RAMBLES ROUND KILMARNOCK

"A ticket for Stewarton, please" said I, addressing the ticket clerk at the railway station. Clerk went to machine, my money was quickly drawn across the counter, and I picked up a small piece of pasteboard that he pitched towards me. Armed with this, I hurried through a throng of semi-exited individuals who were scampering and running down. one stair and up another to gain the platform of the new line between Kilmarnock and Glasgow. Ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling, issued from the brazen throat of a bell swung to and fro by a railway official. This fresh noise added to the babel of sounds had an electric effect upon the feet of the throng, for all was hurry-scurry as young and old pressed forward to secure places in the train about to start. "There is room in here" said a venerable old gentleman who was leaning out of a carriage window. Thanking him I opened the door and found that he was the only occupant of the compartment. Doors were hurriedly slammed. The Station Master blew his whistle and the engine at the head of the train screamed its reply, and then, snorting like an impatient steed moved forward.

My companion resumed his position at the window and gazed intently in the direction of our good town, nor did he again sit down until the spires of Kilmarnock were hid to view by a projecting embankment. "You belong to Kilmarnock" I presume?" said my travelling companion. "I do, sir" I replied "but not in the sense you mean". "Ah," said he sorrowfully, "curiosity merely prompted the question. I have looked upon the old place for the last time. In it I was born, educated and reared to manhood. I longed to visit once more the scenes of my youth; for that purpose I have travelled many thousands of miles, but alas', what changes have taken place since I left and went out into the world forty years ago." " Many changes have taken place in your absence, doubtless, sir" I replied. "Changes" he exclaimed "they are so great that I scarce could have believed it to be the same place. Localities with which I was familiar in my youth - yea, and of which I have dreamed of in old age - are in many cases so much altered that I did not know them. But this is not ail; a new generation has sprung up. All my friends and companions are scattered or dead and the only record of the race from which I sprung is graven on several tombstones in the lonely graveyard, gentleman conversed freely and asked many questions about families and individuals whom he had known, but as I never knew them I could give no information regarding their destiny. I learned from him, however, that he had made every enquiry about his friends and neighbours in the town but without success; therefore, to use his own expression, he entered the town a stranger and left a stranger.

At Kilmaurs, the train stopped, and several passengers entered the compartment that my travelling companion and I occupied. This circumstance put an end to further conversation. The stoppage at Kilmaurs was brief, and we were soon off and away again, on ward and on

As the train neared my destination I looked out of the carriage window and beheld the old town with its old church and graveyard nestling in a valley and surrounded by gently sloping grounds clothed with verdure. Gradually the train slackened speed and stopped at Stewarton.

The station offices are tasteful wooden erections fitted with every convenience for the accommodation and comfort of passengers. Following a knot of my fellow travellers who alighted with me upon the platform, I found my way to the Cross, and thence started on a ramble through the town. Stewarton, contrary to my expectations, proved to be a town of considerable bustle, and in a most prosperous condition.

The townspeople (I speak from personal experience) are hospitable, generous and kindly towards strangers, and are for the most part intelligent and deeply imbued with religious principles. All that 1 met with had the appearance of being cleanly in their habits, and untiring in their industry. The population numbers somewhere about 4478 souls; but doubtless, from the easy transit of goods to the large centres of industry afforded by the opening up of the new railway, the inducement of low ground rentals and other facilities to trade, the town will in all probability in a short time greatly increase in population. It is five miles from Kilmarnock, fifteen from Paisley and sixteen from Glasgow.

It is situated in a valley on the banks of a streamlet named the Annick, which flows from White Loch in the parish of Means, and joins with the Glazart at a place called the "Water-meetings", some three miles below the town. The ground round the town has a fine sloping appearance, and is withal well wooded. It gradually rises from the southwest to the northeast, and ends on the limits of Renfrewshire. From these heights the admirer of the picturesque in Nature can witness a splendid panoramic view. Stationed on this commanding position the beholder has a wide expanse of country before him. In the north is the cloud-capped Benlomond so beautifully referred to in one of Tannahill's songs; on the south, in the misty distance, the hills of Dumfries-shire and Kirkcudbright; while the spectator, has, as it were the Frith of Clyde lying at his feet, the bright waters of which are studded with the sea-dashed rock of Ailsa, the Island of Arran, the Paps of Jura, and in the far distance the coast of Ireland.

