Alexander Wood, who suffered martyrdom, October 24, 1684, for their adherence to the Word of God and Scotland's Covenanted work of Reformation." At its base is a drinking fountain, above which is inscribed the words, "Drink and think." Among the many stones which the churchyard of Newmilns contains there are only two beside those already noticed which may be said to be of interest to the visitor. The one marks the spot where the dust of John Gebbie reposes, and the other where that of John Morton mingles with kindred earth. Gebbie fought at Drumclog, and was carried off the field mortally wounded, and like the mighty Nelson died with the shouts of victory ringing in his ears. Morton was tenant of Broomhill, a farm in the parish of Loudoun, and was shot by Claverhouse at the same engagement.

From the churchyard I regained the main street of the village and stopped before the Working Men's Institute, a very handsome two-storeyed building which was presented some years ago to the inhabitants by Miss Brown of Lanfine, a lady who takes a deep interest in the welfare of the working classes in the neighbourhood of her estate.

After straying through the village, and spending an hour in the house of an esteemed friend whose hospitality will not readily be forgotten, I turned my face towards Kilmarnock. Near to the western extremity of the village I passed a curious old bridge which crosses the Irvine and gives access to the terminus of the Galston branch of the South-Western Railway, and a little beyond it stopped and looked over to the scene of Ramsay's popular song, "The Lass o' Patie's Mill." A mill of modern appearance occupies the site of the erection which graced the bank of the Irvine in Ramsay's day, but the field wherein the rustic beauty was making hay when she attracted the attention of the Earl of Loudoun is still pointed out, and although one hundred and fifty years have passed since the event the stranger still stops by the brink of the stream and enquires for the song-hallowed scene. The story of the song is well known. The poet and the Earl of Loudoun were riding along the highway when it occurred to the latter that the comely appearance of the "lass" would form a fit subject for Allan's muse. At the suggestion the bard lagged behind, composed the ditty, and produced it the same afternoon at dinner.

CHAPTER XVII.

The Village of Darvel, its appearance and trade-Loudoun Hill and its Historic Associations-Wallace's Attack on the English Convoy—A Scottish Victory-Drumclog-The Laird of Torfoot's account of the Battle-His fight with Captain Arrol and his encounter with Claverhouse-The appearance of the field after the engagement—The Covenanters and their achievements.

ABOUT two miles east of Newmilns stands Darvel, a small village with 1729 of a population. It contains nothing historical or important, and consists of a long street lined with unassuming tenements, which are mostly occupied by muslin weavers, that industry being the staple of the place. The principal building is the Workmen's Institute, which was erected by Miss Brown of Lanfine as a memorial of her sister. It contains the village library and a hall capable of holding 500 individuals, which is divided by a moveable partition and converted into a recreation and reading room. The whole is open to the villagers at little more than a nominal fee of membership. From the village street there is a striking view of Loudoun Hill, which is only some two and a half miles distant. Its locality possesses many historical associations, and on this account deserves something more than a passing notice, for it must for ever constitute an engrossing object of interest not only to the tourist, but to every individual who is interested in the struggles of Wallace and Bruce, and of a bold peasantry who fought for Christ and the covenanted work of reformation. The hill stands some two hundred and fifty feet above the surrounding country. The side towards Darvel is clothed with wood, and that to the east is composed of bare trap-rock, which is studded here and there with a solitary tree. From its summit there is an excellent view of the surrounding country. Away to the westward is the picturesque valley of the Irvine-a vista little short of twenty miles in length --studded with dense woodlands and luxuriant holms, fertile fields and neat farm-houses; while on both sides the

ground rises gracefully and to the southward attains a considerable elevation. In almost every other direction the eye rests on a vast expanse of moorland, which cannot fail to strike the dwellers in large cities as something novel. But there is an interest connected with Loudoun Hill that is far more fascinating than its rugged beauty or the prospect obtainable from its summit. Near to its eastern base a spot is yet pointed out where the hero Wallace with a small party of trusty patriots lay all night in ambush waiting the advance. of a troop of English soldiers who were conveying provisions from Carlisle to the garrison at Ayr. In the grey dawn of the morning the unsuspecting convoy advanced, and when entangled in a narrow pass Wallace and his men rushed upon them like a whirlwind and smote them hip and thigh. The odds were fearful, but Scottish valour turned the tide in favour of the assailants, and the English fled and left behind them their rich stores. Near the hill also the noble Bruce with six hundred followers met in battle array the Earl of Pembroke and an army of six thousand. The battle, which was fought in May, 1307, we may depend, was both fierce and bloody, but the English were defeated, and Pembroke and his overwhelming host fled before the handful of brave men, which shows that "the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.' This was one of the most glorious victories that ever graced the laurels of Scotland, but in later times, and nearer our own day, the persecuted supporters of the Covenant-in the cause of God and their country-defeated Claverhouse on the field of Drumclog, which lies about a mile eastward of the eminence. The most graphic account of the fray, and the most interesting picture of the eventful scenes of that ever memorable Sabbath morning, is narrated by the Laird of Torfoot in an article which he penned when he returned from exile and from it I condense. "It was," says the Laird, "a fair Sabbath morning, 1st June, A.D. 1679, that an assembly of Covenanters sat down on the heathy mountains of Drumclog. We had assembled not to fight but to worship the God of our fathers. We were far from the tumult of cities-the long dark heath waved around us, and we disturbed no living creature save the peesweep and the heather cock. As usual, we had come armed-it was for self-defence,

