The distance from Darvel to Loudon Hill is three miles, although it seems much less to the traveller, from his having such a clear view of its rugged and well-defined outline straight before him. The hill springs up suddenly from the surrounding level, and it looks higher than it is. At Loudon Hill Inn, 2½ miles from Darvel, a road to the left over the Irvine, which is here a mere burn, leads to the hill, which is easily accessible in more senses than one. From the large number of excursionists that visit this hill, it would not be surprising to hear that the farmers in the neighbourhood preferred that it should be less free to the public. But the Earl of Loudon, though not possessing the ground round about, is the proprietor of the hill, and makes the public welcome to visit a place so memorable and picturesque. The unpleasant and unfortunately too-much-resorted-to “Notice to Trespassers” finds no place here, and we can only say that if there were more of his disposition in the country the relations between high and low would be much more friendly than they are at present. Of course there is another side to the question—this, namely, that landowners are frequently tempted to put up prohibitory notices because of the deplorable fact that a certain section of the public do not show a sufficient regard for the rights of property. The hedges look beautiful, hung as they are with garlands of the milk-white thorn; and those who care for a study of silver and blue may have it now. The silver—the drifted snow of the water crowfoot, the wee crimson-tipped daisy, and the pendent snowballs of the wild cherry. Of the blue—patches of wild hyacinth, with just shade enough for varying tones from the purple spikes of the unfolding bells in the deeper shade to where the sunshine ripples on paler blue, in charming contrast to the new spring grass. The summit is reached from the western side, there being a pathway through the trees, and, though a little toilsome, the ascent is more than repaid by a most extensive prospect.