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himself a conspicuous exile-public history and the homage of Pope and other literary characters testify Bolinbroke's preeminent talents. Pope observes that if Seneca had been alive, the "Thoughts on Exile" might have been attributed to that philosopher. Bolinbroke's style is better suited for oral declamation in a public assembly, than for the severe criticism of the closet. He abounds in rhetorical figures, places the same thought before us in different ways, and generally with great vivacity and in glowing expressions; but his sentences are often crowded, and he is copious to a fault.

"Among numberless extravagances which have been passed through the minds of men, we may justly reckon for one that notion of a secret affection independent of our reason, and superior to our reason, which we are supposed to have for our country; as if there were some physical virtue in every spot of ground, which necessarily produced this effect in every one born upon it. As if the home-sickness was a universal distemper, inseparable from the constitution of a human body, and not peculiar to the Swiss, who seem to have been made for their mountains, as their mountains seem to have been made for them."

"Let us march therefore intrepidly wherever we are led by the course of human accidents. Wherever they lead us, on what coast soever we are thrown by them, we shall not find ourselves absolutely strangers. We shall meet with men and women, creatures of the same figure, endowed with the same faculty, and born under the same laws of nature. We shall see the same virtues and vices, flowing from the same general principles, but varied in a thousand different and contrary modes, according to that infinite variety of laws and customs which is established for the same universal end, the preserva

tion of society. We shall feel the same revolution of seasons, and the same sun and moon guide the course of our year. The same azure vault, bespangled with stars, will be every where spread over our heads. There is no part of the world from whence we may not admire those planets which roll, like ours, in different orbits, round the same central sun; from whence we may not discover an object still more stupendous, that army of fixed stars hung up in the immense space of the universe, innumerable suns whose beams enlighten and cherish the unknown worlds which roll around them and while I am ravished by such contemplations as these, while my soul is thus raised up to heaven, it imports me little what ground I tread upon."

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Andrew Marvel's poem of the Bermudas, or the boat song of English patriots driven from their country by the religious persecution of Laud, is in unison with these sentiments; they remind us of Barrow.

'When we contemplate the wonderful works of nature, and walking about at our leisure, gaze upon this ample theatre of the world, considering the stately beauty, constant order, and sumptuous furniture thereof; the glorious splendor and uniform motion of the heavens; the pleasant fertility of the earth; the curious figure, and fragrant sweetness of plants; the exquisite frame of animals, and all other amazing miracles wherein the glorious attributes of God are most conspicuously displayed; then should our hearts be affected with thankful sense, and our lips break forth into his praise."

With regard to Bolinbroke's allusion to the Swiss; the effect of a particular tune, the Rance des vaches, upon Swiss soldiers, in exciting the maladie de pays has been noticed by Rousseau, in his Dictionary of Music, and many of our own

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writers.

The causes, and the force of this attachment of the Swiss to their native land have, perhaps, been nowhere better described than by Goldsmith, in his poem of The Traveller. The following is one of the finest passages in that poem:

Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms;
And as a child, whom scaring sounds molest,
Clings close and closer to the mother's breast,
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar
But bind him to his native mountains more.

Although this love of our native land may glow with peculiar warmth in the breast of a Swiss peasant, yet an example may be cited of a like sentiment animating a ship's crew at the occurrence of the name of London on the back of an old spoon. The example is taken from Captain King's Voyages:

"Whilst we were at dinner in this miserable hut, on the banks of the river Awatska; the guests of a people with whose existence we had before been scarce acquainted, and at the extremity of the habitable globe; a solitary half-worn pewter spoon, whose shape was familiar to us, attracted our attention; and, on examination, we found it stamped on the back with the word London. I cannot pass over this circumstance in silence, out of gratitude for the many pleasant thoughts, the anxious hopes, and tender remembrances it excited in us. Those who have experienced the effects that long absence, and extreme distance from their native country, produce on the mind, will readily conceive the pleasure such a trifling incident can give."

Beattie, a Scotchman, in the same paragraph, in his Essay on Laughter, in which he treats of the associations connected with the neighing of a horse, and the braying of an ass, men

tions and describes the Pibroch as performed on the bagpipe. He says that it gives transport and elevation to a Highlander, but admits, in effect, that home associations are requisite to make it endurable by the ears of civilized man.

It is remarkable that Wordsworth, a poet of true genius, but who is considered to have lavished a superfluity of sentiment upon several trivial matters, should have given us such an anti-sentimental sonnet as the following upon the subject of revisiting the place of his birth. There is, however, some truth in his representation of the feelings natural on such an occasion, which are, in fact, of a mixed character.

Beloved Vale. I said, "when I shall con
Those many records of my childish years,
Remembrance of myself and of my peers
Will press me down: to think of what is gone
Will be an awful thought, if life have one."
But when into the vale I came, no fears
Distressed me, from mine eyes escaped no tears;

Deep thought, or awful vision had I none.
By doubts and thousand petty fancies crost,

I stood of simple shame the blushing thrall,

So narrow seemed the brooks, the fields so small,
A juggler's balls old Time about him tossed;
I looked, I stared, I smiled, I laughed; and all
The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.

We have several memorable examples of exiles in ancient times. The Greeks, indeed, would often get rid of a fellowcitizen, by their ostracism, for no assignable reason, but because they disliked his popularity, or, in one remarkable case, his reputation for being more just than his neighbours. It is to one of these freaks that we owe the writings of Xenophon, for the most part composed, like Clarendon's history, by way of solace during exile. The condemnation was passed by

writing the name on a shell, 6,000 shells were required. It was considered merely as a precaution against excess of power, not as a punishment; it did not entail a forfeiture of property, or infamy. After Miltiades, Cimon, Aristides, Themistocles and other of the most illustrious citizens of Athens had been victims to the ostracism, it was abandoned, because it had been passed against a low character of the name of Hyperbolus, and thereby the proceeding itself was deemed to have been rendered too vile for future use.

Among the Romans, Scipio, the conqueror of Hannibal, retired into voluntary exile rather than stand a public trial; he was so vexed with his "ungrateful country," that he gave particular directions on his death-bed that his bones should never be taken to Rome. Of voluntary exiles Regulus is perhaps the most distinguished. Horace's description of his departure from Rome, notwithstanding the efforts of his family and of the populace, who sought to detain him, with the placid feelings of a patron retiring to his country home, after having brought the affairs of his clients to a successful termination, although he knew what tortures the Carthaginians were preparing for him, -is, perhaps, one of the finest relics of ancient poetry. The adventures of another Roman exile, Coriolanus, have been made, by our Great Dramatist, the subject of deep and unabated interest on the stage, as often as a Booth or a Kemble can be found to do justice to the character.

Cicero's banishment is among the most celebrated in history. His letters to Atticus and his wife Terentia show that he had not the real or professed magnanimity of Bolinbroke, They are more in the style of the Tristia which Ovid wrote, and which are natural enough in an Italian poet exiled to a

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