NOV. 28 . 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
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[Special Correspondence of Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
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LETTER XI.— SCOTLAND. 
BY GLEZEN F. WILCOX. 
STIRLING CASTLE. 
We re-trod the road to the town, and climb¬ 
ing up the rocky hill by a winding footpath, 
passed under the low browed gateway into the 
castle. A guide was with us in a moment, and 
commenced his descriptive discourse, which he 
had probably repeated a dozen times that day. 
First, he pointed out the lower where Roderick 
Dhu expired. Of course he considered the 
death of the chieftain in that place as a histori¬ 
cal fact. We saw the window out of which 
King James the Second threw the body of 
Douglas after he had stabbed him. Douglas 
had privately entered into confederation, with 
others of the nobility, and the King learning it> 
in a private audience, endeavored to persuade 
him to withdraw. But Douglas persisted.— 
Enraged at his pride and stubbornness, James 
drew his sword and stabbed him, saying :—“ If 
thou wilt not break the bond, this shall.” He 
then threw the body out of the window into 
the garden, where it was interred. In 1797> 
some workmen were digging in the garden, but 
a few yards from the window, and found a hu¬ 
man skeleton which was supposed to be that of 
Douglas. 
From the highest rampart of the castle there 
is one of the finest views in Scotland. The 
broad, rich lands of the valley of the Forth ex¬ 
tend North and South, and through them the 
sluggish river flows with the most tortuous 
windings, as if loth to quit the regions of so 
much beauty and fertility. This valley is the 
Garden of Scotland, and there is a rhyming 
proverb which says : 
-“ A crook of the Forth 
Is worth an Earldom In the North.” 
Eastward rise the Ochill mountains, and just 
across the river on the plain stands the Abby 
Craig, a solitary rocky hill over five hundred 
feet high, on which it is proposed to place the 
monument to Wallace. It is said that Wal¬ 
lace once drew the English into ambuscade, by 
concealing his army behind the Craig, while 
the enemy were crossing the Forth. Wallace 
had suspended a man in a basket, under the 
bridge, with orders to withdraw a pin which 
would cause it to fall, when he should hear his 
bugle sound. When the English army weie 
half over, they heard the signal blast, and saw 
the bridge tumble into the water, as if by magic, 
and at the same time the Scotch came charging 
from behind the hill. 
Southward we could see ruins of 
“ Cambua Kenneth’s Abbey grey,” 
and by turning to the West overlook the field 
of Bannockburn, and nearer to the town the 
multitude in the park. Northward rise the 
blue peaks of Ben-venue and Ben Lomond.— 
From the Ladies’ Rock we could look down 
on the ground where of old they used to hold 
their games and tournaments. The mounds 
and embankments are yet as distinct as ever> 
but covered with a compact turf. It was here 
that 
“ The Douglas bent a bow of might, 
His first shaft centered in the white ; 
And when in turn he shot again, 
His second split the first in twain.” 
WALK FROM STIRLING TO LOCK-K ATRINF, 
After sojourning a day and a night in Stirling, 
we resumed our march in the morning for the 
Highlands. Oar route lay along the valley of 
the Forth, and the fertile level fields were 
waving with grass and grain. On our right 
were the Ochills, and before us the blue moun¬ 
tains rose up, and hid their heads in masses of 
white vapor. We met numbers of the country 
people going to Stirling. The women were 
mostly barefooted, though otherwise quite tidily 
dressed. After walking a few miles, the cloud 
came down in a driving mist, and the distant 
hills were entirely lost o view. We turned off 
the main road, and walked for two miles through 
the park of Blais Drummond, where Lord 
Kamks once resided. Nearly in the centre of 
the grounds stands the large and ancient man¬ 
sion. I had no just idea of the magnificence of 
some of the private parks and grounds which I 
have seen in this country, and I was surprised 
and delighted with those I had previously wit¬ 
nessed, but this one surpassed them all. The 
surface is uneven, consisting of hills, vallies 
and plains, apparently just as they were formed 
by nature, and carpeted with a fine compact 
turf, so thick and soft that you would sink in it 
almost ankle deep. An abundance of trees 
shaded the grounds, some singly, some in clumps, 
and some in groves, while flocks and herds 
grazing on the glades, as quietly reposing in 
the ample shade, diversified the scene. I be¬ 
lieve some of the trees were planted one hun¬ 
dred and fifty years ago, and the branches of 
many touched the ground, and spread over a 
wide space. Probably there are not such grounds 
in America, for our forest trees have not that 
mass of loliage and roundness of form which 
are prominent features of trees that have long 
been cultivated, and our country is not old 
enough, nor is the spirit of our institutions fa¬ 
vorable for producing such results, for large 
estates and ample properties with us do not 
long remain undivided, or in the possession of 
one family. 