Stewarton is situated in the centre of the parish. About two hundred years ago it consisted of a few houses, which principally clustered near the church. Gradually it extended to where the Cross now stands, but within the last hundred years its trade and population increased to such an extent that it now traverses a line of street some three-quarters of a mile long, and terminates in a portion of the town called Darlington. From this line of street, a portion of which is called Lainshaw street - several small streets branch off, but for the most part they are lined on each side with unassuming tenements which are principally occupied by trades people. The most of the houses have gardens attached to them, in which the occupants cultivate vegetables, fruits and flowers, and with great spirit vie with each other for honourable notice in the Show of the Horticultural and Florists' Society.

CUNNINGHAME INSTITUTE

At and near to the Cross of this thriving town there are some fine buildings and large roomy shops. The principal building in the place is the Cunninghame Institute. It is situated in Avenue Square, and has an imposing appearance. It was gifted to the town by the late William Cunninghame of Lainshaw and consists of a reading room and recreation room upstairs, and a schoolroom called "The Academy” on the ground floor. I found the reading room to be a large high-roofed, well-lighted airy apartment. It is fitted up in the most approved manner, and is supplied with a small but well-selected library in which I noticed many standard works. The walls are adorned with large maps, and the tables are strewn with daily and ‘weekly papers, periodicals, books and pamphlets. The recreation room is supplied with draughts, dominc dominos, bagatelle and summer ice-boards - in fact everything seems to be done in the institution to afford recreation, instruction and amusement to the members. The subscription is one shilling a year. This trifle entitles the subscriber to the free use of the reading room, library and recreation room.

The next buildings calling for particular notice are those of the branch banks. They are three in number. The Union is a very fine building, and the Clydesdale and Royal are very chaste in design. In all my wanderings I never met with a town of the same size containing so many banking establishments. The money circulation must be somewhat considerable to induce the directors of the above banks to create these branches, and erect such handsome structures. At the Cross the most imposing buildings are those of the Commercial and Railway Hotels. The Commercial is at present occupied by Mr Hannah who for some years was stationmaster at Kilmarnock, and who received a handsome testimonial on leaving that situation. He is a sha rp, shrewd business man, and being of a very amiable and obliging disposition has a fine turn for the trade he has entered into. I trust that he may be successful in his undertaking and may long continue landlord of this hotel.

DAVID DALE

There is one building at the Cross to which I must not omit to call the reader*s attention. It is an unassuming edifice at the corner of Rigg Street. (The name of the street is painted on a corner; but some wag has rubbed out the tail of the R and so doctored the word that it reads Pig Street) and is at present occupied by Mrs Cochrane, grocer and spirit dealer. In this house and in a room on the second floor, the philanthropic David Dale was born on a bleak January morning in the year 1793. David1s father was a grocer and could only afford to give him a limited education. Notwithstanding this, by his own persevering energy, the boy became one of the first "merchants and manufacturers in Scotland. For a series of years he held the office of magistrate in Glasgow, and also officiated as pastor of an Independent Church in that city. His charity was extensive and many in his native town partook of his bounty long after his death. He died in March 18O6 worth some £1OO OOO. David Dale was father-in-law to the celebrated but much misunderstood Robert Owen, the advocate of socialism, and the founder of Co-operation, whose axiom was that man is the creature of circumstances - that his character is formed for him and not by him. Owen spent a fortune in the elucidation of his principles and died comparatively poor.

There are many shops in Stewarton, the occupants of which retail spirits, but the consequences accruing from their dispensation are counteracted by a lodge of Good Templars and a band of young hopefuls who incessantly war against the traffic. The educational requirements of the town are attended to by an official School Board and the spiritual welfare of the people is amply provided for.

