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f wearied to death of this Castle of Loch Leven,' 

 where, in spring, all seems so beautiful, the trees 

 budding freshly above the yellow celandine and 

 among the grey prison walls. It was a kindlier 

 prison house than Fotheringay, and minds peaceful 

 and contented would gladly have taken ' this for a 

 hermitage.' 



The Roman Emperors used to banish too 

 powerful subjects to the lovely isles that lie like 

 lilies on the ^igean. Plutarch tried to console 

 these exiles, by showing them how fortunate they 

 were, far from the bustle of the Forum, the vices, 

 the tortures, the noise and smoke of Rome, happy, 

 if they chose, in their gardens, with the blue 

 waters breaking on the rocks, and, as he is careful 

 to add, with plenty of fishing. Mr. Mahaffy calls 

 this ' rhetorical consolation,' and the exiles may 

 have been of his mind. But the exiles would have 

 been wise to listen to Plutarch, and, had I 

 enjoyed the luck of Mary Stuart, when Loch Leven 

 was not overfished, when the trout were unedu- 

 cated, never would I have plunged into politics 

 again. She might have been very happy, with 



