o winter. There
was a pretty myth received among some of the ancient Britons,
locating their paradise in a spot surrounded by tempests, far in
the Western Ocean, and named Flath Innis, or Noble Island.9 The
following legend is illustrative. An old man sat thoughtful on a
rock beside the sea. A cloud, under whose squally skirts the
waters foamed, rushed down; and from its dark womb issued a boat,
with white sails bent to the wind, and hung round with moving
oars. Destitute of mariners, itself seemed to live and move. A
voice said, "Arise, behold the boat of heroes: embark, and see the
Green Isle of those who have passed away!" Seven days and seven
nights he voyaged, when a thousand tongues called out, "The Isle!
the Isle!" The black billows opened before him, and the calm land
of the departed rushed in light on his eyes. We are reminded by
this of what Procopius says concerning the conveyal of the soul of
the barbarian to his paradise. At midnight there is a knocking at
the door, and indistinct voices call him to come. Mysteriously
impelled, he goes to the sea coast, and there finds a frail, empty
wherry awaiting him. He embarks, and a spirit crew row him to his
destination.10

"He finds with ghosts His boat deep freighted, sinking to the edge
Of the dark flood, and voices hears, yet sees No substance; but,
arrived where once again His skiff floats free, hears friends to
friends Give lamentable welcome. The unseen Shore faint resounds,
and all the mystic air Breathes forth the names of parent,
brother, wife."

During that period of poetic credulity while the face of the earth
remained to a great extent concealed from knowledge, wherever the
Hebrew Scriptures were known went the cherished traditions of the
Garden of Eden from which our first parents were driven for their
sin. Speculation naturally strove to settle the locality of this
lost paradise. Sometimes it was situated in the mysterious bosom
of India; sometimes in the flowery vales of Georgia, where roses
and spices perfumed the gales; sometimes in the guarded recesses
of Mesopotamia. Now it was the Grand Oasis in the Arabian desert,
flashing on the wilted pilgrim, over the blasted and blazing
wastes, with the verdure of palms, the play of waters, the smell
and flavor of perennial fruits. Again it was at the equator, where
the torrid zone stretched around it as a fiery sword waving every
way so that no mortal could enter. In the "Imago Mundi," a Latin
treatise