DEC. 6. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
[Special Correspondence of Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
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LETTER XII-— SCOTLAND. 
BY GLEZEN F. 'WILCOX. 
WALKING TO IN VERSNAID. 
We reached the upper end of the lake in 
three-quarters of an hour, and paying three 
pence for the privilege of landing, went into 
the only hotel at the place, and made a fierce 
attack on the cold roast beef, and sundries, for 
it was the middle of the afternoon, and our style 
of traveling sharpened the appetite wonderfully. 
The pedestrian is often astonished at his voracity, 
and he is generally content with the coarsest 
fare if there only be enough to satisfy hunger. 
Most of the passengers immediately left for 
Inversnaid in a coach and on mules and don¬ 
keys, but we took the thing more leisurely and 
after dinner walked over. The distance is five 
miles and the road winds among mountains.— 
We saw but one horse on the route, and num¬ 
bers of the black Highland cattle were grazing 
around. On our way we discovered a smoke 
ascending from a pile of rocks, seven or eight 
rods from the road-side, and some children 
playing among them. We turned off and went 
up to them. There was a kind of double hut 
constructed between the rocks, of poles and 
turf, and it was occupied by two families. We 
looked in. A little girl sat on a rough bench, 
with her back to the door, singing to a child 
which she held in her arms. She did not no¬ 
tice our approach. The floor was muddy, the 
furniture of the rudest kind, and the hut was 
so filled with smoke that we could scarcely see 
to the further side. All around the soil was 
springy, and we had to pick our way with great 
caution, to avoid sinking over our shoes. With¬ 
in sight were the men, laboring upon the works 
which are in process of construction for the pur¬ 
pose of supplying the city of Glasgow with 
water from Loch-Katrine. 
A BOW UPON LOCH-LOMOND. 
We arrived at the inn of Inversnaid early 
enough to have a row upon Loch-Lomond.— 
Hireing a boat we proceeded up the lake to 
find Rob Roy’s cave. They wished to send a 
guide with us, but we preferred going alone.— 
We rowed along leisurely for a mile or so, ad¬ 
miring the scenery, when we perceived a High¬ 
lander standing upon a rock, and looking out 
upon the water. He had a gun and a shield, 
and with his plaid and plume looked very 
picturesque. We approached him and he turn¬ 
ed into an image of Rob Roy, and we found the 
entrance to the cave just behind the rock 
whereon he stood. Returning to the inn we 
retired, thinking to obtain a good night’s rest, 
preparatory to ascending Ben Lomond on the 
morrow. However, we did not rise early, for 
we could see from our windows the mist sweep¬ 
ing down the mountain sides, and settling on 
the surface of the lake. The weather was 
much worse than on the preceding day. The 
summits of the mountains were all concealed, 
and I could but just discern the opposite shore 
of the lake. Added to this a drizzling rain 
commenced, varied occasionally by a sharper 
down-pouring of the watery element. I then 
thought that what I once read of its raining 
half of the time in Scotland was not an exag¬ 
geration. 
ASCENT OP BEN LOMOND. 
