﻿370 
  

  

  THE 
  NATIONAL 
  GEOGRAPHIC 
  MAGAZINE 
  

  

  land. 
  Of 
  the 
  Mongolian 
  and 
  Australian 
  

   deserts 
  I 
  know 
  only 
  the 
  fringes. 
  

  

  The 
  wildernesses 
  which 
  a 
  number 
  of 
  

   my 
  readers 
  are 
  most 
  likely 
  to 
  have 
  seen 
  

   are 
  those 
  between 
  which 
  lies 
  that 
  long, 
  

   narrow, 
  winding 
  strip 
  of 
  cultivated 
  land 
  

   which 
  the 
  Nile 
  redeems 
  from 
  aridity 
  and 
  

   which 
  Virgil 
  calls 
  Green 
  Egypt. 
  To 
  the 
  

   west 
  of 
  Egypt 
  the 
  Libyan 
  desert, 
  a 
  part 
  

   of 
  the 
  Sahara, 
  is 
  generally, 
  like 
  that 
  be- 
  

   hind 
  Tripoli, 
  flat, 
  with 
  low 
  rocky 
  hills 
  

   here 
  and 
  there 
  and 
  (except 
  at 
  sunrise 
  and 
  

   sunset) 
  a 
  dull 
  and 
  dreary 
  stretch 
  of 
  

   brown. 
  

  

  But 
  the 
  American 
  deserts 
  are 
  adorned 
  

   by 
  some 
  noble 
  isolated 
  mountain 
  groups 
  

   besides 
  the 
  masses 
  of 
  the 
  Rockies 
  and 
  the 
  

   Sierra 
  Nevada 
  which 
  bound 
  them 
  on 
  the 
  

   east 
  and 
  west. 
  Such 
  are 
  the 
  St. 
  Francis 
  

   Mountains 
  in 
  northern 
  Arizona, 
  clothed 
  

   with 
  snow 
  for 
  a 
  large 
  part 
  of 
  the 
  year. 
  

  

  Such, 
  further 
  to 
  the 
  south, 
  are 
  some 
  

   bold, 
  sharp 
  groups 
  of 
  peaks 
  along 
  the 
  line 
  

   of 
  the 
  Southern 
  Pacific 
  Railway. 
  These 
  

   heights, 
  mostly 
  standing 
  detached 
  and 
  

   visible 
  at 
  long 
  distances 
  in 
  the 
  extraordi- 
  

   narily 
  dry, 
  clear 
  air, 
  give 
  a 
  striking 
  im- 
  

   pression 
  of 
  desolation 
  and 
  remoteness. 
  

   They 
  seem 
  out 
  of 
  all 
  relation 
  to 
  the. 
  life 
  

   and 
  work 
  of 
  man. 
  

  

  Here 
  even 
  a 
  hermit 
  could 
  not 
  support 
  

   life 
  in 
  a 
  cave. 
  No 
  water, 
  no 
  reverent 
  ad- 
  

   mirer 
  to 
  bring 
  him 
  food, 
  as 
  the 
  ascetic 
  

   Buddhist 
  walled 
  up 
  in 
  a 
  crevice 
  of 
  the 
  

   rock 
  is 
  fed 
  by 
  the 
  offerings 
  of 
  the 
  pious. 
  

   These 
  mountain 
  forms 
  are 
  almost 
  terrible 
  

   in 
  their 
  hard 
  blaze 
  of 
  sunlight 
  that 
  sharp- 
  

   ens 
  their 
  outlines. 
  

  

  THE 
  SECRET 
  OE 
  THE 
  CHARM 
  OE 
  DESERT 
  

   SCENERY 
  

  

  But 
  the 
  peculiar 
  charm 
  of 
  the 
  desert, 
  

   scarcely 
  appreciable 
  by 
  those 
  who 
  have 
  

   not 
  seen 
  it, 
  lies 
  in 
  the 
  combination 
  with 
  

   barrenness 
  and 
  the 
  sense 
  of 
  lonely 
  im- 
  

   mensity 
  which 
  the 
  wide 
  range 
  of 
  vision 
  

   gives, 
  the 
  most 
  tender 
  and 
  delicate 
  tints 
  

   of 
  color. 
  In 
  Arizona 
  especially 
  the 
  varie- 
  

   ties 
  of 
  rock 
  and 
  the 
  inequalities 
  of 
  sur- 
  

   face, 
  scattering 
  patches 
  of 
  light 
  and 
  

   shadow 
  over 
  the 
  expanse, 
  give 
  corre- 
  

   sponding 
  varieties 
  of 
  hue, 
  so 
  there 
  is 
  no 
  

   monotony, 
  not 
  even 
  at 
  high 
  noon, 
  when 
  

   oilier 
  deserts 
  have 
  a 
  uniform 
  glare, 
  be 
  

   their 
  surface 
  black 
  or 
  brown 
  or 
  gray. 
  

