f the same are figures of
Father Boyle, Santangel, Margarite and Ferrer de Blanes.

On the sides of the cross are grouped eight medallions of bronze, on
which are placed the busts of Isabella I., Ferdinand V., Father Juan
Flores, Andres de Cabrera, Padre Juan de la Marchena, the Marchioness of
Moya, Martin Pinzon, and his brother, Vicente Yanez Pinzon.

This section upholds the third part of the monument, which takes the
form of an immense globe, on top of which stands the statue of Columbus,
a noble conception of a great artist, grandly pointing toward the
conquered confines of the Mysterious Sea.[29]

LEGEND OF A WESTERN LAND.

Rev. SABINE BARING-GOULD, vicar of Looe Trenchard, Devonshire,
England. Born at Exeter, England, 1834. An antiquarian,
archaeological and historical writer, no mean poet, and a novelist.
From his "Curious Myths of the Middle Ages."

According to a Keltic legend, in former days there lived in Skerr a
Druid of renown. He sat with his face to the west on the shore, his eye
following the declining sun, and he blamed the careless billows which
tumbled between him and the distant Isle of Green. One day, as he sat
musing on a rock, a storm arose on the sea; a cloud, under whose squally
skirts the foaming waters tossed, rushed suddenly into the bay, and from
its dark womb emerged a boat with white sails bent to the wind and banks
of gleaming oars on either side. But it was destitute of mariners,
itself seeming to live and move. An unusual terror seized on the aged
Druid; he heard a voice call, "Arise, and see the Green Isle of those
who have passed away!" Then he entered the vessel. Immediately the wind
shifted, the cloud enveloped him, and in the bosom of the vapor he
sailed away. Seven days gleamed on him through the mist; on the eighth,
the waves rolled violently, the vessel pitched, and darkness thickened
around him, when suddenly he heard a cry, "The Isle! the Isle!" The
clouds parted before him, the waves abated, the wind died away, and the
vessel rushed into dazzling light. Before his eyes lay the Isle of the
Departed, basking in golden light. Its hills sloped green and tufted
with beauteous trees to the shore, the mountain tops were enveloped in
bright and transparent clouds, from which gushed limpid streams, which,
wandering down the steep hill-sides with pleasant harp-like murmur
emptied themselves into the twinkling blue bays. The valleys were open
and free to the