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These were the mendicants and prowlers who subsisted on the proceeds of their gatherings, filling their sacks with oat-meal, and enabling the poor to fill their larder at a cheap rate. Many a merry night was spent under its old roof. Latterly it was used as a house and room and byre all succeeding each other. The days of the pedlars and "pedlars’ meal" came to be forgotten, and the house for a time fell upon better days. One resident speaks in tones of affectionate remembrance of the old tree upon which the bairns slung their swing, their feet being able to touch the opposing gable of the house of the Woods. That tree still stands in the midst of its abandonment, and the tough old gable of the Goat House is a cairn of stones behind an advertising hoarding stretched along the last remnant of the Goat Lane. 

The site of the present Kyleshill School was a field until 1884. Within its low-lying expanse had rested the historic Bog Cottages, the last of which - a mere little toy of a dwelling, near what is the eastern gate of the school - was occupied long since by Frank Thomson, a vendor of delectable candy, which sweetened the mouths of a past generation. Further back had lain the Flush and moorland rigs, often overrun with water in such a way as to form a lake. Dwellers by Kyleshill came to draw water from " the lake " in preference to pursuing the long descent to the town. Each of the principal dwellers in the town had there as much of the Flush rigs as would grow three pecks of lint seed. The lint shaws were gathered there for many a day, and used by the early village dames in the industrious distaff. An elderly lady describes them as having something like the appearance of " wheat shells." Before the very old school on the crown of Kyleshill was built, the rocky piece of waste ground bore so much of the appearance of more ancient days, and protruded its jagged brow with such impressive prominence that children spoke of the Kyleshill Rock in hushed and awe-stricken tones. There was a great gloomy cavity which was said to "gang through to the ither side o’ the Toonhead, and naebody o’ this side o’ time had been able to fathom it." It was, in fact, the "forbidden cave " of Saltcoats youth, and none were so daring as to venture more than a foot or two within and fill the cavernous depths with brain-splitting shrieks. The Slaughter Houses sit upon the old house and steadings possessed by Skipper Rob Brown in 1718, and were acquired by the Commissioners in 1897.

From the Crown of Kyleshill to Parked. Volunteer Days. The Mansion of Seabank.

In the Seventeen-Twenties there were no houses between Kyleshill and the Harbour. Pits predominated. On the hill lay banked-up mounds of dross for the salt furnaces. Water was carried from the Stanley Burn through Seabank grounds for the operations of the Kyleshill Machine Pit, Up and down the hill the wives and daughters of. the miners carried the black loads.

" Sair back and sair banes ; Trudgin’ mony a mile ;

Sad is the darg o’ women folks On the weary Hill o’ Kyle."

Everything was primitive. Even the sea stones in front of the vanished Sun Inn went to furnish the furnaces of the Chemical Works. Canal Street abounds in landmarks: Trodden’s Gates, the old Station House, the ruined engine-house (the second in Scotland), Canal Bank House and grounds, the grounds of the Archery Club, founded in 1849, Limekilns and Rockvale, the venerable Brewery, and the " Skipper’s Acre," enclosed within the gardens on the north side. There is hardly a trace of the Canal, finished and navigated on 19th September, 1772, the first upon which - commercial transports floated in Scotland. It came as far as Parkend Cottages, where there was an extensive coal-rea, kept by " Sawners Gemmill," of Stevenston. Prominent in the work of drawing the coal to the harbour for shipment were the late Captain Barclay and John Kelso. William Andrew was about the last to ship coal from the harbour. 

The Ropework of later days was in the hands of the M‘Donnells in 1842 ; and it had then a division for sails and riggings. The old Ropework House is still to the fore. It was the scene of a disastrous fire on 20th April, 1864. 

Rockvale Cottage reminds us that there died there in 1870 Elizabeth Webber, wife of Adam Thomson, a Crimean veteran. She had accompanied her husband through long marches in India, and was one of the few surviving persons present at Waterloo.

