“There arises involuntarily in the heart of man a longing after forms of being, fairer and happier than any presented by the world before him—bright scenes which he seeks and never finds, in the circuit of real existence. But imagination easily creates them in that dim boundary which separates the known from the unknown world. In the first discoverers of any such region, novelty usually produces an exalted state of the imagination and passions; under the influence of which every object is painted in higher colours than those of nature. Nor does the illusion cease, when a fuller examination proves that, in the place thus assigned, no such beings or objects exist. The human heart, while it remains possible, still clings to its fond chimeras: it quickly transfers them to the yet unknown region beyond; and, when driven from thence, discovers still another more remote in which they can take refuge. Thus we find these fairy spots successively retreating before the progress of discovery; yet finding still, in the farthest advance which ancient knowledge ever made, some remoter extremity to which they can fly.” “The first position of the Hesperian gardens” (continues our author) “appears to have been at the western extremity of Libya, then the farthest boundary, upon that side, of ancient knowledge. The spectacle which it often presented, a circuit of blooming verdure amid the desert, was calculated to make a powerful impression on Grecian fancy, and to suggest the idea of quite a terrestrial paradise. It excited also the image of islands, which ever after adhered to these visionary creations. As the first spot became frequented, it was soon stripped of its fabled beauty. So pleasing an idea, however, was not to be easily relinquished. Another place was quickly found for it; and every traveller, as he discovered a new portion of that fertile and beautiful coast, fondly imagined that he had at length arrived at the long-sought-for Islands of the Blest. At length, when the continent had been sought in vain, they were transferred to the ocean beyond, which the original idea of islands rendered an easy step. Those of the Canaries having never been passed, nor even fully explored, continued always to be the Fortunate Islands, not from any peculiar felicity of soil and climate, but merely because distance and imperfect knowledge left full scope to poetical fancy[24]. Hence we find Horace painting their felicity in the most glowing colours, and viewing them as a refuge still left for mortals, from that troubled and imperfect enjoyment which they were doomed to experience in every other portion of the globe.” (Murray’s Account of Africa, vol. i. chap. 1.)