no reason to feel ashamed of their handiwork, which has existed since before the dawn of authentic Ayrshire history, and will probably outlive all the other buildings in the district.

Proud edifice! no annals tell

What thou hast brooked, what thou hast been,
Who reared thee in this lovely dell,

What mighty baron-lord, I ween,

Of hardy Kyle: no bordering tower
Possessed more independant power.

To-day being the Sabbath, the forecourt is deserted save by the chirping sparrows hopping and chattering round a crust of bread, the tame pigeons that are picking up crumbs, and billing and cooing where in days of yore a chivalrous knight, his armour flashing through the rustling leaves of the forest, has whispered the tale of love in the ear of the high-born ladye whose scarcely audible response is taken up by the passing breeze, and whistled through the woods. On the week days the court is monopolised by the youth of the town engaged in the ancient and classical game of hand-ball, which is said to have been a favourite pastime of Virgil. It is against the northern wall of the castle that the game of hand-ball, for which Galston has been long famous, is played. John Wright refers to this in his Retrospect :—

To Lockhart's Tower now flocked we forth-the prey,

The wreck of ages, and the pride of song;

Where many a gambol circled round the grey,

Dark, feudal vestage, and its dells among ;
But o'er all sports athletic, nimble, strong,
Was handball pastime; young, mid-aged, and old,
As equals mingled, after practice long;
And scarce a neighbouring village was so bold

As struggle with our own, the sovereignty to hold.

There is a tradition that Sir William Wallace, when pursued by his enemies, leaped out of one of the windows of the castle, and escaped by means of a huge elm tree which grew close to the north wall till within a few years ago, when the local Goths and Vandals, in the vaunted name of "progress," had it taken down; probably because it was a nuisance, and certainly because it was of no use, except, of course, for making railway sleepers or coal trucks, ever so much more profitable than merely standing to feast the gaze of crack-brained artists and becobwebbed antiquaries. And the strange thing is, that no one ventured to protest against this bar

barism.

By the oldest leases on the estate on which the castle is built, the tenants were bound to plant at least twelve ash trees yearly. This excellent agreement, which might, with satisfactory results to both parties, be imitated by other landlords and tenants, accounts for the beautiful appearance of the farm-houses on that property, which are in general surrounded by trees.

A note to Wright's poems states that, "till of late years (1843) a beautiful spreading plane-tree grew out from the upper part of the wall, and proudly overlooked its broad and moss-grown battlements the glory, the delight of the village." At no great distance from the castle is an ancient oak-tree, known as the "boss-tree," from its being hollow in the centre with age; and among the branches of this tree also our national hero is reputed to have hidden from his enemies. But this does not complete the story of Wallace's connection with Irvineside. Everybody has read the story, in Blind Harry's Wallace, of his hero, when a youth, being fishing in the Irvine one day when three English soldiers came up to him and demanded the trout which he had caught. Wallace was not disposed to give up the whole of the fish, but offered to share them with the Southerners. This did not satisfy the men, however, and they would have seized the spoil, had he not, with his fishing rod, struck one of the soldiers so hard a blow on the ear that he dropped dead. Seizing the dead man's sword, Wallace speedily put the other two to flight. The scene of this exploit is said to have been on the banks of the Irvine, near Galston. know that Wallace's uncle lived at Riccarton, and what is more natural than to suppose that the young man was on a visit to his relative, and that he was having a day's fishing in the stream which flows at no great distance from what was once his uncle's residence? After this affair, Wallace had to keep in hiding, and it may have been then that he took refuge in Barr Castle.

We

As was to be almost expected, the mighty sword of the great Scottish patriot is preserved in Loudoun Castle, on the other side of the Irvine from Galston, whose lordly towers rise grey from out the sylvan scenery immortalized by Tannahill in that most melodious of all his strains, commencing

Loudoun's bonnie woods and braes.

The Bard of Paisley was in the habit of fitting an existing tune with words; and in some instances not very satisfactorily. In

this song, however, he has been most successful, the tune selected having been an old marching air of the Campbells, one of the many names borne by the illustrious house of Loudoun, a daughter of which was mother of Wallace. Although the number of swords said to have belonged to Wallace, like the relics attributed to Burns, are a trifle numerous, we need not grudge this claim now that the illustrious warrior has ceased to use any of them.

Tradition says that from this old tower there were secret subterranean passages connecting it with Loudoun and Cessnock Castles, the latter being once the seat of a branch of the Campbells, one of whom suffered in the cause of religion during the dark days which preceded the Revolution.

