Lisbon has sometimes been called "The Sultana of the
West," and the comparison is apt enough, for like many a sultana her
first appearance is conspicuously beautiful, but she will not bear too
close inspection. Her jewels are often mere colored glass, her
embroideries tawdry, and her garments not over clean.
But in the brilliant sunshine of this glowing noon Portugal's capital
sat throned in majesty, and the passengers were enthusiastic in their
praises.
"Come!" cried Dwight, appearing like a bombshell in their midst. "Are
you ready, girls? We're going ashore together, and while the captain
runs about on his affairs, uncle and mother are going to trot us around
wherever we want to go. Then, by and by, we're to meet him in the
Place of Commerce, and go for dinner at the Braganza. He and uncle
have fixed it all up. Hip, hooray! Won't it be jolly to be on land
again?"
But it proved slow work making their way in, for the river's mouth,
which broadens into a noble harbor, was choked with the shipping of
many lands, which had doubtless been detained by the fog of last night.
As the young people leaned over the guard rail, it was great fun to
watch the crowd of clumsy little native boats, laden with fruit and
wine, which were hovering about the steamer, and getting in the way of
everybody, while crying their wares. Many of these boatmen seemed as
dark in complexion as any East Indian on board, and nearly all wore
ear-rings, generally of silver, in the dingy lobes of their ears.
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