was fish that came to their nets, and their works are singular compounds
of personal adventure, historical episodes, statistics of trade, and
reflections on the laws, manners and religions of races, interwoven with
many astonishing stories, and with the most amusing conjectures and
speculations. Their sincerity is apparent on every page. How delightful
is that remark of honest old Bernal Diaz, when, in describing the
battle of Tlascala, he states that many of the Spanish soldiers believed
that St. James and St. Thomas fought in person against the pagans, and
adds, in the simplicity of his heart, 'Sinner that I am, it was not
given to my eyes to behold either the one or the other of those holy
persons.' Montanus, in his travels through Muscovy, speaks of a
wonderful plant on the borders of Tartary, which resembled a
pumpkin-vine in appearance, only that instead of pumpkins it produced
lambs covered with wool. He calls this 'a mighty pleasant story,' but
takes care to say that he had never seen with his own eyes the lambs
growing upon the vines, but only the wool thereof, which the natives
manufactured into garments.

Another characteristic of the old books of travel is, that they are,
unconsciously, autobiographical. The honest pilgrim, in his desire to
give a faithful description of new lands, is little aware that he is all
the time describing himself as well. His prejudice, his likings, his
disappointments and aspirations are all transparently revealed to us,
and through him we lay hold on the living character of his age. We
follow him, step by step, on his slow and wearisome journey, enjoying
his fatigues and dangers with the better zest, since we know in advance
that he reached home safely at last. One of the most popular modern
books of travel--Eothen--is a poem which gives us the very atmosphere
and odor of the Orient, but nothing more; and the author floats before
our vision in so dim and wraith-like a manner, that many readers have