studied Ptolemy's "Geography." From this small library came all the
scientific knowledge, true and false, that Christopher ever had. From
these he built up whatever theories of the universe he may have laid
before the sovereigns of Spain.

Marco Polo, the Venetian, had traveled, as every one knows, across Asia
to Cathay (China) in the thirteenth century and had visited the Great
Khan or Emperor. On his return he wrote the "Relation," a most
exaggerated but fascinating account of the wealth of that remote land
and of Cipango (Japan) also, which the Chinese had told him about. The
"Imago Mundi" was certainly better reading for him, because less
exaggerated; whatever myths and fables it contained, it was not the sort
of book to turn a young man's thoughts toward amassing wealth. Instead,
its author had gathered together all that was known or seriously argued
concerning this world. On this curious old volume Christopher pinned his
entire faith. It became his bedside companion; and his copy of it, full
of notes in his own handwriting and in that of his brother Bartholomew
as well, may be seen to-day in the Columbian Library in Sevilla.

For centuries it has been asserted by men who have written about
Columbus that the most important event during his Lisbon days was his
correspondence with a learned astronomer named Paolo Toscanelli.
Columbus, they argue, having formed the plan of sailing west to discover
a route to the Indies (which Columbus never thought of doing at that
early day), wrote to ask Toscanelli's advice, and the wise Florentine
approved most heartily. It appears from the astronomer's letter that he
never dreamed, any more than did Columbus, that a whole continent lay
far off in the unexplored western ocean. He supposed the world to be
much smaller than it really is, with the ocean occupying only a seventh
of it; and that if one sailed three or four thousand miles west, he