The East Links was the parade ground of the Volunteering days. The first meeting was held in the Saracen’s Hall on 21st February, 1860; but from 1859 drilling had been going on in the hall under Sergeant Young. The students of the " goose step " entered with much gravity upon their tasks, and the arrival in the town of eighty-five Enfield rifles was hailed with as much jubilation as if the French were waiting in the Bay to receive the contents of their much-fondled barrels. The selection of a light grey uniform was itself a subject of excitement, and the men chosen to lead the Volunteer ranks were of noble appearance. They were Ensign James Anderson, Tanner; Lieutenant James Baird, Manager at Ardeer; and Captain Robert King Barbour, whose fine build and abbreviated name, " King Barbour," led to a singular conclusion on the part of young Saltcoats that he must indeed be a king. The Rev. D. Ronald acted as Chaplain, and Dr. M‘Culloch as Assistant Surgeon ; John Bryan, Alex. Gumming, Charles Smith, and David M‘Nair being full Corporals; with James Baillie and R. S. Kinnier as Lance-Corporals. The Sergeants-drawn from the ranks of prominent tradesmen-were Robert Young, Hugh M‘Donnell, Jr., Hugh Stirling, and Robert Spence, with John Lockhart in the colours. The last-named, afterwards Ensign, made the highest score of the National match of 1870. The sounds of Andrew Leckie’s and Archie Workman’s bugles broke the stillness of the neighbourhood in their nightly practices. The first Instructor was Sergeant O’Brien, and his successor Sergeant Tolmie. There was a Cavalry Corps, the eldest son of every man on Lord Eglinton’s estate considering himself bound to provide a horse and accoutrements. Quite a brave show was presented when the drills took place on South Beach sands, opposite the Pavilion. The Drill Hall of to-day is the Relief Church that was. It stands close up to the gate of Parkend House. 

Parkend House rests upon the old Smelting House of the Cuninghames. The grounds enclose the " Rock Park " the " Beatelha’," the Beer Yard (slightly westward), parts of the Townhead given by the Earl of Eglinton to Thomas Campbell of Killyleoch, Provost of Irvine; " the Storehouse," between the town and the house of Seabank, lying to the east of "the road leading to Beatelhall." To the north lie the lower dykes of the " Beatelhall" yard ; eastwards the enclosures of Seabank. On a plot in front of Parkend House stood the old counting house of the Stevenston Colliery Company, removed in 1884. A barn at the back of the ground is all that is left of the historic " Beatelhall." 

The Relief Church of 1782 was the scene of the "violent settlements " when the clerical escorts were molested by the mobs. On one of these occasions a little fat clergyman, having tripped and fallen in the rear, was caught by some women and dragged by the coat-tails through the mud. The Rev. Mr Duncan was going home one’ evening past the Shopends when a street loafer said to his companion, 

"What will ye gie me to rin aff wi’ the minister’s wee wife?"

and, picking her up, he ran along Dockhead Street with the frightened little lady struggling in his giant oxters. A yard, which lay near the kirk, gives back a memory of Saltcoats’ famous wigmaker, Nathaniel Hodge. Even in his day the doctors and the ministers and the little aristocracy affected " poudre." Sometimes the ringlets of grand dames, that would have shown piebald by the encroachments of age, were made a uniform grey by Nathaniel’s unrivalled art. "The en’ o’ a candle was gey guid dressin’," says an octogenarian, who saw at least some of the remnants of a retreating vogue. "There wis nak bear’s grease till Prince Albert’s day, and then a’body ‘oiled their locks ’ to match the King’s ; an’ at the time o’ the Eglinton Tournament the ‘big wigs’ o’ Saltcoats left wee splatches o’ pooder wherever they went." John Dunlop, who lived near Kyleshill (father of Mr Dunlop, Ardrossan), drove many to the famous Eglinton Tournament, from which great event everything afterwards dated. 

