In a map drawn by the Florentine physician, Toscanelli, which was sent by him to Columbus in 1474 to give his impression of the Asiatic coast,-- lying, as he supposed, across the Atlantic,--there appears the island of St. Brandan. It is as large as all the Azores or Canary Islands or Cape de Verde Islands put together; its southern tip just touches the equator, and it lies about half-way between the Cape de Verde Islands and Zipangu or Japan, which was then believed to lie on the other side of the Atlantic. Mr. Winsor also tells us that the apparition of this island "sometimes came to sailors' eyes" as late as the last century (Winsor's "Columbus," 112). He also gives a reproduction of Toscanelli's map now lost, as far as can be inferred from descriptions (Winsor, p. 110). The following is Matthew Arnold's poem:-- SAINT BRANDAN Saint Brandan sails the northern main; The brotherhoods of saints are glad. He greets them once, he sails again; So late!--such storms!--the Saint is mad! He heard, across the howling seas, Chime convent-bells on wintry nights; He saw, on spray-swept Hebrides, Twinkle the monastery lights; But north, still north, Saint Brandan steer'd-- And now no bells, no convents more! The hurtling Polar lights are near'd, The sea without a human shore. At last--(it was the Christmas-night; Stars shone after a day of storm)-- He sees float past an iceberg white, And on it--Christ!--a living form. That furtive mien, that scowling eye, Of hair that red and tufted fell-- It is--oh, where shall Brandan fly?-- The traitor Judas, out of hell! Palsied with terror, Brandan sate; The moon was bright, the iceberg near. He hears a voice sigh humbly: "Wait! By high permission I am here. "One moment wait, thou holy man! On earth my crime, my death, they knew; My name is under all men's ban-- Ah, tell them of my respite, too! "Tell them, one blessed Christmas-night-- (It was the first after I came, Breathing self-murder, frenzy, spite, To rue my guilt in endless flame)-- "I felt, as I in torment lay 'Mid the souls plagued by heavenly power, An angel touch my arm and say: _Go hence, and cool thyself an hour!_ "'Ah, whence this mercy, Lord?' I said; _The Leper recollect_, said he, _Who ask'd the passers-by for aid,_ _In Joppa, and thy charity._ "Then I remember'd how I went, In Joppa, through the public street, One morn when the sirocco spent Its storm of dust with burning heat; "And in the street a leper sate, Shivering with fever, naked, old; Sand raked his sores from heel to pate, The hot wind fever'd him five-fold. "He gazed upon me as I pass'd, And murmur'd: _Help me, or I die!_-- To the poor wretch my cloak I cast, Saw him look eased, and hurried by. "Oh, Brandan, think what grace divine, What blessing must full goodness shower, When fragment of it small, like mine, Hath such inestimable power!