It was the sabbath day; and the mildness of the christian religion seemed to breathe around. The rays of the sun, with a kind of vivid obscurity, darted through the wood; and the solemn, yet cheerful, gospel bell of a neighbouring villa spake of the pure and peaceful communion of saints. Even the game seemed to know it was the sabbath, and did not shun my path. Perhaps it was wrong in me thus to travel. I had {12} never done so before. My situation, however, was peculiar, and I endeavored to confine my thoughts to the appropriate views of this holy season.
I am now upon the borders of my own peculiar country. A single step carries me from New Hampshire; and when I shall again behold her pleasant hills is uncertain—Perhaps never!
The term banishment is, in this part of the world, seldom employed; and its introduction here may appear unmeaning. But those who have been exiled by their country, by misfortune, or by themselves, will hear the word with a glow of interest, and find, in their own hearts, its true and ready definition. Is there no exile beyond the limits of our land?—no spirit which sighs for the scenes of childhood?—where the light of Heaven was first beheld, and the impression of thought first created?—where friendship first warmed, and love etherialized, and patriotism fired? Oh! if prayer is heard on High, it must be the exile's prayer.
The tears of patriotism need no apology. The name of New-Hampshire is identified with that of freedom. Her mountains were never intended for slavery; and tyrants, I know, could not exist in the presence of her people. Were she just to herself, she would always excite fear in her enemies and admiration in her friends. Her institutions are dictated by the spirit of self-government, and her will is the supreme law of the land. Her citizens are