We emerged from the grounds by a winding 
road through a forest, and after half an hour’s 
walk, entered the village of Downe, where we 
first satisfied the demands of appetite, and then, 
notwithstanding the perverse weather, which 
was a mixture of sunshi i and rain in about 
equal quantities, set out for the castle. It was 
fast day in the parish, and all the shops were 
closed. People were either at church or in their 
houses, and the streets were silent and deserted. 
While walking through it, E- commenced 
whistling, rather unconsciously, and put his 
hands in his pockets, but a man came up, and 
in a subdued tone, as if afraid to speak loud, 
told him that whistling would would not be al¬ 
lowed in the town on that day. We went on 
to the castle, am; found the porteress, who 
opened the door with a huge iron key. The 
walls are ten feet thick and forty in height.— 
There is a square courtyard in the inte¬ 
rior, and the rooms of the building extended on 
two sides of it. We ascended to the top of the 
battlements by a half ruined staircase, and 
looked out for a few moments upon the rainy 
landscape, walked round the grassy path on the 
top of the walls, and then descending, went on 
to Callender. The latter place is a long, strag¬ 
gling village, built of rough stone, and we saw 
an abundance of women, children, and dogs in 
the streec. There are several inns, for nearly 
all the travelers to the Trosachs pass through it, 
and commonly stop over night. We chose a 
second class inn, and though we had excellent 
accommodations, the charges were very mode¬ 
rate. For breakfast we had trout, caught from 
the mountain streams, and for the two meals 
and lodging, paid seventy-five cents apiece.— 
Although almost at the base of Benledi, I 
could not realize that I was in the midst of 
mountainous scenery, for the mist wrapped 
it in complete obscurity. The morning 
brought no change in the weather. We could 
not wait, however, for a fair day, but with anx¬ 
ious looks resumed our knapsacks, and ap¬ 
proaching Benledi, whose summit to see 
through the fog we strained our eyes in vain, 
turned to the left, and keeping Bochastle ridge, 
with its mouldering Roman lines, on our right, 
passed Coilantogle ford, and saw before us Loch- 
Yennachar. The road led along the north side 
of the lake, and its still, clear water contrasted 
strongly with the bleak, brown mountain sides 
and the stormy sky overhead. Sounding tor¬ 
rents poured down the slopes, which were par¬ 
tially covered with heathers and stunted trees. 
We passed by Loch-Achray and Laurie Mead, 
and entered the Trosachs, which is the wildest 
and ruggedest detile in all the Highlands. We 
passed through it, however, without feeing satis¬ 
fied. The scenery is not on so grand a scale as 
we expected. But the mist was not favorable 
for us, and shut out all but the nearest views, 
and cast a gloominess over the whole that de¬ 
pressed our spirits. 