There are five places of worship in town all of which are attended by decorous congregations. They are as follows:- The Established or Parish Church of which more hereafter; the Free Church, the United Presbyterian Church, the Wesleyan Methodist Church and the Congregational Church. It is worthy of notice that the last-named place of worship was instituted by the late William Cunninghame of Lainshaw, in 1822. He had long been a member of the Established Church, and was highly respected by the members of that body - so much so, indeed, that he was chosen for an elder, but owing to conscientious scruples he refused to serve. These scruples were that he could not subscribe to the doctrines contained in the "Confession of Faith", especially that of the limitation of the Atonement. Upon leaving the establishment he published a pamphlet in which he set forward views on theological subjects and gave his reasons for seceding. The pamphlet, a copy of which I have seen, is entitled "Narration of the formation of a Congregational Church at Stewarton". When the Congregational Church was formed Mr Cunninghame became master, and conducted worship and discharged other duties of the sacred office for the space of 21 years. In 1843 a Congregational clergyman named Smith was appointed to assist Mr Cunninghame in the pastorate, for the duties had become onerous owing to failing health and increasing years. With the forethought and liberality characteristic of Mr Cunninghame, he has left to the members a commodious and comfortable place of worship, a manse for their clergymen, and a suitable endowment to maintain both.

From the rambling imperfect notice that I have given of Stewarton the reader may see that it is a town of considerable importance, and likely to become more so, since it has been brought into direct communication with the outer world by the opening up of the new line of railway.

BONNET-MAKING

From a very remote period the staple trade of Stewarton has been the manufacture of bonnets. So early as the twelfth century knitted bonnets were made at Bloak and Cutstraw; and when the trade was in a primitive condition they ware made in farm houses, and once a year, or so, sold at fairs in the neighboured. My informant, a Stewarton bonnet-maker, with whom I accidentally became acquainted, and to whom I am indebted for an amount of information regarding the town, states that it was then the custom for females to spin the yarn in their spare time and to while away the hours of the long winter nights knitting it into bonnets and preparing them for the market. But as time sped on and civilisation advanced, the trade got into the hands of families, or rather, a small community who monopolised it, framed laws to protect and retain it in their own hands. Some of these laws were curious. For instance all privileges were carefully guarded, and no outsider was allowed to work at. The trade, a son of a bonnet-maker was allowed to marry outside the trade and bring his family up in it, but a daughter was denied that privilege and was compelled to choose a husband in the trade and stick to her needle. These laws at this day are null and void, and bonnet-makers and bonnet-knitters are married and given in marriage to all classes of society. Now the cobbler may leave his last and turn bonnet-dresser without a dissenting voice being raised against him.

The bonnets made some fifty years ago were what is known as the Rab Rorison" or "braid Scotch bonnet". These were substantial headdresses. I remember seeing one that a miller had worn some fifty years ago. After his decease it had served as a bag to carry weaver's pirns in; when laid aside from that it was used service of an old woman, who declared that it was the best washing clout that ever she had.

Some thirty years ago Glengarries were introduced and within my own recollection the Balmoral with its various names, shapes and styles. The bonnet trade is the most extensive branch of industry in Stewarton. Everybody there seems to be directly or indirectly, connected with it. In company they talk of bonnets. The visitor finds nearly every boy, youth or man wearing a bonnet, and smart and jaunty the men of Stewarton look in their favourite headdresses, with their silk ribbons streaming behind them. There will be nearly twenty bonnet manufacturers in Stewarton. Some of these are in a very small way, but the principal are the following: Mr Robert Sim. His works are in Darlington, and built on the bank of the Annick. He employs a great number of hands and is at present building a large addition to his premises. When completed, my cicerone, affirmed, it would be the finest bonnet shop in the district.

Mr Robert Mackay not only manufactures bonnets extensively but prepares yarn for them. He also has a few carpet looms, which I believe, are the only machines of the kind in the town, although the carpet trade was at one time extensively carried on in it. Mr Wyllie also manufactures bonnets extensively and finds employment for a goodly number of both sexes.

