and thereon followed a confusion worse confounded, composed of all the impossible wonders of that mythic fairyland with which Philammon had gorged himself from boyhood in his walks with the old monks, and of the equally trustworthy traditions which the Goths had picked up at Alexandria.

There was nothing which that river did not do.
It rose in the Caucasus.

Where was the Caucasus?
He did not know.

In Paradise--in Indian Aethiopia--in Aethiopian India.

Where were they?
He did not know.