But, hark!—the church bells have begun to ring. The Parish Church rings out a deep sonorous peal, accompanied by the lighter but not so musical chimes of the Free Church bell, whose sharp ting, ting-il-ling-ting dies immediately on the ear, while the bang, bang, of the "big Kirk" floats away in the distance, being heard by hundreds of people miles away from the village. People are wending their ways to the various places of worship; and unless one desires to be stigmatized a heathen and sunday-breaker, they must betake themselves to some one of the sanctuaries, or at least keep within doors until the service is over. The auld kirk presents the most attractions. In the old churchyard by which it is surrounded there are many notable tombstones; and in the inside, the burial vaults and monuments of former grandees of the place. With our readers accompanying us we will follow those of the parishioners that are adherents of the National Church, which we now enter.

PHILIP KENNEDY THE SMUGGLER.

A DIRGE.

A PEASANT'S son, but sprung from men who crushed the conquering Dane,

At Falkirk stood with Wallace wight, and fought till they were

slain,

From men, so daring that they turn'd war's tide at Bannockburn, From men who on dark Flodden's ridge could die, but would not

turn.

"Die in the bit, but hold your trust," was grafted in their blood, And when the day of danger came, they felt it like a flood.

O dauntless heart in peasant's breast, stilled in full manhood's prime,

Thy name for constancy and truth shall live to distant time.
What did'st thou know of English laws? Thy code was "do the
right!"

And that's to guard my neighbour's trust, or die for it in fight!
"I do not wish to shed men's blood, I'll trust my hands alone,
Let me but get them in my grips and I can hold my own."
Alas! alas! the generous thought has his death warrant signed.
He mastered two and held them fast, the third to friend assigned,
A weaker man, who soon o'erpowered the contest had resigned.
The third Exciseman waves his sword, and then with cowardly
hand

He strikes the loftiest head is cleft in all broad Buchan's land.
Then up sprang Philip, and he ran to Kirkton, like a deer,
That he might tell the people there that enemies were near.
Yes, on he ran with soundless feet, blood pumping from his brain,
Wild thoughts of home-of those he loved-'twas that which caused

his pain.

By strength of will, and strength of frame, while life was ebbing fast,

He reached the goal, and found himself in friendly hands at last. They raised the bonnet from his head, blood trickled o'er his brow. He cried, "had all been true as me, I'd not been dying now!"

He knew his trust, had held it fast, but man's blood would not

shed,

The fierce return from men he spared, was this a cloven head!
And so he died, an honoured man; at honour's call he died,
And if detractors say, not so, I tell them they have lied.

Though nigh a hundred years have passed, among the Kirkward train,

Yet oft his honoured name recalls the place where he was slain.
And bonnie lassies list the praise of him who knew no fear,
And in the kirkyard at his grave, still wipe away a tear.

And lads still feel the Norseman blood sharp tingling in their veins,
And vow that they'll be staunch and true on distant foreign

plains;

Or how if foreign foe should dare their country to invade,
They'd set their teeth, and strive like men, and die if duty bade.
For firmness, constancy, and truth, are honoured by our race,
And he who died at duty's call finds in true hearts a place.
"A smuggling rogue," some lisping swell may mutter in disgust,
No, but a simple honest man who thought his cause was just.
And if this land should shake again beneath a foeman's tread,
God send us men like Kennedy, who for true manhood bled.
We who in changed conditions live, and help to make the laws,
Wisely forget our father's wrongs, who broke them, and had cause.
But let us ne'er their virtues lose, nor hatred of a lie,
And may our sons at duty's call, like Philip, " Do or Die!"

Nearly opposite the bell door of the kirk of Slains, Aberdeenshire, there is a head-stone, among others, to Philip Kennedy, the smuggler, who was killed by Anderson, the exciseman, on 19th December, 1798, aged 38. Philip was a man of great strength and resolution, who, with his brother John, was stationed in a lane near the kirk of Slains to guard the transit of gin from a Dutch lugger, it being considered at that time-one hundred years agoa right thing to avoid paying duty to what the peasantry still considered an alien government. They were attacked by three armed excisemen. Philip, to avoid bloodshed, threw down his oaken staff, overturned two of the excisemen and held them fast, calling on his brother to secure the other. John was immediately in combat with the other exciseman, and in parrying the cutlass