in which it is said the good man often concealed himself during the troublous times of the Persecution. The 66 Pulpit" overlooks a level piece of ground which is enclosed by lofty banks and precipitous cliffs, and when he preached on it his auditory sat on the green sward with their firelocks and broadswords over their knees, a necessary precaution at the period, as many of the churchyards in Ayrshire abundantly testify. After lingering some time in the vicinity of Fail Castle, and being desirous of reaching home before "The sun was out o' sicht, And darker gloamin' brocht the nicht." I retraced my steps along Tarbolton road, entered a "slap" by the wayside, followed the course of a cart-track, and after a stiff walk arrived at the farmhouse of Rotten Rock, and once more on the summit of Barnweill Hill. Going round to the back of the monument I crossed a fence at a place well worn by the feet of near-cut-seekers, and followed a beaten path through a field skirting the kirkyard of Barnweill. Arriving in an old road I followed its intricate windings through a farm-steading and down the face of a brae until I came to Underhill, the cluster of houses already mentioned. Striking into a stile road that runs along the edge of several fields, I arrived at the Pow Burn and strayed along its bank until I came to a rustic bridge by the side of a ruined mill. This I crossed, and in a short time reached Ayr road at a point where a road branches off to the village of Symington. From the Wallace Monument to Ayr road through the fields is one of the most picturesque and secluded byeways in the district. While descending the heights a wide track of country lies before the pedestrian, and the scene is enhanced by the thousand natural beauties that fringe the path as it winds along the wimpling burn that purls through the glen. Turning my face homeward I passed what is termed "the half-way house to Ayr," a favourite halting place where pleasure parties to and from "the auld toun" generally stop to water their horse and partake of refreshments. At its door were two machines laden with a happy rollicking lot of lads and lasses who seemed to enjoy themselves immensely, for they laughed and joked right merrily, and looked as if they had had a pleasant day of it somewhere. At Bogend Toll I paused to decipher a milestone and discovered that it was 43 miles from Kilmarnock, a circumstance that gave me very little concern, for Ayr road is one of the best and most picturesque highways I ever traversed. At this bar there are a few neat cottages and an entrance to Coodham, a handsome estate, well wooded, and for the most part walled in. Passing through the gateway a pleasant walk along the carriage drive brought me in front of the mansion house-a massive square building, at the back of which there is a lake with an island in its centre. The island is covered with shrubbery and contrasts beautifully with the sylvan scene that surrounds the margin of the water. Coodham is at present the residence of W. H. Houldsworth, Esq., who purchased it some three years ago. Since it came into his possession he has expended large sums in improving its appearance and in rendering the mansion more commodious and comfortable. On the occasion of my visit the foundation of an extensive wing was laid, and a large conservatory, and a small but neat chapel (both connected with the mansion) were all but completed. Formerly this estate belonged to a family named Fairlie. In 1826 Mrs. William Fairlie, the widow of a wealthy Calcutta banker, purchased it, and it is said expended £20,000 in improvements. The mansion house was built by this lady, the cost of which is included in the above sum. Following the course of the carriage drive-which passes through the estate-I found its terminus adorned with a handsome pillared gateway and neat lodge, and situated in Ayr road a mile nearer home than the Bogend entrance. Trudging onward I soon reached Spittal Hill, and, with Riccarton steeple and the spires of Kilmarnock in full view, I rejoiced that my ramble was drawing to a close, for the day was far spent, and the western sky wore a crimson tinge that betokened rest to man and beast, and hush of toil. Passing the finely wooded entrance to Treesbank estate I came to Peace-and-Plenty-a place that derives its name from a roadside public house that once flourished under that title, it being the custom of the landlord to supply his customers with bread and cheese when they purchased a dram. Here are situated a row of neat cottages, with gardens behind and flower-plots in front, tastefully laid out and decked with choice flowers. The dwellings are scrupulously clean, and to judge by their appearance and that of their occupants a commendable