stood there; a great land out in the ocean, which has sunk and sunk
beneath the waves. Old Plato called it Atlantis, and told strange
tales of the wise men who lived therein, and of the wars they
fought in the old times. And from off that island came strange
flowers, which linger still about this land:- the Cornish heath,
and Cornish moneywort, and the delicate Venus's hair, and the
London-pride which covers the Kerry mountains, and the little pink
butterwort of Devon, and the great blue butterwort of Ireland, and
the Connemara heath, and the bristle-fern of the Turk waterfall,
and many a strange plant more; all fairy tokens left for wise men
and good children from off St. Brandan's Isle.

Now when Tom got there, he found that the isle stood all on
pillars, and that its roots were full of caves. There were pillars
of black basalt, like Staffa; and pillars of green and crimson
serpentine, like Kynance; and pillars ribboned with red and white
and yellow sandstone, like Livermead; and there were blue grottoes
like Capri, and white grottoes like Adelsberg; all curtained and
draped with seaweeds, purple and crimson, green and brown; and
strewn with soft white sand, on which the water-babies sleep every
night. But, to keep the place clean and sweet, the crabs picked up
all the scraps off the floor and ate them like so many monkeys;
while the rocks were covered with ten thousand sea-anemones, and
corals and madrepores, who scavenged the water all day long, and
kept it nice and pure. But, to make up to them for having to do
such nasty work, they were not left black and dirty, as poor
chimney-sweeps and dustmen are. No; the fairies are more
considerate and just than that, and have dressed them all in the
most beautiful colours and patterns, till they look like vast
flower-beds of gay blossoms. If you think I am talking nonsense, I