We finally determined to attempt the ascent 
whether it was fine weather or foul, and cross¬ 
ing the mountain take the boat for the foot of 
the lake, on the opposite side. Although it is 
the most difficult route, and the circumstances 
so unfavorable, we heeded not the selfish repre¬ 
sentations of the landlord about the danger of 
getting lost in the mist, and the certainty of 
being foiled in our purpose, without the services 
of a guide, but started alone, and even without 
asking any questions. A path led in the direc¬ 
tion of the summit, and shouldering our knap¬ 
sacks, we turned into it, and crossing a moun¬ 
tain torrent, just above'a waterfall, by a foot 
bridge, commenced climbing. The pathway 
was narrow, rough, and quite devious, In half 
an hour we came to a hut on the mountain side, 
built of stone and roofed with turf, and knock¬ 
ing at the door a man came out, of whom we 
inquired the way to the top of Ben Lomond.— 
. He accompanied us about half a mile, until he 
could show us a ridge we must cross. We 
learned that the summit was yet five miles 
distant, and he told us further there was no 
path, and gave it as his opinion that we could 
not find the way. We thought it somewhat 
doubtful, for the rain fell faster, the fog grew 
thicker and descended lower. Even the ridge 
that he pointed out was half of the time envel¬ 
oped in a cloud. Thinking we could at any 
time retrace our steps—although the man told 
us that often the fog was so thick you could not 
see twenty yards—we proceeded, keeping the 
lake in sight on our right, while on the left a 
ridge rose several hundred feet above us—some¬ 
times crossing a torrent swollen by the rains, 
and sometimes passing under a precipice, till 
we had gone another mile, when we heard the 
barking of dogs, and presently several came 
running towards us. They belonged to a shep¬ 
herd boy who was tending a flock of sheep on 
the mountain side, and we paused awhile to 
converse with him. He told us to climb over 
the ridge on our left, and we would see a plain 
before us, and right across it was the foot of the 
highest peak. “ Ye canna miss the way,” said 
he, very encouragingly. We asked him to 
show us the skill of his dogs, which he did by 
sending them to fetch up some sheep that were 
below. He spoke to them in a peculiar man¬ 
ner, and they ran down and quickly drove the 
stray sheep to the rest of the flock. Far below 
us was a sheep fold, standing by the waters of 
the lake, and we could see the men and sheep 
within it. 
Taking courage from the information the boy 
gave us, and the clearer appearance of the 
weather, we started on vigorously, and soon 
gained the top of ihe ridge. Before us was the 
plain, stretching south and east, until it met 
the base of the peaks whose tops were yet hid¬ 
den in the clouds. Had it been clear, no diffi¬ 
culty could possibly have been experienced in 
finding the summit. As it was, however, we 
could only guess which of the peaks we saw 
before us rising into the mist was the right one, 
and taking a southerly direction we struck di¬ 
rectly across the plain. We were greatly de¬ 
ceived in the distance, for it did not ap¬ 
pear more than half a mile, but we were more 
than one hour in traversing it. It was a kind of 
a bog, and the long heather and black soil were 
thoroughly soaked by the recent heavy rains, 
and the water stood in pools. Through the 
middle flowed a torrent, which rushed down a 
stony ravine, and fell into the lake. We fre¬ 
quently came to gullies, in the bottom of which 
was a black mud. Sometimes we jumped 
across them and sometimes went round, but 
were very careful about slipping in, for I thrust 
my staff into some of them and could find no 
bottom. Our shoes were soon soaked, and at 
every step we sank nearly ankle deep in the 
turf which held the water like a spoDge. The 
landscape was the most desolate one that I ever 
beheld. 
The rain ceased, and when we got across the 
plain, the fog had lifted considerably. Climb¬ 
ing up the steep ascent before us, we came up¬ 
on a table land, and beyond and above rose the 
rocky peak of Ben Lomond. The storm was 
broken, and huge, irregular masses of vapor 
were flying swiftly through the air, and some¬ 
times struck the summit above us. Encouraged 
by this we climbed on with renewed vigor over 
the rocks by a steep and winding path, till the 
last step of ascent was taken and we stood be¬ 
side a small pyramid of turf and stones, erected 
on the extreme summit. The first glance am¬ 
ply repaid me for all the toil I had undergone 
to attain the top. The storm was over, the sky 
was clear, and we knew that so favorable a 
time had not occurred for many days. Perse¬ 
verance had conquered, and the reward was 
ample. We could see from Edinburg to Ben 
Nevis, and westward to the Atlantic. To the 
south-east opened the wide and level valley of 
the Forth, with the river winding through it, 
and gleaming like a stream of silver. West 
and north we could look down on a land of 
mountains which reared their brown heads in 
disordered groups. Right below us was the 
whole extent of Loch-Lomond, studded with its 
numerous islands, and eastward we could count 
several Lochs besides Katrine. 