Seabank House, which was built by the enterprising Mr Cuninghame in 1708, has an interest all its own as it sits enclosed in the demesne that slopes down towards the Stevenston Road. How gracefully has it been pictured by Dr. Landsborough- " Sheltered sweet and cheerful, with its green fields and woody braes, martello-tower and mounted battery."  To wander round that ancient bastion, with its guns pointing to command the road to the town, is to walk again in the fairyland of history. Some of the guns bear the royal mark of " Jacobus Rex"’ suggesting that they are of a period coeval with the days of the earliest Stuarts.

Weaverland:  The Romance of the Raise Road and its Picturesque Identities.

In the days when the turnpike road of advancement lay far from the old town, and scarcely a whisper from the outer world broke the stillness of its old-fashioned dingy streets, there came to Saltcoats a poor weaver man carrying his loom and gear.  He – so the legend runs – ascended the then new street, which the Earl had made through Grisel How’s ground.  What with fatigue and long travel, his whole gear fell and smashed.  Looking ruefully at the result of the disaster, he explained, “Ma guidness, I’ve broken the race road”, for, you must understand, the “race road” is the long wooden trough or cradle through which the shuttle flies.  And the poor weaver started his trade, and initiated that wonderful colony of loom labour that became Saltcoats’ Weaverland.  And the name of the colony became the  "Race Road”, although a more literal explanation is given by its gradual incline, corresponding to its more modern designation – the Raise Road.  For many a day there stood at the foot, on the right hand beyond the railway, an odd looking structure with steps projecting on the street line in such a way as to compel a climb up and a climb down.  This was known as  “Hendry’s Steps”, taking the name from the old seafaring worthy who owned the property.  Now, it occupied the site of the historic Bog House.  Only a small piece of the ground remains, for the new street, Glencairn Street, was broken through it by the railway;  and a fence hems in the drowsy enclosure.  Through this, the thoughtful to-day peer curiously, wondering at that mass of neglected vegetation, with an old sundial giving back a sense of its one-time country charm and restfulness.

There were two wells in Raise Street, one at the head the other at the foot opposite the Steeple, the latter of old called “Cunningham’s Well” because Cunningham, the carrier’s house sat there, beside the Burgher Church.  Latterly it was the Steeple Well.

Springvale, to the westward, received its poetic name when it came to the Jacks of Chapelhill.  When the Glebe was still unbuilt on, the land went backwards with occasional rises forming “terraced” ground – the last surviving vestiges of the monastic gardens.  The locality bears the memory of James Mitchell, of Dykes.  “Gentle” Dykes, now Laigh Dykes, was its name when identified with Dr Millar a figure of old Raise Street, familiar to the past generation as he took his rounds in his suit of spotless black.  He was punctilious in dress, and the nocturnal bang of his knocker never disturbed his equanimity.

The huge drums of the Gas Works remind us that the first buildings were erected and the main pipes laid during the summer and autumn of 1836.  Andrew Aitken was the first gas manager.  The watchful supervision and skill of Mr John Napier Myers have done much to maintain the later prestige of the Corporation.  The more modern part of the Gas Works was acquired on 25th February 1865.  A copy of the rules and regulations of the Saltcoats Gas Light Company, printed at Irvine, bears that these were adopted on February 26 1836.

The back way, leading past the Anti-Burgher Meeting house to Meikleyett, remained free from the intrusion of the builder until 1824.  It was called Raise Lane or the Meikleyett.  Beyond was a continuous hedge, leading to the Raise park yards, now turned into Wellpark Road.

The uniting of Springvale and the Raise Street in 1883 is memorialised sufficiently in the name of the little cross street, “Union” Street.  Now buried in the enclosures of the Gas Works, and leaving not a trace behind, was the Anti-Burgher’s house of prayer – “the Pea Doo Kirk” – a quaint little edifice, which derived its name from a dove with outstretched wings on a sounding board above the pulpit.

The corner of Springvale encloses the Catholic Seminary, opened in October 1868 and described in a contemporary record as a model of medieval domestic architecture.  It was produced to the designs of Mr Ingram, Kilmarnock.  The body of later days were fortunate in the erection of a fine hall, called the “League of the Cross” Hall.

