elevations. The hills which inclose the Nile valley have level tops, and
sides that are bare of trees, or shrubs, or flowers, or even mosses. The
sky is generally cloudless. No fog or mist enwraps the distance in
mystery; no rainstorm sweeps across the scene; no rainbow spans the
empyrean; no shadows chase each other over the landscape. There is an
entire absence of picturesque scenery. A single broad river, unbroken
within the limits of Egypt even by a rapid, two flat strips of green
plain at its side, two low lines of straight-topped hills beyond them,
and a boundless open space where the river divides itself into half a
dozen sluggish branches before reaching the sea, constitute Egypt, which
is by nature a southern Holland---"weary, stale, flat and unprofitable."
The monotony is relieved, however, in two ways, and by two causes.
Nature herself does something to relieve it Twice a day, in the morning
and in the evening, the sky and the landscape are lit up by hues so
bright yet so delicate, that the homely features of the prospect are at
once transformed as by magic, and wear an aspect of exquisite beauty. At
dawn long streaks of rosy light stretch themselves across the eastern
sky, the haze above the western horizon blushes a deep red; a ruddy
light diffuses itself around, and makes walls and towers and minarets
and cupolas to glow like fire; the long shadows thrown by each tree and
building are purple or violet. A glamour is over the scene, which seems
transfigured by an enchanter's wand; but the enchanter is Nature, and
the wand she wields is composed of sun-rays. Again, at eve, nearly the
same effects are produced as in the morning, only with a heightened
effect; "the redness of flames" passes into "the redness of roses"--the
wavy cloud that fled in the morning comes into sight once more--comes
blushing, yet still comes on--comes burning with blushes, and clings to
the Sun-god's side.[3]

Night brings a fresh transfiguration. The olive after-glow gives place