The wind blew furiously, and being hot from 
exertion, we felt the cold severely. The de¬ 
scent on the south side is by a path which po¬ 
nies traverse to the very top. It was a great 
relief to go down the four miles, in the sunshine 
of that beautiful afternoon, to the inn of Row- 
erdennan, and we frequently paused to admire 
the gorgeous scenes spread before us — the 
sweeping slopes of the mountains, dotted with 
flocks—the glassy lake with its green islands, 
and beyond the fertile vale of Leven, with cot¬ 
tages, farm-houses and villages in the midst of 
embowering trees, and here and there a pointed 
church spire uplifted, like a supplicating arm, 
to Heaven. It was three o’clock when we ar¬ 
rived at the inn, after ten miles of the hardest 
walking I ever performed. In another hour the 
steamboat stopped at the landing, and we em¬ 
barked for the foot of the lake. I enjoyed the 
gcenery much more than that of Loch-Katrine. 
There are many fine residences on the banks, 
and we saw the family mansion of Smellet.— 
A train of cars awaited us at the pier, ami we 
rode six miles through the valley of Leven to 
Dumbarton. We asked a policeman for a place 
where accommodations could be had at mode¬ 
rate charges, and he conducted us to a tempe¬ 
rance hotel. 
PASSING THE ALPS ON A RAILROAD. 
From Gratz to Vienna, the most remarkable 
railroad structure in the world is passed over : 
the Alps are literally crossed on a railroad.— 
The passage of the Semmering Alp is achieved 
by means of twelve tunnels and many vaulted 
cuttings, and the valleys are spanned by a large 
number of viaducts, of the most finished and 
scientific workmanship. The longest tunnel is 
4,783 feet in length, and it is an elevation of 
nearly 3,000 feet above the level of the sea. 
The road winds round the mountain in so cir¬ 
cuitous a manner, that in some places, five miles 
of road are constructed to advance one mile in 
a straight line, and some of the gradients are 
100 feet to the mile. It is very picturesque, as 
the trains are going down the inclined planes, 
to observe the tracts below, appearing so steep 
in their descent as to seem almost dangerous ; 
but the engines are so well managed and ap¬ 
pointed, that the fear is soon dissipated. The 
narrow valley which courses through these 
mountains is filled with dwellings and villages, 
and in some places the valley is so narrow that 
the backs of the houses are built against the 
perpendicular rocks, which rise to a height of 
many hundred feet, upon the top of which the 
railroad track is laid ; and as we looked down 
upon these mountain hamlets, it was hard to 
feel that it was a reality and not a dream of 
beauty. 
Schismatic wranglers are like a child’s top, 
noisy and agitated when whipped, quiet and 
motionless when left alone. 
NATHANIEL P. BANKS. 