As we emerged from the woody pass of Beal- 
nam-ro, the first of Loch-Katrine, appeared in 
sight, its waters darkly shaded and almost over¬ 
hung by the rocky mountain sides. It is nar¬ 
rower than I expected, and apparently but a 
few rods from the shore, lay Ellen’s Isle. The 
steamboat was moored at the wharf, and we 
hurried on board. After we had steamed a little 
distance, G-inquired for the Isle, not think¬ 
ing we had passed it, and expecting to see a 
perfect gem on the bosom of the lake. He held 
his note book in his hand, to catch every inspi¬ 
ration, and had already written, “ We are just 
starting on our voyage up Loch-Katrine. The 
scenery is not so fine as I imagined, but I soon 
expect to see Ellen’s Isle.” When fully assured 
that he had passed it, without recording his 
admiration, he shut his book, and exclaimed— 
“Pshaw I it’s a confounded humbug—the Tro¬ 
sachs and all!" and hoisting his umbrella, sat 
down with resignation. As we advanced up 
the lake the scenery became tamer, and did not 
bear out my first impressions. The minute¬ 
ness and brilliancy of the descriptions of Soott 
produce an exaggerated picture in the imagi¬ 
nation of the reader of the Lady of the Lake. 
Every stream running down the hillside is a 
“rushing torrent.” Rocky peaks, dark waving 
finest*, and Benledi rising “ridge on ridge,” 
look very large upon paper, and added to the 
descriptions of the spots of grass, and heather, 
and the flowers and fern, things which most 
tourists notice more in reading than in a com¬ 
prehensive view of scenery, make, altogether, 
an impression which the reality does not con. 
firm. Certainly the foot of the lake is the wild¬ 
est and most beautiful part, and the first glance, 
as you emerge from the Trosachs, is one of satis¬ 
faction. But then you have the best of it. The 
view would be different if the travelers were 
coming down, thus taking the finest last, and a 
more favorable day than we had would un¬ 
doubtedly add to its impressiveness. 
Power of Enduring Cold. —The following 
paragraph is taken from Dr. Kane’s Journal:— 
“ The mysterious capacities by which we adapt 
ourselves to the climate are more striking here 
than in the tropics. In the polar zone the as¬ 
sault is immediate and sudden, and, unlike the 
insidious fatality of hot countries, produces its 
result rapidly. It requires hardly a single win¬ 
ter to tell who are to be heat-making and accli¬ 
matized men. Peterson, for instance, who had 
resided for two years at Upernavich, seldom 
entered a room with a fire. Another of our 
party, George Riley, with a vigorous constitu¬ 
tion, established habits of free exposure, and 
active, cheerful temperament, has so inured 
himself to the cold that he sleeps on our sledge 
journeys without a blanket or any other cover¬ 
ing than his walking suit, while the outside 
temperature is 30 degrees below zero.” 
--- 
If you wish to be truly polite, exhibit real 
kindness in the kindest manner—do this and 
you will pass at par in any society without 
studying the rules of etiquette. 
Oppression causes rebellion. 
AN EGYPTIAN OBELISK. 
The Egyptian Obelisk represented in our en¬ 
graving, is one of the most prominent curiosities 
of the French Capital. It is thus mentioned in 
a late number of Woodworth’s Youth's Cabinet, 
in an article entitled “Uncle Frank’s Rambles 
in Paris” : 
“The most prominent work of art in the 
Place de la Concorde, Paris, is an enormous shaft, 
called Obelisk of Luxor. You would not need 
to be told that it was a monument of Egyptian 
skill; for it has a multitude of Egyptian cha¬ 
racters inscribed on it. You wonder, I doubt 
not, how it came here, and I will tell you. 
An obelisk, such as the Egyptians were in 
the habit of constructing, were pretty formida¬ 
ble pieces of stone, I assure you. They were 
from forty to ninety feet high. The obelisk at 
Paris once stood in front of the great temple of 
EGYPTIAN PYRAMIDS. 
With what amazement did we survey the 
vast surface that was presented to us when we 
arrived at this artificial mountain, which seem¬ 
ed to reach the clouds. Here and there ap¬ 
peared some Arab guides upon the immense 
masses above us, like so many pigmies, waiting 
to show the w.ay to the summit. Already some 
of our party had begun the ascent, and were 
pausing at the tremendous depth which they 
saw below. 
