countrymen, Gentlemen, have been rather angry
with me of late. But 'sterner Albion' may be proud indeed if she
produces such men as GAMA to perform heroic deeds, and such poets as
CAMOENS to sing them." The stately Shades saluted. "I wonder," said
GAMA, "who will be the Laureate of the later Ulysses, and which of your
singers will write the _Epic of Africa?_"

"I fear," said Mr. PUNCH, "that at present they are too busy smiting the
Socialistic big drum, or tickling their sonorous native tongue into
tinkling triolets. In this Island of Venus----"

"I beg pardon," interrupted STANLEY, with a sardonic smile. "This Island
of _Menus_, you mean, Mr. PUNCH!"

Mr. PUNCH looked around. The Acidalian roses and myrtles, the purple
lotos and the snowy thorn, the yellow pod-flowers and the waving palms,
the vermeil apples and the primrosed banks, of CAMOENS' somewhat
zone-confounding vision, had indeed vanished, and in their stead seemed
to wave snowy _serviettes_, to flow champagne-streams, to glitter
goblets, and to glow orchid-laden _epergnes_.

"Humph!" said the Sage. "The prose of the _Restaurateur_--which by the
way sounds as if I were alluding to the literature of the
Restauration,--hath insensibly superseded the poesy of the peerless
Portuguese. Well, Gentlemen, in vain may 'sterner Albion' glory in the
profusion of wealth and the pomp of 'glad repast,' unless also she
breeds heroes to adventure and poets to celebrate. As you sang, my
CAMOENS--

"'The King or hero to the Muse unjust,
Sinks as the nameless slave, extinct in dust.'

"For the present, STANLEY'S arm and Mr. PUNCH'S pen suffice to save the
State from such abasement. But let our timid Premiers and our
temporising Press remember the glories of GAMA and CAMOENS, and the fate
of ungrateful and indolent Lusitania!"

"The Pen