To the Gold Coast for Gold | Page 8

set in with the usual liveliness. Events were not
eventful. The first midnight found us off Cape Trafalgar, and the
second off St. Vincent. At 4 P.M. (December 12), we saw the light of

Espíchel (Promóntorium Barbaricum), the last that shines upon the
voyager bound Brazilwards. Before nightfall we had left Buzio
lighthouse to starboard. We then ran up the northern passage in charge
of a lagging pilot; and, as the lamps were lighting, we found ourselves
comfortably berthed off that pretty toy, Belem Tower.
Next morning broke upon a lovely view: no wonder that the Tagus is
the pride of Portuguese bards. The Rosicler, or rosy dawn-light, was
that of a May morning--the May of poetry, not of meteorology--and the
upper windows of distant Lisbon were all ablaze with the unrisen sun.
It was a picture for the loveliest colours, not for 'word-painting;' and the
whole scene was classical as picturesque. We may justly say of it,
'Nullum sine nomine saxum.' Far over the rising hills of the north bank
rose shaggy Cintra, 'the most blessed spot in the habitable globe,' with
its memorious convent and its Moorish castle. The nearer heights were
studded with the oldest-fashioned windmills, when the newest are
found even in the Canaries; a single crest bore its baker's dozen, mostly
decapitated by steam. Advancing we remarked the glorious Belem
monastery, defiled by its ignoble modern ruin to the west; the new
hippodrome crowning the grassy slope; the Bed House of Belem, now
being brightened up for Royal residence during the Exhibition of 1882;
the Memoria and the Ajuda Palace, more unfinished, if possible, than
ever. As we approached the bulk of the city the marking objects were
the cypressed Prazeres Cemetery; the red Necessidades Palace, and the
Estrella, whose dome and domelets, built to mimic St. Peter's, look
only like hen and chickens. Then in due time came the Carmo Church,
still unrepaired since 1755; Blackhorse Square, still bare of trees; the
Government offices, still propped to prevent a tumble-down, and the
old Custom House, still a bilious yellow; the vast barrack-like pile of S.
Vicente, the historic Sé or cathedral with dumpy towers; the black
Castle of São Jorge, so hardly wrung from the gallant Moors, and the
huge Santa Engracia, apparently ever to be a ruin.
I spent a pleasant week at Lisbon, and had a fair opportunity of
measuring what progress she has made during the last sixteen years.
We have no longer to wander up and down disconsolate

Mid many things unsightly to strange ee.
If the beggars remain, the excessive dirt and the vagrant dogs have
disappeared. The Tagus has a fine embankment; but the land side is
occupied by mean warehouses. The sewers, like those of Trieste, still
want a cloaca maxama, a general conduit of masonry running along the
quay down-stream. The Rocio has been planted with mean trees,
greatly to the disgust of the average Lusitanian, who hates such
sun-excluding vegetation like a backwoodsman; yet the Quintella
squarelet shows what fine use may be made of cactus and pandanus,
aloes and palms, not to mention the ugly and useful eucalyptus. The
thoroughfares are far cleaner than they were; and Lisbon is now
surrounded by good roads. The new houses are built with some respect
for architectonic effect of light and shade: such fine old streets as the
Rua Augusta offend the eye by façades flat as cards with rows of pips
for windows. Finally, a new park is being laid out to the north of the
Passeio Publico.
Having always found 'Olisipo' exceptionally hospitable and pleasant, I
look forward to the days when she will be connected with Paris by
direct railway. Her hotels are first-rate; her prices are not excessive; her
winter climate is delightful, and she is the centre of most charming
excursions. The capital has thrown off much of her old lethargy. Her
Geographical Society is doing hard and honest work; she has nobly
expiated the national crime by becoming a 'Camonian' city; and she
indulges freely in exhibitions. One, of Ornamental Art, was about to be
opened when I last saw her, and it extended deep into the next spring.
CHAPTER II.
FROM LISBON TO MADEIRA.
My allotted week in Lisbon came to an end only too soon: in the
society of friends, and in the Camonian room (Bibliotheca Nacional),
which contains nearly 300 volumes, I should greatly have enjoyed a
month. The s.s. Luso (Captain Silva), of the 'Empresa Insulana,' one of
the very few Portuguese steamers, announced her departure for

December 20; and I found myself on board early in the morning, with a
small but highly select escort to give me God-speed.
Unfortunately the 'May weather' had made way for the cacimbas (mists)
of a rainy sou'-wester. The bar broke and roared