The Second Session of the Thirty-Fourth 
Congress of the United States commenced on 
Monday of the present week. At the First Ses¬ 
sion, Nathaniel P. Banks, of Massachusetts, 
(whose term of office expires March 4th, 1857,) 
was chosen Speaker, after the most protracted 
struggle ever known in the House. The selec¬ 
tion of some person to the Speakership is one 
of the first duties devolving upon this body, 
and as the person chosen to fill the chair is 
generally the embodiment of the principles of 
those in a majority, there is, naturally, consid¬ 
erable interest awakened upon the subject.— 
Furthermore, the selection of an individual for 
so important a post is not only a mark of re¬ 
spect, but also a stepping stone to a higher station, 
and consequently it is generally the acme of 
the hopes and aspirations of the political Rep¬ 
resentative. We present to Rural readers the 
portrait of Mr. B., in whose character—politics 
aside—for energy and perseverance, there is 
much worthy the study of all youthful Ameri¬ 
cans. Both from his political friends and the 
opposition, he has received encomiums for the 
able and impartial manner in which he dis¬ 
charged his duties—his urbanity, clear-sighted¬ 
ness, and remarkable facility for the dispatch 
of business, during one of the most stormy ses¬ 
sions ever held by Congress. We condense the 
following biographical sketch from the United 
States Magazine : 
Nathaniel Prentiss Banks, son of a Massa¬ 
chusetts yeoman of like name, was born on the 
13th of January, 1816, in the town of Waltham, 
near Boston, which is still his residence. The 
poverty of his family deprived him of any but 
the most ordinary advantages of education, and 
thesfe were necessarily limited, or utterly with¬ 
held, from his twelfth year, when he betook 
himself to a factory in his native town, therein 
to earn a livelihood. At a later period of his 
youth, he worked as a blacksmith; and gossip 
asserts that he at one time officiated as a dan¬ 
cing-master, and at another appeared on the 
boards of a Boston theatre as a debutant. These 
serve to illustrate the character of the man— 
self-reliant, energetic, pushing, and ready to 
enter upon any avenue to an honest success 
that might open before him. At the age of 
thirty he threw aside his blacksmith’s apron, 
and commenced in Boston the study of the law, 
in the office of Hon. Robert Rantoul, jr., then 
U. S. District Attorney for Massachusetts, and 
he was over thirty-two years old when, in 1848, 
he was admitted to practice, and opened an of¬ 
fice for himself in Boston, still residing with 
his family at Waltham. 
Mr. Banks has now been some seven or eight 
years a lawyer, but it is not at the bar that he 
has achieved distinction. The Law is a jealous 
mistress, and requires not merely attention, but 
devotion. Very few men have conquered emi¬ 
nence at once in the Senate and the Courts, and 
those few were early trained for the forum, 
storing their minds in silence and solitude, be¬ 
fore they appeared on the stage of active life.— 
They ripened into scholarship during those 
years which were given by Mr. Banks to rug¬ 
ged exertion—to the barren prose of common 
life—to patient, unnoticed struggles with pov¬ 
erty and want. At the ripe age at which he 
directed his efforts toward a professional ca¬ 
reer, he might have been a great lawyer or a 
statesman—he could not well be both. He 
chose the latter. 
In 1848, as a Democrat, he was for the first 
time chosen to the Legislature of Massachusetts 
from Waltham, though his political opponents 
were a decided majority in that town. It is 
said that but twenty Democrats were that year 
elected to the Massachusetts House, which con¬ 
sists of some three to four hundred members. 
The “ Coalition ” carried Massachusetts in 
1851, when Mr. Banks, as one of that party, was 
again chosen by it Representative of Waltham, 
and Speaker. A Constitutional Convention 
was called by this Legislature—Mr. Banks 
heartily assenting—and it was elected and 
convened in 1853, Mr. Banks being a -member, 
and in due time chosen its President. 
Mr. Banks was elected to Congress by the 
« Coalition ” vote in November, 1852, and took 
his seat in the House at its organization in 
December, 1853. In 1854, Mr. B. was re¬ 
elected to the House, receiving a majority of 
some seven thousand votes. On the first Mon¬ 
day in December, 1855, the XXXI Vth Congress 
assembled, no party having a clear majority in 
the House. Mr. B. was a prominent candidate 
for the Speakership, and after nine weeks of 
intense excitement and earnest struggle, the 
House adopted a plurality rule, and proceeded 
to take a final vote for Speaker—the 127th, we 
believe—and on this vote Mr. Banks received 
one hundred and three to one hundred for Wil¬ 
liam Aiken, of South Carolina; while six ad¬ 
hered to H. M. Fuller, of Pennsylvania, while 
four more withheld or purposely scattered.— 
Mr. Banks was thereupon declared Speaker 
elect. It is the general verdict of the habitues 
of Washington that, as a presiding officer, no 
abler incumbent ever sat in the great chair, 
with the possible exception of Henry Clay. In 
dignity, coolness, promptitude, decision and 
correctness as a presiding officer, he has prob¬ 
ably no superior. 