In the ancient well-meadow, from which Wellpark derived its name, was a curious draw well, the only one in the town which could keep the leeches alive, and the waters of which were therefore much sought for by the local apothecaries.

Every step of the Raise Street is full of hallowed memories.  The landmarks here need little resurrection, and the informed vision can trace the vanished figures all the way up.  On the right, at the foot, “Strange’s Land”, “Granny Orr’s” and “Hendry’s Steps” have departed, but the rest tell the plain story of happier days.

At the corner of Factory Lane is still the house where Ronald the cleric lodged, below it the habitation of Hugh Young of psalmody fame, and the now unroofed cottage (with a thatch at the rear) in front of which the weavers held their “Parliament of the Plain-Stones”.  On the left hand, beginning at the foot is the old Western Bank, built by Mr Gilfillan, to which the Royal removed on 4^th January 1858, and reminiscent of King Barbour, whose stately figure gave the “callants” so striking an impression of his sovereignty.  Past a wee house which clung to the Bank came the house of the Ritchies, famous in the shipping and curing industries;  next the Armours, equally noted in the biographical records of old Saltcoats, then the house of Millers.  In one of the two unroofed houses, at the corner of Union Street, was the dwelling place of Danny Kerr.  Further on was the house of the McKillops, with the hall “through the back”, the centre of social interest in the town’s better days.  Davie Howies beaming room “the Weavers House o’Commons”, has its windows much the same as they were in the older life.  The house of Tom Miller lies above it, beside the house of Laird Stirrat.  Half-way up Raise Street stood the house of Robert Workman, a staunch Anti-Burgher in Ronald’s time.

Opposite Ronald’s lodging was the little Raise Street school;  beyond it, the house of Mrs Stevenson of Coalhill, second last at the top, still approached by outside stairs, the place of Robert Brown who brought the letters from Kilmarnock to Saltcoats in his “Shandrum Dan”.  Latterly it was the house of Colin McGregor, who was so “Heelant” that when exhorted by the Sheriff to speak in plain English, “Ach ach”, he guttered, remonstratively, “sure an’ deet me English is all dune!”  But for the all-compelling restrictions upon space, what stories one could tell of Nel Downie, Shoemaker;  what glowing legends and comicalities concerning the weaving shops of Ephraim Spiers and Tom Sharp;  the “sixteen-loom” shop of Jamie Gemmell and Willie Langlands;  the home of the one-time industrious gardener and weaver, Willie Barclay;  and the two-storey thatch and weaver’s shop which was Archie Burns;  of the weaving place of Hugh Young (whose son became headmaster of the State School at Camperdown, Australia);  of the house where lived, until his death in 1863 Jack Ardrossan, the famous beadle of the old Church;  of Willie Kane’s at the head of the street;  of tailor Bennett, the Liberal of the Raise Road, who took part in the Radical agitation of 1820;  of John McBride, weaver who lived in the sixties and had served on board the Bellerophon when Napoleon I surrendered after Waterloo, and who often described Napoleon as a “wee clean-shaven priestly-lookin body wi’ a piercin’ eye”.  Stories also are plentiful of Robert Irvine, the silk weaver, of John Hamilton, maker of heddles, and of Robert Barclay who went to superintend the kiln department of the Magnesia Work, where he served for over a quarter of a century.  He was a great draughts player, and in 1849 was Champion of Scotland. Daniel Kerr took a prominent part in the local agitation over the Reform Bill.  In music he was a tower of strength, only equalled by Hugh Young, the “prince of precentors”, Dauny was of the real old Raise Street stock and took part in all the public concerts of the Fifties.  He was so ardent a disciple of Orpheus that after a day’s hard work, he once walked to Kilmarnock to hear Madame Malibran.  He was precentor of the Burgher Kirk, and was credited as the composer of “Saltcoats” and “Inkerman” two tunes that have escaped from the psalter.  A later psalm tune, named “Saltcoats” was composed by Mr Gillon, precentor of the Landsborough United Free Church, and the composer was greatly surprised to find that a tune of that name had had a venerable priority.