OTHER BRANCHES OF INDUSTRY

The next craft of importance in the town is that of spindle-making. This branch of industry is extensively carried on by Mr David Skeoch. The business was established by one of his ancestors some hundred and twenty years ago, and is at present in a flourishing condition. The spindles manufactured are used for machinery in mills, and are made of steel. Doubtless this business was originally established for the manufacture of steel clockwork, for like Kilmaurs, Stewarton was at one time famous for its workmanship in steel. The last remnant of it is now carried on in a very humble way by old Mr Wyllie, and doubtless, when he is gathered to his fathers the trade will become extinct.

Weaving is still carried on in Stewarton; but there, like every other place, the trade is sadly reduced, and it is only by close application that the artisan can make anything like a living. The giant power, steam, has superseded hand labour, and in fact revolutionised society to such an extent that the handloom, like the old stage coach, is now looked on as a curiosity.

A new branch of industry has lately been introduced by Mr Gavin Paterson. It is new to the town but it is none the less welcome, for it affords employment to about thirty men. It is the manufacture of boots and shoes by the process known as "sprigging" or "pegging". The men work at the bench and turn out boots by the dozen pair. Having briefly glanced at the trades of Stewarton, I will next week refer to other matters of interest in the town and pass on.

THE KILMARNOCK STANDARD

July 1874

RAMBLES ROUND KILMARNOCK

by a Mechanic

Second Series.

"I love for to muse by some time-battered pile

That incessantly nods to its fa1

And I love for to think on the Friends that

are gane, An' the days that are noo pass'd awa ."

The Rambler.

Although Stewarton has been a parish and the houses clustering near the church "the toun", since the commencement of the recorded annals of Scotland, there are but few antiquities to be met with in either. Of course there is the church, but it is like the Irishman1s coat, it has been patched and added to so often that it is difficult at this date to discover an original portion of the building. There is also the dilapidated remains of three castles - namely Corsehill, Auchenharvie and Robertland; but as this ramble merely includes the town of Stewarton and its immediate vicinity, the castle of Corsehill alone comes within the category.

Enquiring my way to Ravenscraig, a son of Erin, in a beautiful brogue, and at great inconvenience to himself, showed me the highway, which runs between Stewarton and Dunlop. "Hould straight on," said he, "an1 before you go far you'll see the auld castle standin1 all alone by itself in a field, wid devil the thing near it, barrin' some cows." Thanking him, I held straight on and soon beheld the remains of

CORSEHILL CASTLE

In a field on my right. Vaulting over a paling I approached the ruin and found it, with the exception of one block of masonry, to be almost level with the ground, and for the most part covered with soil. Upon examination I found the seeming remnant of the castle which is some three storeys high to bear unmistakeable marks of recent construction or repair. The architect has done his best to represent a ruinous gable, but the attempt, in my estimation, is a miserable failure. The marshy ground at the base of the slight elevation on which the castle stood is doubtless the remains of the moat that surrounded it; but it is for the most part dried up, and cattle browse upon it and wander over the grass-covered foundations of this ancient feudal residence.

History has preserved little or nothing of Corsehill Castle. It was at one time the residence of the Cunninghames of Corsehill, but when or how they abandoned it I have been unable to learn. Possibly it became ruinous and began to tumble about their ears, and from this cause they removed to a more elegant, commodious and comfortable mansion.

The first of the Cunninghames of Corsehill was Andrew, second son of William, fourth earl of Glencairn, who received a grant of the lands from his fatter in 1532, but the castle in all probability was anterior to that date. What history has failed to record regarding this ruin, tradition and superstition have not failed to supply. It is said by "auld wives" of both sexes that the last occupant of Corsehill was Sir David Cunninghame. If this be the case, the edifice must have been rapidly levelled with the ground, for I find that Sir David was third Baronet and died in the year 1770.