One of our military companions, after having 
surmounted the most difficult part of the un¬ 
dertaking, became giddy in consequence of 
looking down from the elevation he had attain¬ 
ed ; and, being compelled to abandon the pro¬ 
ject, he hired an Arab to assist him in effecting 
his descent. The rest of us, more accustomed 
to the business of climbing heights, with many 
a halt for respiration, and many au exclamation 
of wonder, pursued our way towards the 
summit. 
The mode of ascent has been frequently de¬ 
scribed ; and yet, from the questions that are 
often proposed to travelers, it does not appear 
to be generally understood. The reader may 
imagine himself to be upon a staircase, every 
step of which, to a man of middle stature, is 
nearly breast high, and the breadth of each 
step is equal to its height. Consequently the 
footing is secure ; and, although a retrospect in 
going up be sometimes fearful to persons unac¬ 
customed to look down from any considerable 
elevation, yet there is little danger of falling. 
In some places, indeed, where the stones are 
decayed, caution may be required, and an Arab 
guide is always necessary to avoid a total inter¬ 
ruption ; but, on the whole, the means of ascent 
are such that almost every one may accomplish 
it. Our progress was impeded by other causes. 
We carried with us a few instruments, such as 
our boat compass, a thermometer, a telescope, <fcc. 
These could not be trusted in the hand of the 
Arabs, and they were liable to be broken every 
instant. At last we reached the topmost tier, 
to the great delight and satisfaction of all the 
party. Here we found a platform, thirty-two 
feet square, consisting of nine large stones, each 
of which might weigh about a ton, although 
they are much inferior in size to some of the 
stones used in the construction of this pyramid. 
Travelers of all, ages, and of various nations, 
have here inscribed their names. Some are 
written in Greek, many in French, a few in Ara¬ 
bic, one or two in English, and others in Latin. 
We were as desirous as our predecessors to 
leave a memorial of our arrival. It seemed to 
be a tribute of thankfulness due for the success 
of our undertaking, and presently every one of 
our party was seen busied in adding the in¬ 
scription of his name.— F. D. Clarke. 
Mental Discipline, the exercise of the facul¬ 
ties of the mind, the quickening of apprehen¬ 
sion, the strengthening of memory, the forming 
of a sound, rapid and discriminating judgment, 
are of more importance than any store of learn¬ 
ing. 
“ I never knew,” said Lord Erskine, “ a man 
remarkable for heroic bravery whose very 
aspect was not lighted up by gentleness and 
humanity." 
-- 
The reputation of a man is like his shadow 
—gigantic when it precedes him, and pigmy 
in its proportions when it follows. 
Thebes, where it was erected fifteen hundred 
and fifty years before Christ, more than three 
thousand four hundred years ago. The shaft was 
presented to France by Mehemit Ali, in 1830. 
It was a long and a difficult task to transport 
the obelisk to the Nile. It took eight hundred 
men three months to get it on board the ship. 
Then a vessel had to be built on purpose to re¬ 
ceive it. It reached Paris in 1833, but it was 
not placed in its present position till three 
years afterward. When it was raised, 150,000 
people came together to see the wonderful op¬ 
eration. The height of the obelisk is 72 feet; 
its greatest width at the base 1% feet, and at 
the top, 5 feet. Its weight is 500,000 pounds. 
The entire cost of removing the obelisk from 
Egypt to France, and placing it upon its pedes¬ 
tal, was upward of $400,000.” 
SCENES ON THE OCEAN FLOOR. 
Besides the countless varieties of the fucus 
the bottom of the sea is overgrown with the 
curled, deep purple leaves of the sea-lettuce, 
with large porous lichens, and many-branched, 
hollow algte, full of life and motion in their 
rosy little bladders, thickly set with ever- 
moving tiny arms. 
