The Marchioness of Huntly spent the first few years of her married life, in much the same way as ladies of her rank generally do. She drank freely of the pleasures of the world, and God was not in all her thoughts. In the autumn of 1815, she returned to Scotland, and Lord Huntly determined to give her a festive reception on her coming home to Strathbogie; and because the winter was not suitable, he deferred it till her birthday in June. The place of meeting was the castle park; the people danced on the greensward, and Lady Huntly distributed small silver coins to the children with that large-hearted love for the young so remarkable in her after career. She took still greater pleasure in a festive tour which followed a few years after. On this occasion the spirit of the old highland clanship was revived; fiery crosses blazed from hill to hill; and Lady Huntly passed in true Celtic style over the Gordon estates, receiving the homage of her vassals. In 1819, Lord Huntly resolved to give a highland welcome worthy of his rank, to Prince Leopold, at the beautiful lodge of Kinrara. With the ardent loyalty of the highlands, the clansmen held themselves ready to honour their own chief and to welcome his royal guest. With his highland bonnet, and kilted in the dark tartan of his clan, Huntly invited the prince to ascend the hill of Tor Alvie, which commanded a fine view of the lofty mountains, and the noble Spey. There they found the marchioness and her party waiting to receive them. But the tartaned highlanders were nowhere to be seen. Their chieftain stood with eagle plume:— “But they with mantles folded round Were crouched to rest upon the ground, Scarce to be known by curious eye From the deep heather where they lie; So well was matched the tartan screen With heath-bell dark, and brackens green. The mountaineer then whistled shrill, And he was answered from the hill; Instant through copse and heath arose Bonnets and spears and bended bows. And every tuft of broom gave life To plaided warrior armed for strife; Watching their leader’s beck and will, All silent there they stood, and still. Short space he stood, then raised his hand To his brave clansmen’s eager band; Then SHOUT of WELCOME, shrill and wide, Shook the steep mountain’s steady side. Thrice it arose, and brake and fell Three times gave back the martial yell.” “Ah,” exclaimed the Prince, surprised and delighted, “we’ve got Roderick Dhu here!”