Cleopatra | Page 3

icy winter, its low and powerless sun,
and its twelve inches of annual rain, must necessarily present, in all its phenomena of
vegetable and animal life, a striking contrast to the exuberant prolificness of New
Grenada. It is, however, after all, not absolutely the opposite extreme. There are certain
regions on the surface of the earth that are actually rainless; and it is these which present
us with the true and real contrast to the luxuriant vegetation and teeming life of the
country of the Amazon. In these rainless regions all is necessarily silence, desolation, and
death. No plant can grow; no animal can live. Man, too, is forever and hopelessly
excluded. If the exuberant abundance of animal and vegetable life shut him out, in some
measure, from regions which an excess of heat and moisture render too prolific, the total
absence of them still more effectually forbids him a home in these. They become,
therefore, vast wastes of dry and barren sands in which no root can find nourishment, and
of dreary rocks to which not even a lichen can cling.
The most extensive and remarkable rainless region on the earth is a vast tract extending
through the interior and northern part of Africa, and the southwestern part of Asia. The
Red Sea penetrates into this tract from the south, and thus breaks the outline and
continuity of its form, without, however, altering, or essentially modifying its character.
It divides it, however, and to the different portions which this division forms, different
names have been given. The Asiatic portion is called Arabia Deserta; the African tract
has received the name of Sahara; while between these two, in the neighborhood of Egypt,
the barren region is called simply the desert. The whole tract is marked, however,
throughout, with one all-pervading character: the absence of vegetable, and, consequently,
of animal life, on account of the absence of rain. The rising of a range of lofty mountains
in the center of it, to produce a precipitation of moisture from the air, would probably
transform the whole of the vast waste into as verdant, and fertile, and populous a region
as any on the globe.
[Illustration: VALLEY OF THE NILE]
As it is, there are no such mountains. The whole tract is nearly level, and so little elevated

above the sea, that, at the distance of many hundred miles in the interior, the land rises
only to the height of a few hundred feet above the surface of the Mediterranean; whereas
in New Grenada, at less than one hundred miles from the sea, the chain of the Andes rises
to elevations of from ten to fifteen thousand feet. Such an ascent as that of a few hundred
feet in hundreds of miles would be wholly imperceptible to any ordinary mode of
observation; and the great rainless region, accordingly, of Africa and Asia is, as it appears
to the traveler, one vast plain, a thousand miles wide and five thousand miles long, with
only one considerable interruption to the dead monotony which reigns, with that
exception, every where over the immense expanse of silence and solitude. The single
interval of fruitfulness and life is the valley of the Nile.
There are, however, in fact, three interruptions to the continuity of this plain, though only
one of them constitutes any considerable interruption to its barrenness. They are all of
them valleys, extending from north to south, and lying side by side. The most easterly of
these valleys is so deep that the waters of the ocean flow into it from the south, forming a
long and narrow inlet called the Red Sea. As this inlet communicates freely with the
ocean, it is always nearly of the same level, and as the evaporation from it is not
sufficient to produce rain, it does not even fertilize its own shores. Its presence varies the
dreary scenery of the landscape, it is true, by giving us surging waters to look upon
instead of driving sands; but this is all. With the exception of the spectacle of an English
steamer passing, at weary intervals, over its dreary expanse, and some moldering remains
of ancient cities on its eastern shore, it affords scarcely any indications of life. It does
very little, therefore, to relieve the monotonous aspect of solitude and desolation which
reigns over the region into which it has intruded.
The most westerly of the three valleys to which we have alluded is only a slight
depression of the surface of the land marked by a line of oases. The depression is not
sufficient to admit the waters of the Mediterranean, nor are there any rains over any
portion of the valley which it forms sufficient to make it the bed of a stream. Springs
issue, however, here and there,