These plants form submarine forests, growing 
one into another, in apparently lawless order ; 
here interlacing their branches, there forming 
bowers and long avenues ; at one time thriving 
abundantly’, till the thicket seems impenetrable, 
then again leaving large openings between 
wold and wold, where smaller plants form a 
beautiful pink turf. There a thousand hues 
and tiuges shine and glitter in each changing 
light. In the indulgence of their luxurious 
growth, the fuci especially seem to gratify ev¬ 
ery whim and fieak. Creeping close to the 
ground, or sending long-stretched arms, crown¬ 
ed with waving plumes, up to the blessed light 
of heaven, they form pale-green sea-groves, 
where there is neither moon or star, or rise up 
nearer to the surface, to be transcendently rich 
and gorgeous in brightest green, gold, and pur¬ 
ple. And, through this dream-like scene, play¬ 
ing in all the colors of the rainbow, and deep 
under the hollow, briny ocean, there sails and 
chase each other merrily, gayly-painted mol- 
lusks, and bright shining fishes. Snails of ev- 
e.y shape creep slowly along the stems, while 
huge, gray-haired seals hang with their enor¬ 
mous tusks on large, tall trees. There is the 
gigantic Dugong, the siren of the ancients, the 
side-long shark with his leaden eyes, the thick- 
haired sea-leopard, and the sluggish turtle.— 
Look how these strange, ill-shapen forms, which 
ever keep their dreamless sleep far down in the 
gloomy deep, stir themselves from time to time! 
Bee how they drive each other from their rich 
pastures, how they seem to awaken in storms, 
rising like islands from beneath, and snorting 
through the angry spray 1 Perhaps they graze 
peacefully in the unbroken cool of the ocean’s 
deep bed, when lo ! a hungry shark comes slyly, 
silently around that grove; its glassy eyes 
shine ghost-like with a yellow sheen, and seek 
their prey. The sea-dog first becomes aware of 
his dreadful enemy, and seeks refuge in the 
thickest recesses of the fungus forest. In an 
instant the whole scene changes. The oyster 
closes its shell with a clap, and throws itself 
into the deep below ; the turtle conceals head 
and feet under her impenetrable armor, and 
sinks slowly downward ; the playful fish dis¬ 
appear in the branches of the marocystis, lob¬ 
sters hide under the thick, clumsily shapen 
roots, and the young walrus alone turns boldly 
round, and faces the intruder with his sharp- 
pointed teeth. The shark seeks to gain his un¬ 
protected side. The battle commences; both 
seek the forest; their fins become entangled in 
the closely-interwoven branches; at last the 
more agile shark succeeds in wounding his ad¬ 
versary’s side. Despairing of life, the bleeding 
walrus tries to conceal his last agony in the 
woods, but, blinded by pain and blood, he fas¬ 
tens himself among the branches, and soon falls 
an easy prey to the shark, who greedily devours 
him.— Putnam's Magazine. 
More evil truths are discovered by the cor^ 
ruption of the heart than by the penetration of 
the mind. 
Every good habit corrects a bad tendency. 
OVER THE RIVER. 
She lay with her thin white hands 
Clasped over her beating heart. 
And her beautiful limbs were sill and cold, 
As a sculptured form of Art. 
But a zephyr stole in at the blinds 
And rippled the curls on her brow ; 
And she started as one from a dream, and said— 
“ ’Tig time I was goiieg now ; 
The aureate rays o’er the hill-tops quiver— 
They are calling me over the river.” 
How we strove to hold her back 1 — 
It was so sad, so sad, the parting ; 
But she broke from our clasps with gentle force, 
And whispered, “ 'Tis time for departing,”— 
Oh ! her tones, though soft, made our wrung hearts 
quiver— 
“ They are calling me over the river.” 
One plunge, and the waters dark 
Grew fleck with many a dimple, 
While she bowed her head to the billow’s breast, 
Like a babe in its trustfulness simple. 
And the waves translucent seemed. 
Till they dazzled e’en her bright vision ; 
And we knew that the angel she had looked for long 
Had come to fulfil his mission ; 
And we knew that she saw the bright lights quiver 
On the other side of the river. 
A glitter and rustle of wings, 
And in robes of snow-white brightness, 
And the soul arrayed in its nuptial garb, 
Went forth in its bridal whiteness. 
