text:  When we look on yon circle of stones which grey with the lapse of ages stands in lonely majesty upon the dreary moor near which no sound is ever heard save the distant and sullen roar of the ocean as it breaks in sheets of foam on the rock-bound coast--the fitful cry of curlew as it wings over them its solitary way--or the occasional low moaning of the wind as stealing through amidst the rocks it seems to pour forth a mournful dirge for the shades of departed greatness:--when we look on a scene like this we have before our gaze all that is known of these men of the olden time