Given those three things, a good day, a liking for a walk over a Scottish moor, and a small bag over the shoulder well filled with eatables, could one do better than set out to make the acquaintance of this comparatively unknown hill? The most interesting route, and the most direct, leaving the least work for the pedestrian, is by the Caledonian Railway, from the Central, to Clarkston Toll. From there we avail ourselves of a coach to Eaglesham (kirk hamlet), not knowing what the necessities of the day may be. In doing so, our mind goes back to the time when Professor John Wilson (Christopher North) as a boy spent some of his happiest days hereabout on the banks of the Earn, and somewhat farther back to the time when the Romans had a village near to the Sheddings of Busby. On arriving at Eaglesham we make for its highest point, and there find the road that leads to Ballagioch, some 2½ miles off. On the left there are three reservoirs, the Picketlaw, the mid dam, and the high dam—the last a broad sheet of water which used to drive the wheel of the village cotton mill. On the right, about 100 yards from the village, we pass the road that leads to Moorhouse, the birthplace of Robert Pollock, the author of “The Course of Time.” A mile from the village of Eaglesham the road begins to rise. And here we are reminded that if the early summer is the time of hope, it is the time of strife as well. For here is, first, a dead mole; and secondly, a couple of living larks. The mole and a brother of his had been fighting for a wife; he had been wounded, his body ripped up, and a part of his entrails eaten by the conqueror. The larks, a couple of male birds, were now fighting, and the weaker was being worsted; and if he had stuck to his guns as did the mole he would in all probability have met with the mole’s fate. Halfway up the ascent on the left is the road to Lochgoin, but we keep on the highway to Kilmarnock. As we near the top we leave behind us, at the height of 800 feet above the level of the sea, almost every sign of cultivation, and enter upon the moor, in which the villagers have the right of casting peats and pasturing a single cow. When we have reached the summit nearly another mile of table-land lies before us, and Ballagioch is close upon us on the right. The hill rises before us to the height of perhaps 200 feet from the road, but our Ordnance map tells us that it is 1094 from the level of the sea. This, however, is no great height for a Scottish hill, and therefore we require no “guide, philosopher, and friend” to show us the way to the top; we simply need to remember the short but pithy address of the Highland officer to his men in the face of the foe, “There’s the enemy, gentlemen, up and at them.”