for desperate and furious bands made bloody raids through the country, and pretending to put down treason they raged war against religion and morals. They spread ruin and havoc over the face of bleeding Scotland. The clergyman had commenced the service, and was waxing eloquent on the wrongs of Scotland and the Church when the watchman posted on Loudoun Hill fired his carabine and ran towards the congregation. This announced the approach of the enemy, and the minister hastily concluded his discourse and said: 'I have done. You have got the theory-now for the practice. You know your duty. Self-defence is always lawful. But the enemy approaches.' The officers now collected their men, and placed themselves each at the head of those of his own district. Sir Robert Hamilton placed the foot in the centre. A company of horse, well armed and mounted, was placed along with another small squadron on the left. All being in readiness, the women and children, and the old men, with their bonnets in their hands, and their long grey locks streaming in the wind, retired to a convenient distance, fervently singing a psalm to the tune of "The Martyrs." The Covenanters were all in good spirits, and gave a hearty cheer as Hamilton hastened from rank to rank inspiring courage into the undisciplined peasants. Gradually Claverhouse and his troops advanced amid a sound of trumpets and drums. Halting, he viewed the position of the Covenanters, and after a consultation with his officers sent a flag of truce with the message that they were to lay down their arms and deliver up their ringleaders. The request was contemptuously refused by the little army. They were full of religious zeal and true to each other, and while waiting the result of the flag of truce they engaged in the singing of a psalm. When Claverhouse heard that they scouted his request he passionately cried, "Their blood be upon their heads; be no quarter the order of the day." This announcement was received with yells from his troop, who at the word of command advanced. The Covenanters were not slow to meet them, but when Claverhouse's party stopped to fire the Covenanters dropped to the earth and allowed the volley to pass over. Quickly springing to their feet they returned fire and made every bullet tell. The fire now became incessant, and for some time resembled one blazing

A moss

sheet of flame along the lines of the Covenanters. hag dividing the belligerents, Claverhouse tried to cross it with the intention of breaking the centre of the small army. Observing this, Hamilton cried, "Spearmen to the front! kneel to receive the enemy's cavalry. God and our country is the word." The spearmen knelt, and those on foot poured volley after volley into the ranks of Claverhouse. After several unsuccessful attempts to cross the moss, Claverhouse was about to flee, when the Covenanters rushed forward, and a dreadful hand-to-hand conflict ensued. At this juncture the Laird says, "My gallant men fired with great steadiness. We could see many tumble from their saddles. Not content with repelling the foemen, we found our opportunity to cross and attack them sword in hand. The captain, whose name I afterwards ascertained to be Arrol, threw himself in my path. In the first shock I discharged my pistols. His sudden start in his saddle told me that one of them had taken effect. With one of the tremendous oaths of Charles II. he closed with me. He fired his steel pistol. I was in front of him; my sword glanced on the weapon, and gave a direction to the bullet which saved my life. By this time my men had driven the enemy before them, and had left the ground clear for the single combat. As he made a lunge at my breast I turned his sword aside by one of those sweeping blows which are rather the dictate of a kind of instinct of self-defence than a movement of art. As our strokes redoubled my antagonist's dark features put on a look of deep and settled ferocity. No man who has not encountered the steel of his enemy in the field of battle can conceive the looks and manner of the warrior in the moments of his intense feelings. May I never witness them again! We fought in silence. My stroke fell on his left shoulder, it cut the belt of his carabine, which fell to the ground. His blow cut me to the rib, glancing along the bone, and rid me also of the weight of my carabine. He had now advanced too near me to be struck with the sword. I grasped him by the collar, pushed him backward, and with an entangled blow of my Ferrara I struck him across the throat. It cut only the strap of his head-piece, and it fell off. With a sudden spring he seized me by the sword-belt. Our horses reared, and we both came to the ground. We rolled on the heath