Another Raise Road worthy was Alexander Grimwood, father of the Postmaster and Inspector of Poor, who was a leading member of the Raise Street “Political Trade Parliament”.  In the sixties Alexander Armour and Henry Barclay, joiners, were active leaders of Raise Road life.

Impossible is it to give due expression to the fascination of the old Tan Yard, even in its state of pitiful dejection, with nothing left of its handlers and spenders, its lime-pits and water-holes, steam engine and bark mill, lime stores, drying sheds, currying shops, and offices – all gone into the past, leaving only the shells of the old houses to tell its story.  How often will the ponderer on the past call up the memory of that old engine which, before the days of steam, was moved by the docile “Denty” – truly a “one-horse” power.  There existed in the midst of the tanner, unsullied by its surroundings, two very old draw-wells, and from a well in the middle there gushed forth a fountain of the purest water.  Additional water was taken in by drain pipes from the “Hedges”.  Situated about the centre of the street, on the left hand coming from the town, the industries were carried on from 1794 or so till 1894 – a full centenary.  A venerable man o’hides tells us that in early days it took eighteen months to tan the leather that did credit alike to the beast whose skin it was;  to the tanner who splashed the skin; to the son of St Crispin who wrought the leather into sturdy boots and shoes;  and to the weavers and their prancing boys, winsome girls, or older women who made the feet coverings last the proper time.  The last craft of any size that came into Saltcoats harbour was a sloop with barks for the Tanners.  John Anderson, whose land bordered Lady Montgomerie’s at the end of the eighteenth century was the forbear of the tanners – Robert and Thomas, the first the tanner proper, and the second the conductor of the curry.  Both were staunch Anti-Burghers.

The Weavers in the Days of Waterloo. "The Parliament of the Plain-Stones."

Much of the interest of old " Weaverland " concerns the individuality of Tom Miller, wright, who, in the Forties, was the life and soul of the Saltcoats Curling Club and other of its gay institutions. When, in 1781-82, his father came from West Kilbride and feued the ground upon which the old joinery was built in 1796, the Raise Road still retained the fragrance of the old-world uplands and hedge-rows through which the Earl of Eglinton had driven it. An old Bible, bearing the name of " Margaret Boyd," spouse of the first Tom Miller, records the birth of a second " Tom " on May 31st, 1788; and this is the famous leader of old Saltcoats society. 

The old gardens near the joinery are still abounding in memories of the " Tam Montgomery " apple and the " bitter sweet," and the old fruit-giver, the "crackit" tree, which bore its acrid dainties with a crack in them that seemed as natural an inheritance as the original sin that pertained to the apple of Eden. Kindly memories have drawn impressions of the spare figure and weather-beaten countenance of the industrious wright, whose book possessions were simply invaluable. They occupy an entire room, filling tier upon old tier, and embrace the first fruits of the masters. The oldest is dated 1646, a book of science or philosophy, 263 years old ! The ancient joinery, where Tom Miller made the celebrated " peeries " for childhood’s delectation - with its deep old walls round which the pear trees clung-stands yet to the fore. The peerie, with the metal head and tip, was like no other rotary toy ever made. Its musical hum produced an ecstasy in the hearts of its owners which nothing can to-day supply. 

There lies near the joinery a grand old garden which a one-time Countess of Eglinton drove up in her carriage to inspect. More than one Countess has come and gone since the tuber roses bloomed within this still unfaded adornment of the Raise Road quarter. After the death of " T. M." in 1863 (or 1864) the joinery was carried on by his son, Boyd Miller, a man of great enterprise, and is now continued by his grandson and namesake, completing an industrial existence in four successive generations, covering 128 years. 

Quite a web of historic interest can be woven around Weaverland in association with the Chartist movement in which James M’Neill, a shoemaker, took a chief part, and during the turmoil of which two Chartist leaders, Williams and Jones, paid Saltcoats a visit. , The rousing eloquence of the old journalism was meat and drink to those sturdy politicians. A leader-writer’s diatribe was better than a diet. Both were very precious. * The men clubbed for the newspaper which they read at meal hours on the plain stones, or at night under the oil lamp of the beaming room. 