Many tales have been told regarding this castle and listened to with gaping wonderment by the credulous. Every Stewartonian has heard of the immense wealth that lies hidden in a dark room somewhere under the foundations, and of the man who dug in search of it. He commenced to excavate with a will, but when on the point of discovering the treasure as he thought, his blood was curdled by hearing an unearthly voice issuing from the depths of the ruin and calling on him to "dig no more" or every soul in Stewarton would die of pestilence, Superstition has peopled the place with ghosts, who from time to time in the witching hour of night appear to luckless wights while passing the ruin. All have heard of the famous Fanny Howe, and of the hair-bristling sight that she witnessed when driving home from the fair one night at the solemn hour of twelve. When passing the gate of the castle her horse suddenly stopped, and although reminded by several sharp cuts of Fanny’s whip that it was to move forward, it heeded not the lash, but stood with drooping ears and dilated nostrils as immovable as any petrified quadriped could be. This unusual conduct on the part of her four-footed servant astonished the fair Fanny, and she looked around for the cause. To her horror she witnessed a funeral procession crossing the road a little in advance of her. The hearse with its nodding plumes, was drawn by four black steeds who were headless; the driver was headless, and every spectral form in the procession was headless also. Riveted by fear to her seat, Fanny watched the headless, ghostly crew glide noiselessly past. With an effort she burst the fetters of fear, and cried out "In the name of God what does it all mean?" but there was no reply. The mention of the sacred name was sufficient - the vision vanished, and Fanny proceeded on her way. I rather think that Fanny, like the wee wifikie in the old song, had gat a wee bit drapikie when comin1 frae the fair, for it is the case that those who imbibe spirits, generally see them. Tales like these have been told in connection with Corsehill Castle by many an old wife at the fireside on winter nights and the youngsters.

There is nothing about the ruin of Corsehill Castle to interest the visitor. The new line of railway passes close to it, and the Annick gurgles on its way near it ever singing –

Retracing my steps to the road, a sharp walk brought me once more to the Cross of Stewarton. Thence I strolled down the length of Kirkford and viewed the Annick and the old road to Kilmarnock. A neat bridge spans the river at this point, and the Kirk folk have no longer to strip their stockings and shoon to ford it when going to worship. Feeling fatigued with the heat of the day and the dust of the road, I entered the neat public house of Matthew Millar and called for refreshment. Let teetotallers say what they may. I think there is nothing like a glass of good bitter beer on a hot summer day. How it refreshes, how it invigorates and washes crackers and cheese down after a tramp along a dusty highway. I never drank better bitter than I did in the house of Mr Millar, and I think that few brewers produce such a beverage as Tennant of Wellshot, Cambuslang. Having rested and been refreshed, I grasped my staff, bade the courteous landlord goodbye and sallied forth to prosecute my ramble. Arriving again at the Cross, I leisurely strolled along Lainshaw Street until I came to

THE PARISH CHURCH

Turning down the little lane leading to the Golgotha of Stewarton, I found its gate standing invitingly open. Entering, a strange feeling of sadness pervaded my mind, for the sight of the grass-covered mounds awakened sad reflections of near ones and dear ones who have crossed the threshold of death, and gone to a purer, a better and happier world.

The church stands in the centre of the graveyard, and is an old-fashioned, odd-looking structure, with a spire and clock. The spire seems to be an addition to the church, for it bears the date of 1696 and the motto "Over Fork Over. James Patter-son in his History of the County of Ayr says: "The church of Stewarton belonged to the monastery of Kilwinning, having probably been granted to it by Hugh de Morville, the founder of the Abbey. The monks enjoyed the rectorial revenues of the church, and a vicarage was established for serving the cure. In Bagimont's Roll, as it stood in the reign of James V, the vicarage of Stewarton, in the Deanery of Cunningham, was taxed £4, being a tenth of the estimated value. At the Reformation, the tithes and other revenues of the church, yielded yearly to the monks of Kilwinning 133 bolls of meal, one boll of bere, 254 bolls of oats, and £34-6-8 for part of the tithes, which were leased. The lands which belonged to the church of Stewarton passed into lay hands after the Reformation."

Originally the church must have been a very small building, for it has undergone many alterations. It was widened on the north side in 1825, and the Corsehill and Lainshaw aisles added to it in or about the year 165O. Finding the church door ajar, I entered and found the interior to be commodious though small, It is well seated and fitted up with great taste. It contains two small galleries. Under the Corsehill and Lainshaw aisles are the burying vaults of the respective families. That of Corsehill was closed in 1871.

