The favourable site of the city is beyond dispute. Its beauty of aspect has been eulogized not only by poets, but by writers little given to fine descriptions. On the north bank of the Tagus, twelve miles from the open sea, Lisbon couched once like ancient Rome upon seven hills, but now overflows the slopes and ridges of eleven. The eye rests upon a succession of amphitheatres, built up with tier upon tier of houses, great and small, which the sorcery of Lusitanian sunlight transfigures into the semblance of a city of palaces and many mansions built up of marbles of delicate and varied hues.
It is a dazzling panorama, recalling to those who have seen both the City of the Golden Horn, which hides close to the water edge when spied from afar, but upon near approach rises with the indolent grace of the Oriental, until all its loveliness of matchless colour, minarets, domes, palaces and cypress trees reveals itself outspread between the blues of sea and sky. The site, colouring and atmosphere of both cities are very similar, but there is one notable distinction. The skyline of the Portuguese capital has few spires or prominent towers to break up the horizontal lines of the buildings. The undulating grounds gives a variety of planes, and the great Cupola of the Estrella Basilica on the western height of Buenos Ayres, and the ancient Cathedral to the east on the slope of St George's hill are distinctive features, but for the minarets of Stamboul are substituted in Lisbon the aerial tops of factory chimneys, for its domes the dwarf belfries of the Jesuit-built churches.
The enchantment of the picture is necessarily disturbed upon near view, for the city front is a long continuation of landing and business wharves, docks, sheds, timber, coaling and tanyards, while a railway runs from the Caes de Sodré along the river margin as far as Cascaes, a water-
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