Within the shadow of the " Raise Street House of Commons " has been located the scene of the nocturnal meetings of the old Radicals. There are many tales of the intrepid John Campbell who conducted the solemn swearing in of the men under dim candle light. One night, with dramatic suddenness, the door was burst open ; candles were extinguished, and Campbell rammed the paper containing the oath into his mouth. He was charged with treason and arrested. Fearing outbreak, the authorities took him from Glasgow to Edinburgh Castle where he was visited by Richmond, the spy, and tempted with bank notes to betray his fellows - an old and familiar method of Governmental inquisition. Messages from outside reached him through the medium of loaves and tobacco. On the day of his trial his wife stepped into Court, having walked all the way from Saltcoats. No wonder that the Rev. Ellis said of Campbell, he was "a little of David ; a big lot o’ Paul." Ellis himself was the most familiar figure of the Raise Road as he bustled about with his "pastoral staff." He listened to every sympathetic tale, but had an abhorrence of scandal or gossip. A talkative female was usually brought up with the sharp interruption, "Janet! pirns ! pirns! dinna ye hear the weavers callin’ ? " Ellis was no mere preacher, he was "a doer also;" and during the distress handled his spade with such energy that it broke, to the great amusement of the "out of works." 

At the moment when the news of the victory of Waterloo rang upon the ears of the people of Saltcoats, the weavers were in a state of commotion over the prevailing distress. Their mingled lamentation and joy took the form of a procession through the town with flags and shawls borrowed from wives and maidens. Not a rag which could cause a flutter was refused, the girls gallantly stripping their bonnets to make ribbons. Ellis - contributed to the demonstration by displaying on the window of his dwelling-place an illustration of Buonaparte suspended on a gallows. The town drummer, Danny Geachy, with ribbons decking his quaint head-gear and streaming from his drum, beat the tocsin with great manifestation of dignity, and at each little halting-place gave utterance, with oratorical pomposity, to the sentiment of the moment. At the head of the Raise Street bonfires crackled ominously ; and for three whole days Weaverland could not have told which was the most soul-stirring of their emotions, the sounds of victory or the blank despair of their hungered families. 

Similar effects of wild jubilation were manifested on the fall of the Wellington Ministry in 1829. Between the second and third readings of the Reform Bill the weavers, to the number of 12OO, made a great and imposing procession. One of their number drew up an address to be presented to the King. The life of the weaver was a " hand to mouth " struggle. Before the days of the railway, delay meant starvation ; and often after a heavy snow, the weavers had to go with shovels to dig out the carrier’s cart while the men were waiting for money and webs. In our time only professional men wear " lum " hats daily. Fifty years ago the weaver wore it regularly. The daily " tile " would of course be the one that had done duty for Sundays and funerals, When it got shabby (after seeing out several stages of fashionable decomposition), it was taken for every-day wear, and when too old for that, did duty as a pirn box. 

