. . . We Were Sent To
The Schoolmaster's To Sleep In The Smallest Of Little Rooms, With A
Great Clock Which Ticked And Struck So Loud That We Were Obliged To
Silence It, To The Great Bewilderment, I Dare Say, Of The Scholars
The Next Day.
Before we were in bed, there was a knock at the door,
which proved to be from Lord Breadalbane's
Butler, to say that he
had been commissioned to enquire whenever we arrived at the inn, as
his Lordship had heard that we were in Scotland and wished us to
make them a visit.
Next morning before we were up came a note from Lord Breadalbane
urging us to come immediately to the Castle. . . . Taymouth Castle,
though not more than fifty years old, has the air of an old feudal
castle. . . . As we were ushered up the magnificent staircase
through first a large antechamber, then through a superb hall with
lofty ceiling glowing with armorial bearings, and with the most
light and delicate carving on every part of the oaken panelling,
then through a long gallery, of heavier carving filled with fine old
cabinets, into the library, it seemed to me that the whole Castle
was one of those magical delusions that one reads of in Fairy Tales,
so strange did it seem to find such princely magnificence all alone
amid such wild and solitary scenes. I had always the feeling that
it would suddenly vanish, at some wave of an enchanter's wand, as it
must have arisen also.
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