The skies were lowering when we left Inverness and the latter half of the journey was made in the hardest rainstorm we encountered on our tour.  We could not see ten yards ahead of us and the water poured down the hills in torrents, yet our car ran smoothly on, the fine macadam road being little affected by the deluge.  The heavy rain ceased by the time we reached Inverurie, a gray, bleak-looking little town, closely following a winding street, but the view from the high bridge which we crossed just on leaving the place made full amends for the general ugliness of the village.

[Illustration:  Towers of Elgin cathedral, north Scotland.]

It would be hard to find anywhere a more beautiful city than Aberdeen, with her clean, massively built structures of native gray granite, thickly sprinkled with mica facets that make it fairly glitter in the sunlight.  Everything seems to have been planned by the architect to produce the most pleasing effect, and careful note must have been taken of surroundings and location in fitting many of the public buildings into their niches.  We saw few more imposing structures in Britain than the new postoffice at Aberdeen, and it was typical of the solidity and architectural magnificence of the Queen City of the North.  But Aberdeen will be on the route of any tourist who goes to Northern Scotland, so I will not write of it here.  It is a great motoring center, with finely built and well equipped garages.

As originally planned we were to go southward from Aberdeen by the way of Braemar and Balmoral in the very heart of the Highland country—­the route usually followed by British motorists.  It passes through wild scenery, but the country has few historic attractions.  The Motor Union representative had remarked that we should probably want to spend several days at Braemar, famous for its scenic surroundings—­the wild and picturesque dales, lakes and hills near at hand; but to Americans, from the country of the Yellowstone and Yosemite, the scenery of Scotland can be only an incident in a tour.  From this consideration, we preferred to take the coast road southward, which, though it passes through a comparatively tame-looking country, is thickly strewn with places replete with stirring and romantic incidents of Scottish history.  Nor had we any cause to regret our choice.

Fifteen miles south of Aberdeen we came in sight of Dunnottar Castle, lying about two miles from the highway.  We left the car by the roadside and followed the footpath through the fields.  The ruin stands on a high, precipitous headland projecting far out into the ocean and cut off from the land side by a deep, irregular ravine, and the descent and ascent of the almost perpendicular sides was anything but an easy task.  A single winding footpath leads to the grim old gateway, and we rang the bell many times before the custodian admitted us.  Inside the gate the steep ascent continues