But 'twas in north Ireland that he had the whole truth and a chart of the road." "These charts!" sighed Raleigh.

"I think the fairies have the making of them, for they bewitch sober men.

A scrap of discoloured paper and a rag of canvas; some quaint lines drawn often in a man's blood, and a cross in a corner marking 'much gold.' We mortals are eternally babes, and our heads are turned by toys." "This chart was no toy, and he who owned it bought it with his life.
Nay, Sir Walter, I am of your mind.

Most charts are playthings from the devil.

But this was in manner of speaking sent from God.