On the wall opposite the pulpit and under a tablet to the memory of Mrs Donaldson, wife of Mr Donaldson of Thornhill is a handsome white marble tablet bordered with black. It bears a profile of the deceased and the following inscription:

"William Cunninghame of Lainshaw, departed this life 6 of November, 1849 aged 73 years. Author of many works on the chronology and fulfilment of prophecy. He was a devout student, a zealous expounder of the Word of God, a laborious and successful instructor of youth and lived daily "looking for that blessed hope and glorious appearing of the Great God, and our Saviour Jesus Christ."

The late William Cunninghame of Lainshaw was a philanthropist in the strictest sense of the word. He went about "continually doing good" like the Divine Teacher whom he delighted to serve. The whole of his long life was devoted to furthering knowledge, and bettering the conditions of his fellow men. During his life he was beloved by the people of Stewarton, and deeply regretted when death closed his useful career. When a boy Mr Cunninghame was of a very pious turn of mind, and the conviction he then formed became settled principles when he reached manhood.

Previous to his accession to Lainshaw, he was in Bengal in the Civil Service of the East India Company, During his stay in India he became acquainted with the celebrated Dr Carey of Serampore, and other eminent Christians, and assisted them pecuniary and otherwise in their missionary labours. He often spoke of the spiritual comfort and strength that he derived from these acquaintances. While in India he wrote some letters on the Evidences of Christianity, under the signature of "An enquirer." These masterly epistles were afterwards published collectively for the benefit of the Serampore Mission.

In 18O4 he returned to his native country and took possession of his property at Stewarton, and resided on it up to the day of his death.

The many benevolent acts performed by Mr Cunninghame are so well known throughout Ayrshire that their enumeration is unnecessary. He was a devout Millenarian, and strongly believed in Christ's personal reign upon the earth - in fact, he daily expected His advent, and wrote one or more works in support of the doctrine.

He also longed for the restoration of Israel, and did all in his power with purse, pen and voice to promote Christianity among the Jews. As an author, an expositor of prophecy, and a critic on scriptural chronology he is well known, and will live long in the works he published. He died unmarried and was succeeded by his brother. Mr Cunninghame did much for Stewarton - much for the intellectual and spiritual welfare of the town. The numerous acts of disinterested kindness that he performed are known to all, and surely the people of Stewarton ought to do something to perpetuate the memory of a man of whom it might be said that he was a father to all the fatherless and a guide in the path of rectitude to all. There is a fine open place in Avenue Square at present unadorned. Could not the men of Stewarton form a committee, raise subscriptions, and adorn it with a monument or statue to the memory of Mr Cunninghame of Lainshaw? I am anything but rich, but my mite is ready, for I love to see honest worth requited,

In the Corsehill aisle there is a beautiful white marble tablet with the following Inscription:-

There are also the following dates above the aisles -1773, 1825, 183O which doubtless refer to periods when the building underwent alterations.

Some two years ago the church had a narrow escape of being destroyed by fire, by the overheating of a flue. The church of Stewarton was brought prominently before the public and the Presbytery, some twelve years ago, by the amorous eccentricities of a clergyman who adorned its pulpit. He was indicted to appear the Presbytery, but the affair ended in his resignation. All the parties immediately connected with the affair, are, I believe dead "The Auld Kirk o’ Stewarton", it is said, at one time passed through an ordeal which no other church in Scotland or any other part of the globe ever die. It seems that some bonnet-makers had been preeing the barley-bree rather freely in a "public" in the vicinity of the sacred edifice among other matters which engaged the attention of the worthies was the fact that the Kirk did not stand due east and west. The agreed that it had been built contrary to all church-building rule rules and that it was a disgrace to the town that i t should remain in that awkward position. The more they imbibed the more they waxed eloquent on the subject. Ultimately they agreed to turn the building round and set it right. For this purpose four of them repaired to the churchyard to inspect the building and shift it. Being satisfied of their ability for the task each man laid hold of a corner and lifted with might and main. After pulling and tugging three of them announced that it would do. "Na, na, hauld on a wee" cried the fourth, "lift again, lads, ye1ve set it down on my coat tail." Being in a sitting position and wearing a coat with swallow tails, one of the appendages of the garment had got under the heel of his shoe and prevented his rising. As his attempts to get into an erect position were futile, he came to the conclusion that the building for certain was resting on the tail of his coat. This story is laughingly told by Stewartonians. They all aver that the bonnet-makers shifted the church to their own satisfaction.

