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torches' blaze, and many a council pregnant with weal or 

 woe to Scotland has met there. But all have gone like a 

 dream of the night, and only the hall remains. It has 

 passed through revolution, fire, and tempest, when dynas- 

 ties have crumbled and but their name remains, and, 

 when the fate of the greatest empire upon the face of the 

 earth hung in a bloody balance, almost within sight of its 

 walls, Randolph's Hall stood safe among its groves. And 

 there it stands still, and long may it stand, a noble memo- 

 rial of the soaring soul who planned it — a monument to 

 patriotism and glory, a monument of everything that is 

 great and noble in man's nature, a monument hallowed by 

 a thousand associations in the history of a great people, 

 and which can never die. 



But there are things in it which attract visitors apart 

 altogether from historic associations. The roof of the hall 

 is a masterpiece of construction and strength, and one 

 wonders how they ever got those ponderous beams reared 

 into position. There is a peculiarity about the way in 

 which they are fixed into the wall. They are not even 

 and regular as in a modern building, but go in with a sort 

 of skew. The wood is of black oak. The furnishings of 

 the hall are simple and chaste. A few chairs of black oak, 

 carved with an antique pattern, rest on the polished floor 

 at intervals ; but there is a mirror, on one side of the hall, 

 the frame of which is carved with the most exquisite art 

 and beauty. At the bottom of the frame there is the 

 figure of an angel babe cut out of the oak in full relief 

 looking up at another angel child on the top of the frame, 

 who is riding on an eagle, and catching a wreath descend- 

 ing from heaven. Beside the eagle there is another figure 

 of an angel looking eagerly and wistfully at the descending 

 wreath. On each side of the mirror there are similar 

 figures holding coiled serpents, who are stretching their 



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