Looking around, one could feel that the island has a history, if we could but ascertain it. Books have been written about Arran, and the stone period and the metallurgic period, as illustrated by the antiquities of the place, have been canvassed with a keen zest; in fact, Arran is, if that be possible, more interesting to the antiquary than the geologist. Its chambered cairns and cromlechs are silent monuments of great events, as also are its standing-stones; and the place is rich in those grey monoliths that would speak to us, if we could but interpret their silent eloquence, of deeds achieved ages ago by the valiant warriors of a long past time. There are vestiges of a prehistoric age in Arran that indicate a population as long before the Celtic period as that age preceded our own. There have doubtless been heroes on Mauchrie Moor worthy to have their praises sung in Ossianic strains; for scattered all over the island there are marks and tokens and scathed ruins that give rise to profound speculations as to the past history of this dark and mountainous island. And the irresistible conclusion of any amount of imagining is, that Arran is not alone the paradise of the geologist, but is the heaven of the botanist as well, while the antiquary may find in its moors and glens rich memorials indicating even in the present age the great and troubled life which the huge mass of rock and its gigantic and peaked protuberances have passed through as time with an invisible pencil was recording its history. Having sufficiently studied the changing scenery, and rested and refreshed ourselves with some oat cakes and whisky, my friend proposed that we should do our speculation on the geology and history of the island at home over the dinner-table, or under the mild influence of the cup that not inebriates. This was a sensible proposal, especially as the rain was becoming more than a mere indication, and the shepherd, who knew the dangers of the hill-top in wet clothes, impatient; so I gave way, the more especially as beautiful views do not last for ever: the bright scene fades and the colours deaden—the sea looks gloomy, the mists gather, the rain falls, and the wind dashes the falling water rudely in our face, giving us warning to hurry away before worse befalls us.