  

  But 
  it 
  is 
  when 
  the 
  sun 
  dips 
  toward 
  the 
  

  

  horizon 
  that 
  the 
  magic 
  of 
  light 
  has 
  its 
  

   most 
  perfect 
  work, 
  bringing 
  out 
  a 
  whole 
  

   range 
  of 
  tints 
  vivid, 
  yet 
  delicate, 
  for 
  

   which 
  we 
  have 
  no 
  names, 
  for 
  they 
  pass 
  

   by 
  faint 
  gradations 
  from 
  pink 
  to 
  crimson 
  

   and 
  crimson 
  to 
  purple 
  and 
  purple 
  to 
  

   violet. 
  

  

  Every 
  stone 
  seems 
  to 
  glow 
  like 
  a 
  jewel 
  

   before 
  it 
  dies 
  into 
  darkness 
  as 
  the 
  sun 
  

   departs, 
  while 
  the 
  distant 
  violets 
  of 
  a 
  

   limestone 
  cliff 
  turn 
  to 
  the 
  gray 
  of 
  twilight. 
  

   Night 
  falls. 
  There 
  are 
  no 
  small 
  birds 
  to 
  

   twitter, 
  no 
  owls 
  to 
  hoot; 
  but 
  the 
  melan- 
  

   choly 
  cry 
  of 
  the 
  small 
  desert 
  wolf 
  (the 
  

   coyote) 
  is 
  heard 
  through 
  the 
  silence. 
  

  

  TWO 
  UNFORGETTABLE 
  DESERT 
  VIEWS 
  

  

  Two 
  desert 
  views 
  rise 
  to 
  my 
  memory 
  

   as 
  splendid 
  in 
  their 
  amplitude. 
  One 
  is 
  

   that 
  from 
  the 
  hill 
  behind 
  Salt 
  Lake 
  City, 
  

   where 
  there 
  used 
  to 
  be 
  — 
  perhaps 
  is 
  still— 
  

   a 
  military 
  post. 
  In 
  the 
  foreground 
  be- 
  

   neath 
  is 
  the 
  city, 
  its 
  suburbs 
  so 
  well 
  

   planted 
  as 
  to 
  seem 
  encircled 
  by 
  and 
  em- 
  

   bowered 
  in 
  trees, 
  though 
  trees 
  grow 
  only 
  

   by 
  the 
  help 
  of 
  irrigation. 
  Beyond 
  it, 
  

   westward, 
  are 
  the 
  shining 
  levels 
  of 
  the 
  

   Great 
  Salt 
  Lake, 
  and 
  beyond 
  them 
  lofty 
  

   peaks, 
  with 
  desert 
  valleys 
  running 
  up 
  be- 
  

   tween 
  among 
  the 
  distant 
  ranges 
  that 
  fade 
  

   away, 
  line 
  behind 
  line, 
  to 
  the 
  north, 
  west, 
  

   and 
  southwest. 
  

  

  This 
  view, 
  best 
  seen 
  in 
  the 
  afternoon, 
  

   is 
  worthy 
  of 
  the 
  brush 
  of 
  Claude 
  Lor- 
  

   raine 
  or 
  Turner. 
  

  

  The 
  other 
  prospect 
  is 
  that 
  over 
  the 
  

   Painted 
  Desert 
  in 
  Arizona, 
  looking 
  north 
  

   and 
  northeast 
  from 
  a 
  point 
  above 
  the 
  

   Grand 
  Canyon, 
  some 
  twelve 
  miles 
  east 
  of 
  

   the 
  railway 
  station 
  at 
  the 
  Bright 
  Angel 
  

   Trail. 
  Here 
  one 
  gazes 
  over 
  a 
  far- 
  

   stretching 
  plain, 
  dotted 
  here 
  and 
  there 
  

   with 
  rocky 
  eminences 
  and 
  with 
  mysteri- 
  

   ous 
  snow-tipped 
  mountains 
  in 
  the 
  dim 
  

   distance. 
  

  

  Dark 
  spots 
  of 
  vegetation, 
  coniferous 
  

   trees 
  that 
  can 
  live 
  even 
  in 
  this 
  arid 
  land, 
  

   alternate 
  with 
  rock 
  faces 
  of 
  red 
  and 
  yel- 
  

   low, 
  and 
  the 
  sense 
  of 
  vast 
  space 
  is 
  height- 
  

   ened 
  by 
  the 
  innumerable 
  varieties 
  of 
  

   color. 
  One 
  longs 
  to 
  wander 
  among 
  the 
  

   deep 
  canyons 
  that 
  seam 
  this 
  wilderness, 
  

   each 
  with 
  its 
  own 
  labyrinth 
  of 
  crags 
  and 
  

   tumbled 
  rocks. 
  

  

  Having 
  now 
  reached 
  the 
  edge 
  of 
  the 
  

   Grand 
  Canyon, 
  I 
  must 
  devote 
  a 
  few 
  sen- 
  

  

  