ASPECTS OF NATURE IN THE SAHARA. 185 



Shortly before eight o'clock the great portal of the Borj was opened 

 to receive us, and our first day's journey into that far-off land of the 

 Sahara was brought to a close. We had covered sixty-three miles, 

 more than is ordinarily accomplished in a good day's coaching on 

 American highways. 



To sum up a first day's impressions of the African desert is by no 

 means an easy task. The multitude and variety of the scenes that 

 present themselves do not admit of immediate appreciation ; nor, per- 

 haps, do they fasten upon the imagination with that intensity which 

 is left by the pictures of other lands. Yet this ruddy Orient is in 

 itself a picture of intensest moods, a lasting conception from which 

 is carried to every mind that is brought in contact with it. The 

 weather-beaten crags, the shifting sands, the sands of unmoving and 

 monotonous silence, the slowly wandering caravans, the long and 

 weirdlike shadows which stalk over the surface in the horizontal 

 light of the rising or setting sun, are all pictures that impress by 

 their individuality; and to these are added others which are hardly 

 less interesting or picturesque in their local color. It is, however, 

 the oasis that is the redeeming pearl of the desert. ISTo poetic tem- 

 perament is needed to prepare one for the enjoyment of its com- 

 ing. From miles of distance the eye fastens itself upon the tree 

 tops; the dark green is a break in the landscape, and like the black 

 shadow of clouds it seems to go and come, the gentle undulations of 

 the desert throwing it now and again out of sight. We had pene- 

 trated but a moderate distance into the desert, but the coming of 

 the oasis was a relief that can hardly be described — those dense 

 groves of date palms and the circulating streams of water. What 

 must, indeed, the oasis be to those who have wearily plodded its 

 sands for weeks at a time! When we entered Mreir the sun had 

 just set behind the palm forest, illuminating the sky with that soft 

 African yellow which is the special privilege of the brush of Edouard 

 Frere. The tall tree trunks rose against this in specter shadows of 

 brown, silent monoliths as if rising from a silent grave. A more 

 entrancing scene could hardly be imagined, and yet how different 

 was the picture from that which is ordinarily constructed on the 

 guide line of books and narratives ! 



With a constant departure from the views of old that one has 

 held, a doubt begins to steal over the accuracy of almost every sup- 

 posed fact in our treasury of knowledge. Was there not some reason 

 to question the existence of those skeletons — the weary relics of de- 

 parted life — which have from time immemorial figured as one of 

 the dominant features of the Sahara? We hardly dared entertain 

 a doubt on this point, but yet felt somewhat uneasy in our minds. 

 Our skepticism was of short duration. Its skeletons were there, 