rivalry seems to exist as to who can have the neatest plot and the most comfortable home. These cottages were built some years ago by the proprietor of Caprington for the accommodation of his workpeople, and the experiment has been so successful that that gentleman has been induced to build another row of similar dwellings nearly opposite the entrance gate of his estate. Leaving Peace-and-Plenty behind I soon passed Caprington gates, and after a brisk walk arrived at the village of Riccarton. Passing the long row of one-storied houses that line Campbell Street, I crossed the new bridge and entered Kilmarnock, delighted with my ramble, and feeling better from having held communion with Nature. CHAPTER IV. Wild Flowers-The Macwheelan Murder-The Cairn-Symington—The Church and Graveyard-Witherington-Old Sandy Neil-"Laird" M'Pherson-" Jock o' the Whalps"—The Glen. My first ramble having wakened both curiosity and interest, I gave myself to the delight of visiting in my leisure hours the many scenes and antiquities in the vicinity of the town that are consecrated by history and hallowed by tradition. This being the case, I selected a sunny Saturday for my second ramble, and equipped with a walking-stick I passed through the Holm, crossed the new bridge at Riccarton, and sped along Ayr Road. Leaving the village behind I soon gained Peace-and-Plenty, and paused to admire the neat flower-plots in front of the miners' cottages, but as they were already familiar to me I moved on, for "The wayside flowers, sequestered from the throng In Nature's quiet lanes," are dearer to me than the gaudy plants of the garden. Yes, "There seems a bright and fairy spell About their very names to dwell; And though old Time has marked my brow Are closest link'd to simplest things; And these wild flowers will hold mine fast, And then the only wish I have Is that the one who raises The turf-sod o'er me, plant my grave About a quarter of a mile from Peace-and-Plenty a road to Dundonald branches off to the right. Turning into it I crossed a bridge, beneath which a burnie purled as it jinked on its way through the fields. A little beyond the bridge I entered a road on my left which is known as Fortacres Road. Like most old roads it is rugged and undulating, but nevertheless it is very pleasing, because from its heights the eye sweeps over a wide range of landscape. Following its course for half-a-mile or so, I came to a part where it takes a sudden turn and passes on to Fortacres and other places. At the turn on the left hand side there is a cairn or heap of stones, formed by every passer-by so inclined adding one. It marks the spot where one of the most cold-blooded and heartless murders that ever stained the annals of our country was committed, for there one in the dawn of early manhood welled out his heart's blood, and stained the highway with the crimson tide. He was named James Young, was in the eighteenth year of his age, and a native of Riccarton. On the evening of Dudd's-day, 1848, he left the farm of Fortacres, where he was serving, promising to return the same night. About seven o'clock he arrived at his father's house at Knowehead, Riccarton, and remained in the company of his father and mother and other members of the family until half-past ten, when he left to return to his master's house. That house he never reached, for his body was found by two young men about four o'clock next morning at the spot indicated lying in a pool of blood, with a ghastly wound in the neck that had been inflicted with a carpenter's chisel. When found the body was cold and stiff, and both hands were filled with earth and grass that the poor fellow had clutched in. the agony of death. A small bundle lay beside it. The pockets had been rifled, and a silver watch that the victim wore was gone, showing clearly that the murderer had stained his soul with blood for the sake of plunder. The authorities were soon at the scene of the crime, but a clue to the murderer was wanting. An Irishman named Macwheelan had been seen lurking in the vicinity on the afternoon of the day of the murder, and as he was suspected, but having disappeared, a description of his person was sent to the various police stations throughout the country, and this circumstance led to his apprehension. While passing a toll-bar between Beith and Paisley, a farmer observed a suspicious-like character leaving the toll-house. He thought nothing of the circumstance at the time, but shortly afterwards, upon hearing that £35 and a silver watch had been abstracted from it in the absence of the occupant, it struck him that he knew the thief, and he at once mounted a horse and rode post-haste after him. He overtook the object of his search near Paisley, |