Mr. Banks is now forty years old, rather be¬ 
low the medium size, with a firm, erect car¬ 
riage, and an earnest physiognomy that seems 
as though it had been pinched and shriveled by 
facing a keen New England March wind. His 
dark hair is thickly sprinkled with grey, indi¬ 
cative of the anxieties of an active, trenchant 
life. 
POUR GREAT MEN. 
It is a remarkable fact that four of the most 
renowned men that ever lived, closed with some 
violent or mournful death. 
Alexander, after having climbed the dizzy 
heights of his ambition, and with his temples 
bound with chaplets dipped in the blood of 
countless nations, looked down upon a conquer¬ 
ed world, and wept that there was not another 
for him to conquer, set fire to a city, and died 
in a scene of debauch. 
Hannibal, after having, to the astonishment 
and consternation of Rome, passed the Alps,— 
after having put to flight the armies of the 
mistress of the world, and stripped three bush¬ 
els of gold rings from the fingers of her slaugh¬ 
tered knights, and made her very foundation 
quake—fled from his country—being hated by 
those who once exultingly united his name 
with that of God, and called him Hannibal— 
died at last by poison, administered by his own 
hands, unlamented and unwept for in a foreign 
land. 
Caesar, after having conquered eight hundred 
cities, and dyed his hands in the blood of one 
million of foes ; after having pursued to death 
the only rival he had on earth, was miserably 
assassinated by those he considered his nearest 
friends, and in that very place the attainment 
of which had been his greatest ambition. 
Bonaparte, whose mandate Kings and Empe¬ 
rors obeyed, after having filled the earth with 
the terror of his name, deluged it with tears and 
blood, and clothed the world with sackcloth, 
ended his days in lonely banishment, almost 
literally exiled from the world, but where he 
could sometimes see his country’s banner wav¬ 
ing over the deep, but which could not or would 
not bring him aid. 
Thus four men, who, from the peculiar situa¬ 
tion of their portraits, seemed to stand as rep¬ 
resentatives of all those whom the world calls 
great—those four whom, each in their turn, 
made the earth tremble to its very centre by 
their simple tread, severally died — one by in¬ 
toxication, or, as some suppose, by poison 
mingled in his wine, one by suicide, one mur¬ 
dered by his friends, and one in lonely exile. 
A Beautiful Signification. — “ Alabama,” 
signifies in the Indian language, “Here we 
rest.” A story is told of a tribe of Indians who 
fled from a relentless foe in the trackless forest 
in the South-West. Weary and travel-worn 
they reached a noble river which flowed 
through a beautiful country. The chief of the 
band struck his tent-pole in the ground and 
exclaimed:—“ Alabama 1 Alabama !” (“ Here 
we shall rest! here we shall rest 1”) 
iJusiitp. 
THE ANGELS IN THE HOUSE. 
Three pairs of dimpled arms, as white as snow, 
Held me in soft embrace ; 
Three little cheeks, like velvet peaches soft, 
Were placed against my face. 
Three tiny pairs of eyes, so clear, so deep, 
Locked up in mine this even, 
Three pairs of lips kissel me asweet “ good night,”— 
Three little forms from heaven. 
Ah ! It is well that “ little ones” should love us, 
It lights our faith when dim, 
To know that once our blessed Savior bade them 
Bring “ little. ones” to Him ! 
And said He not, “ of such is heaven,” and blessed them, 
And held them to His breast! 
Is it not sweet to know this when they leave us, 
’Tis where they go to rest ? 
A CHILD S PRAYER. 
BY ALICE CARY. 
Swbetbr than the songs of thrushes, 
When the winds are low ; 
Brighter than the spring-time blushes, 
Reddened out of snow, 
Were the voice and cheek so fair, 
Of the little child at prayer. 
