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nothing to fire the imagination. Tis a peaceful scene 

 where the winds kiss the cheek softly, and carry on their 

 breath the delicious odour of the woods, a land where the 

 husbandman reaps the reward of his toil in security, and 

 sits contented and perhaps happy. 



Arriving at Darnaway, we were joined by Mr. Brown, 

 factor for the Earl of Moray, who had kindly consented to 

 act as guide to the party, and show us everything of 

 interest about Darnaway, The Castle is a plain massive 

 structure, and in its outward appearance has little to 

 attract attention or rouse the emotions. There is little 

 even in its situation which can be called much out of the 

 usual way of such mansions, but it has a history which 

 must ever touch a chord in the breast of every Scotchman. 

 Here lived Randolph, the friend and companion-in-arms 

 of Bruce, sharing in his defeats and victories when the 

 noblest of our race were struggling to be free. With their 

 blood and heroism they struck the fetters from the limbs 

 of the Scottish people, and bade them stand forth free 

 and emancipated, establishing at once their liberties and 

 nationality. Among all the gallant men who followed the 

 fortunes of Bruce there was not a nobler soul than 

 Randolph. Generous and brave, he was trusted by his 

 followers, and he never led them but to victory. The 

 Border counties of England, after that race had been 

 driven from Scottish soil, learned to tremble at the names 

 of Douglas and Randolph. It was with strange emotions, 

 therefore, that we entered the hall in Darnaway Castle 

 which yet bears his name. And as we lingered there the 

 imagination conjured up many a scene of bygone times its 

 aged walls had witnessed — many a scene of wassail and 

 rout of triumph and despair. In that noble hall many a 

 queenly and lordly form has glided through the dance, and 

 many a soft tale of love has been whispered under the pine 