THE GRAVEYARD

Leaving the church I began to stroll through the graveyard, and reverently tread over the graves of the forgotten dead. As I did so the following beautiful words of Lord McCauley came to my mind:-

The churchyard of Stewarton is but small and irregular in shape. One portion of it is separated from the common ground by an iron railing and gate, and seems to be reserved for the aristocracy of Stewarton Parish. While straying through the tall grass reading the brief records which are graven u ion the tombstones, 1 observed the sexton busy at work throwing up spades full of damp clayey soil on the side of a grave that he was preparing to receive a tenant, doing up, I looked into the pit, and saw a strange-looking old man, with a low-crowned hat and spectacles on his nose, laboriously digging at the stubborn earth, and so deeply engrossed in his work that he did not seem to be aware of my presence. I thought of the grave-digging scene in Hamlet and was about to ask -"Whose grave is this? When the old gentleman looked up, adjusted his specks and took my measure. "You are busy?" I said by way of introduction. "Oh yes" he replied "but this is no an ill ane; it’s nae so very deep, and it's no sae lang since it was houkit. You see," he continued, "I'm no sae far off being doon," and as if to prove the truth of the statement, he drew the soil off the lid of a coffin under his feet, and displayed the mountings and trimmings, which appeared as fresh as though he posited in the mould the day before. "Who is to be buried there?" I asked. "Davie Currie, poor fellow," he replied. "This is his wife’s coffin; she was buried about six months syne, and Davie, poor lad, wished to be buried beside her. See man, the claith on it is quite fresh," said he scraping the mould off with his spade. "Do ye ken" he continued, "that’s there’ s mair o’ the name of Currie and Picken buried I this yard than o' any other. Auld stanes? Oh, yes; there1s ane yont yonder mang the grass; gin ye look I think ye'll find the date o' 1410 or

Thereabouts on it." Thanking him, I went in search of the relict, and left him to scoop out poor Dave1s narrow bed. It was a holy wish on the part of the deceased not to be separated in death from the partner of his life.

I found the stone that the sexton referred to, but the inscription was entirely gone, and the date was all but illegible. Near to it I came upon another in the same condition, and with difficulty found the date to be 1413. I also met with a few other stones, elaborately carved, which doubtless were masterpieces of art in their day. Two or three of these bear a rude representation of a pair of shear and other implements used in the bonnet trade. Near to the back gate of this ancient cemetery there is a large tablet with a long list of names engraved thereon, the inscription concludes thus:

"And on the left side lies John Gilmour (late student of moral philosophy) who died the 11th of April 1828, aged 18 years. John Gilmour was born at Clerkland, in the Parish of Stewarton. He was noted for studious habits and was looked on as a young man of great promise. At college he carried off many prizes, and bid fair to be a credit to his family and his native town. He early woo'd the muse and wrote several poems which are marked with tenderness and feeling. He passionately loves the scenes of his youth and while at college prosecuting his studies he sang of them and longed to be back in his native Stewarton, and to wander by its streams and glades. After his death his poems were collected and printed under the title of "Poetical Remains". The best pieces in the book, to my taste, are entitled "The harvest home" and "Sabbath Sacrament".

On the north side of the church there are several tombstones commemorating the memory and setting forth the virtues of clergymen who a t one time held forth within the sacred edifice. One of these stones is very old and fast going to pieces. Leaving the churchyard I bade farewell to Stewarton and directed my footsteps along the Kilmarnock road with the intention of lingering a few hours about Kilmaurs and its neighbourhood to note and muse upon its antiquities. At the end of the town I passed under an arch of the viaduct and beheld the entrance to

LAINSHAW CASTLE

The castle consists of a large square tower, with a lesser one of a different style, and a number of buildings of a more modern date connecting them together, and a large an elegant mansion. It is beautifully situated on a piece of rising ground overlooking the Annick, and is surrounded by a large park studded with trees, some of which are of great size and beauty. The scene throughout the estate is picturesque, lovely, and sufficient to thrill the very soul of the most indifferent admirer of Nature's beauties.

