For such an old place, the light and airiness of the rooms are something remarkable; while the views across the park and policies that are obtained from the windows are charming and charmingly diversified. But the main attraction is a grand stone staircase of unique design, said to be without an equal, or even a rival, in Scotland. It is best described as ‘revolving in corkscrew fashion round a massive central pillar, the skill of the architect being chiefly shown in the turns and windings of the ribbed and vaulted roof, with its arches springing occasionally out of carved capitals in the walls.’ The steps are of great breadth, and are so gently graduated, that it is easy to accept a tradition to the effect that the horse of one of the lairds used to ascend them. The stone figures on the tops of the turrets, wrought in the red sandstone that lends colour to the canopies and other ornamentations, are somewhat diminutive, and, with one exception, have lost their personality, if they ever had any. This exceptional figure is said to represent Andrew Lammie, ‘the trumpeter of Fyvie,’ immortalised in a well-known Aberdeenshire ballad, _Mill o’ Tifty’s Annie_. The miller’s daughter fell in love with the trumpeter, and was done to death by her family in consequence, the tragedy being completed by the pining away of the trumpeter. We quote the concluding verses of this truly pathetic ballad: ‘Fyvie lands lie braid and wide, And oh, but they be bonny! But I wadna gie my ain true-love, For a’ the lands in Fyvie! ‘But mak my bed, and lay me down, And turn my face to Fyvie, That I may see, before I die, My bonny Andrew Lammie!’ They made her bed, and laid her down, And turned her face to Fyvie; She gave a groan, and died or morn— She ne’er saw Andrew Lammie. The laird o’ Fyvie he went hame, And he was sad and sorry; Says, ‘The bonniest lass o’ the country-side Has died for Andrew Lammie.’ Oh, Andrew’s gane to the house-top O’ the bonny house o’ Fyvie; He’s blawn his horn baith loud and shrill O’er the lowland leas o’ Fyvie. ‘Mony a time hae I walked a’ night, And never yet was weary; But now I may walk wae my lane, For I’ll never see my dearie. ‘Love pines away, love dwines away, Love—love decays the body; For the love o’ thee, now I maun dee; I come, my bonny Annie!’ Mill of Tifty is still ‘to the fore,’ and the effigy of the trumpeter points his trumpet in its direction; and the ballad seems to have some truth in it, for the tombstone of the unfortunate Annie—her real name was Agnes Smith—was till recently in Fyvie kirkyard, being now replaced by a handsome monument; and documents show that her father was owner of the mill in 1672.