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During the flood of '29 the Findhorn rose at Randolph's 

 Leap fifty feet. A stone marks the spot. 



Our party rejoined the vehicles at this point, and drove 

 on to Glenferness. Advancing upward, the country 

 gradually assumes more of a Highland character. It is 

 comparatively bare, and the hills are roundshouldered and 

 squatty, but it chauges at Glenferness. No pen that ever 

 wrote could picture the grandeur, the magnificence of 

 Glenferness, where the Findhorn rushes foaming and 

 hissing through it, here boiling and eddying in deep, black 

 pools, and there sputtering and leaping over gigantic 

 boulders torn in fury from the mighty metamorphic crags 

 which vainly try to stem it. As the party strolled down 

 the path, which in many places has been hewn out of the 

 rock, exclamations of wonder and amazement escaped the 

 lips as every new scene of beauty unfolded itself. It was 

 altogether different from the picture which we saw from 

 the Heronry. There it was a lovely lowland landscape — 

 ancient forests, a sunny sea, and hazy hills in the distance. 

 Here it was a mountain torrent, clashing irresistibly along 

 the gorge, with great beetling cliffs on every side, round 

 which the wintry wind would shriek and moan like an 

 angry fiend. Abundant evidence of the whirlwind's force 

 was seen in the number of broken and uprooted trees 

 which find a scanty sustenance among the crevices of the 

 rocks. Among the broken stones oak ferns grew in great 

 luxuriance. Glenferness House, belonging to the Earl of 

 Leven was visited, and Relugas House, where the gardens 

 were opened to the party. It is a beautiful place Relugas. 

 Some of the scenes around it are absolutely enchanting, 

 and seem more like the gorgeous and luxuriant pictures 

 presented beneath the sunny skies of the South than a 

 landscape in our mountain land. The valley below the 

 house is densely wooded, and it seemed as if all the birds 