She clasped the hand that was strong to deliver, 
And they welcomed her over the river. 
And when they shut the gates, 
The gates of the beautiful Palace, 
Seemed as darkness unfolding her sablest wings, 
Sweeping down and black’ning the valleys ; 
And we heard a sound as of a broken heart’s quiver, 
Over this side of the river. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
I AM PERSUADED. 
Never did an implicit trust in God find 
words more fitting its expression, than those of 
Paul, when he exclaims, “I am ‘persuaded that 
neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principali¬ 
ties, nor powers ; nor things present nor things to 
come ; nor height nor depth, nor any other creature 
shall be able to separate us from the love of God, 
which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." It is as if 
he had said, “ Since that memorable time when 
a light from heaven arrested me in my mad 
career, and a gentle voice said unto me Saul 1 
Saul! until this hour, I have found the Lord 
Jesus faithful in the fulfillment of all his prom¬ 
ises. He has never forsaken me even in times 
of my greatest peril. I have forgotten Him; 
but He has never forgotten me. I have dis¬ 
honored him ; but He has never left me to fall 
into dishonor. My love for Him has often 
grown cold ; but His love for me has known no 
change. Like the sun at noonday, that love has 
shed its effulgence about my pathway, and 
cheered me in every horn of despondency and 
gloom, with its light and warmth. 
That love so full, so glorious, so blessed, has 
overflowed my soul, until I felt it would be far 
better to depart and be with Christ forever. 
Have I been in sorrow ? that love assures me of 
one, who bore my griefs and carried my sorrows. 
Have I been despised ? He was despised and 
rejected of men. Has my body been bruised and 
my flesh torn ? He was bruised for my iniqui¬ 
ties ; the chastisement of my peace was upon Him 
and by His stripes I am healed. When I was 
weak. He was my strength. I was, and am 
now all unworthy; but He has become my 
righteousness and my justification. Can I now 
doubt His love ? Can it be that He will now 
forsake me, and leave me to perish ? No, never, 
never, I am persuaded that nothing shall ever 
separate me from that love.” Beloved brother 
Paul ! surely it was thy prerogative to catch 
the glowing flame from off God’s altar of love, 
and transfer it, all bright and burning, to the 
altar of thine own heart, from thence to radiate 
to the extremest circle of enduring time ! 
Rochester, Nov., 1856. S. A. E. 
Immortality. —How beautiful the following, 
from the pen of Prentice, and how happy the 
heart that can see these beauties as he portrays 
them: 
“ Why is it that the rainbow and the cloud 
come over us with a beauty that is not of earth, 
and thus pass away, and leave us to nurse on 
their faded loveliness ? Why is it that the 
stars, which hold their festival around their 
midnight thrones, are set above the grasp of 
our limited faculties, forever mocking us with 
their unapproachable glory ? And why is it 
that bright forms of human beauty are present¬ 
ed to our view, and then taken from us, leaving 
the thousand dreams of affliction to flow back 
in Alpine torrents upon our hearts? We are 
born for a higher destiny than that of earth. 
There is a realm where the beautiful being that 
now passes before us like a meteor, will stay in 
our presence forever 1” 
Faith.— Faith, according to St. Paul, is the 
means by which the whole being of the believer 
—his intellect, his heart and his will—enter 
into possession of the salvation which the incar¬ 
nation of the Son of God has purchased for 
him. Jesus Christ is apprehended by faith, 
and thenceforth becomes everything for man, 
and in man. He imparts a divine life for hu¬ 
man nature ; and man thus renewed, disenga¬ 
ged from the power of selfishness and sin, has 
new affections, and does new works. Faith 
(says Theology in order to express these ideas) 
is the subjective appropriation of the objective 
work of Christ. If faith is not an appropria¬ 
tion of salvation it is nothing, the whole Christ¬ 
ian economy is disturbed, the sources of new 
life are sealed up, and Christianity is overturned 
at its base.— D'Aubigne. 
The silent eye is often a more powerful con¬ 
queror than the noisy tongue. 
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