The mansion is at present occupied by Sheriff Anderson. The servants on the estate received me kindly, and obligingly pointed out everything of interest within the grounds. Anciently, Lainshaw belonged to the Montgomery’s but that family becoming extinct in 1767 the estate passed into the hands of William Cunninghame of Bridgehouse, who acquired it by purchase in 1779 (see Patersons Ayrshire Families, page 455) . The only thing that makes Lainshaw castle historically interesting is the murder of Hugh, fourth Carl of Eglington, which was perpetrated by the Cunninghames of Robertland Castle and the Montgomery’s of Eglington. The vassals of the Montgomery’s, headed by the Curl of Eglington, invaded the territory of the Cunninghames of Robertland and burned their castle. In revenge for this blazing deed, the Earl of Eglington was waylaid by the Cunninghames and shot dead. The whole incident is so graphically narrated in "Robertson’s account of Ayrshire Families" that I may be pardoned for giving it a place here. It is copied by him from the History of the Eglington Family.

The good earl, apprehending no danger from any quarter, set out on the 19 of April, 1586, from his own House of Eglington towards Stirling, where the court then remained in a quiet and peaceable manner, having none in his retinue but his own domestics, and called at the Langshaw (close to the village of Stewarton) where he staid so long as to dine. How the wicked crew, his murderers, got notice of his being there, I cannot possibly say. It is reported, but I cannot aver for a truth, that the Lady Langshaw, Margaret Cunningham, who was a daughter of the House of Aiket, (others say it was a servant who was a Cunningham) went up the battlements of the house and hung over a white table napkin as a signal to the Cunning-hams , most of whom lived with sight of the House of Langshaw, which was a sign agreed shou1d be given when the Earl of Eglington was there. Upon that the Cunninghames assembled to the number of thirty four persons or thereby, in a war-like manner, as if they had been to attack or defend themselves from an enemy; and concealed themselves in a low ground near the bridge of Annick, where they knew the Earl had to pass, secure, as he apprehended from any danger - when, alas', all of a sudden the whole bloody gang set upon the Earl and his small company, some of whom they hewed to pieces, and John Cunninghame of Clonbeith, came up with a pistol and shot the Earl dead upon the spot. The horror of the fact struck everybody with amazement and consternation, and all the country ran for arms, either on one side of the quarrel or the other, so that for some time there was a scene of bloodshed and murder in the west that had never been known before." Tradition has it, that the Earl, after being shot, rode a considerable distance and fell dead off his horse at the ford of the river. The path upon which he rode was known as the weeping Path, and the scene of his death was soon to be Bridgend. The road at Lainshaw Castle crosses a bridge and dives under a canopy of foliage that excludes the sunshine and darkens the path. The scene was so lovely that I leaned on the parapet of the bridge and looked around enraptured.

In the hollow spanned by the viaduct flows the Annick, filthy and polluted, having received on its bosom the refuse of workshop and dwelling on its way through the town. In the distance the viaduct spans a kind of glen through which the Annick flows, It is a stupendous erection and consists of ten arches. It is 540 feet long and each arch is fifty feet wide and eighty feet high - that is from the bed of the river. It took two years to construct it and during its erection two men lost their lives, one by falling from the parapet into the riverbed. In the churchyard I observed a stone to their memory. It details the circumstances of their deaths and mentions their nationality. One belonged to Stewarton and the other to Ireland.

In the glen, and close to the viaduct, stands Lainshaw mill. On the top of its chimney there is a Rowan tree growing, which is some fifty years old. It is a curiosity in its way, and although shortish it is healthy, and bore fruit last summer. After a chat with the miller about his mill and the affairs of the neighbourhood, I bade him goodbye, grasped my staff and sped on my way to Kilmaurs.