Like a white lamb of the meadow, 
I Climbing through the light; 
Like a priestess in the shadow 
Of the temple bright, 
Seemed she, saying, Holy One, 
Thine and not my will be done. 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
RELIGION A LIFE-LONG PURSUIT. 
The prominent object in all the sacrifices and 
offerings of the Jewish Church was to fore¬ 
shadow a coming One, whose divine mission it 
should be to make a sacrifice, once for all, and 
bring back fallen man to the allegiance of his 
Maker, and to the enjoyment of the fruits of 
early obedience. Aside from this, however, 
they teach many a lesson of practical purity, 
which no Christian heart can fail to appropriate. 
God required of His chosen people, that all 
their offerings should be free from spot or blem¬ 
ish— the first of the flocks and herds — the 
choicest of the fruits of the soil were alone to be 
offered to Him. None but the young, vigorous 
and healthy could find a place upon His altars. 
He must have the best or none. The offering 
of Cain was rejected, while that of Abel, select¬ 
ed from among the firstlings of the flock, and 
given, as we may suppose, with a generous 
heart, was accepted. 
There are those who think religion a matter 
of no practical value until the close of life, when 
everything else has been weighed in the bal¬ 
ance and found wanting. When they have no 
more service to give to the world—when all 
their energies have been exhausted in the pur¬ 
suit of their own selfish ends—their intellect 
strained to its utmost in inventing resources for 
worldly aggrandizement, — when the weak 
hands fall down and the feeble limbs totter un¬ 
der their heavy burden of years—when the 
“grinders cease because they are few and those 
that look out of the windows be darkened,” 
then they are ready to embrace religion with 
open arms, and serve God the rest of their lives. 
They spend their youth, manhood and all the 
strength of their declining years in the pursuit 
of ends contrary to the spirit of the Gospel of 
Christ, and then that Gospel that finds its echo 
in those memorable words of the Wise Man, 
“Remember thy Creator in the days of thy 
youth,” is patronizingly received and cherished 
until death. Strange, that when they have 
nothing to give, they can give it to Christ ! — 
Strange, that when they have rejected Christ 
all their days, they can expect to be received 
of Him at the last! “ Because I have called 
and ye refused, I have stretched out my hand 
and no man regarded. * * * I also wil-l 
laugh at your calamity. I will mock when 
your fear cometh. * * * Then shall they 
call upon me, but I will not answer ; they shall 
seek me early, but they shall not find me,” is 
the fearfully solemn language of inspiration to 
the life-long despisers of the Gospel. How ten¬ 
der and affectionate,— how sweetly, in contrast, 
sound out those dear words of promise—“ Hove 
them that love me, and they that seek me early shall 
find me." s. A. b. 
Rochester, Nov., 1856. 
RESIGNATION. 
You must resign yourself entirely into the 
hands of God, and after having done all you can 
on your part to promote the good design you 
have in view, you must submit the rest to him; 
being willing, if after all your efforts He shall 
not see fit to crown them with success, to sacri¬ 
fice your own will, and to live contentedly, 
humbly and devotedly, entirely reconciled and 
resigned to his good will and pleasure, which 
you must equally recognize in the non-consum¬ 
mation of your wishes. For God sometimes 
proves our love and courage, by depriving us of 
things which both seem to us, and are in them¬ 
selves, very good for our souls ; but if He sees 
us earnest in the pursuit, and yet at the same 
time resigned and humble under the loss and 
privation of the object of our desire, he vouch¬ 
safes us greater blessings while denying us our 
wishes, than we should have attained in their 
fulfillment; for above all things God loves 
those who on all occasions and under all cir¬ 
cumstances are ready with an honest and sim¬ 
ple heart to say, “ Thy will be done.”— Francis 
de Sales. 
Prayer is not eloquence, but earnestness; not 
the definition of helplessness, but the feeling of 
it; not figures of speech, but compunction of 
soul. 