The pride of the weaver of Saltcoats was something that no one can to-day rightly understand. He wore his "tile" if only he had occasion to go " ower the gate " or " doon the gate ;" and, wrapped in the silk plaid that was the glory of a poetic age, affected a stalking dignity which few dare challenge. Once a callant laughed at a weaver’s head-dress, and the punishment was dire. The weavers’ agent was a severe Sabbatarian. A poor woman who had got out some flowering on a Saturday hastily returned with the completed work on the Monday. " Mistress," quoth the stern agent, "you have been breaking the Sabbath, and no Sabbath-breaker will work for me. Get ye gone ! " Sometimes the weaver needed it all. The pay was poor, and he thought it no harm to work a " bit o’ geich " by stretching the warp and saving the woof. The wary agent would throw the material on the scales to see whether it was lighter than when given out. Let the reader imagine the result. When a weaver’s family blazed suddenly into the unaccustomed lustre of " new claes " there were strong suspicions that " geiching " had been prevalent. Penury made the weaver a hard bargainer, whether in things affecting life or death. More than one, with an eye on both worlds, took the direction of his funeral affairs into his own hands, and sent for the " taking under" man . "You’ll bury me," he would say, ,‘ on the fourth day, for the third’s no lucky. Mak’ a kist just the same as ye did for the last three that have been carried oot o’ this hoose, plain and substantial, and nae extra mountin’s. Try Mr A - for the hearse and coaches. His turnoots are aye respectable; and his twa black cobs ‘ill jist look as fine as Belgians." All funerals were semi-public, and the mourners attended in their braid cloth - of such delicate texture as outwore the use of numberless generations. The broad-brimmed and very tall hats presented a sufficiently mournful spectacle to satisfy the most lugubrious taste. Up to the year 1850 or thereabouts, all funerals about the Raise Street were called by a weaver (usually the one whose face could be turned into the proper " murnin’ " aspect) who went the round of the street asking the good folks to attend by word of mouth. There are extant lists of names of the privileged mourners. One such is dated June 24th 1846. The only hand-loom weaver to-day, the last survivor of the fraternity, is Willie Blair, an old "powder" man who has seen stirring times, and, at an advanced age, still plies his shuttle. 

A tattered bill, announcing a high-class entertainment for 1st January, 1829, to take place in " Mrs Lamb’s large room,‘, gives us a peep into Weaverland from the recreative side four-score years ago. Where, alas ! can we locate the "large room ? " The entertainer is named as Alexander Miller, " Sauny," as he was kindly styled. How he managed to mingle poetic honey with twisting webs, which claimed every hour of his existence, seems a marvel. Yet he was the premier entertainer of his day.

Raise Street’s bouldered way had much to answer for by bringing into unjustified disrepute all those whom it compelled to develop "a slight stagger." It may have formed a useful blame-taker in the pre-teetotal days before the Burghers entered upon their glorious crusade against spirits. Saltcoats could never claim the Irish excuse of "mixing just to take the cruelty out of the water." It was well furnished with the wine of Adam. It has been called "the town of the eleven wells; " but the most cherished of these was at the head of Raise Street. Weaverland subscribed for’ it, washed it, cleaned it, wept over it, and finally painted it a lively red as a protest against its removal The voice of the-Raise Road Demosthenes who roused the weavers into patriotic devotion to the " well of their forefathers" is long since still; and the well has vanished under the unsympathetic hammer of the improvers. 

The departed personality of Robert M’Killop has removed from the Raise Road that type of unconscious genius which lightened the gloom of ill-requited labour. His power of epigrammatic expression was only equalled by his peculiar sensibility to injustice. When the improvers, after the manner of "Paddy’s blanket," took the high parts of Wellpark Road to mend the foot, it had the effect of causing the doors of the one-time higher land dwellings to be, "like Mahomet’s coffin," suspended in air. Robin’s wonderment took the form of a brief protest written in indignant chalk upon the ruins. He dealt in supplies. "A step-ladder," he would say, " may no’ cairry ye sae far as ambition, but it’s aye safer to stand on." " Gie me what I want ; I’ll ply whit I: get," was his favourite maxim. " A pinch to four hundred-weight o’ a brick wall coup ower a’ arguments." A Raise Road proprietor imposed such an erection upon his neighbour who, taking advantage of a howling storm, toppled over the bricks into the offender’s yard. " It’s no the damage that’s botherin’ me," said the wall-builder ruefully to his innocent-looking neighbour next day, " but a’m winderin’ hoo a nor’-nor’- east win’ got roon’ the corner o’ your south so’-west gairden and threw these bricks into ma yaird." 

Braehead House, lying snugly amongst its fruit trees and bushes, has maintained its dignified setting through all the effects of chance and change. No one of its occupants was more popular, than Matthew Brown, who presided at the meetings of protest in 1873 against the proposal to close Raise Street. The aspect of the old mansion is sufficiently expressive of its romantic interest. " Its a gran’ biggin’, " says a dweller within its shadow, "fine and spacious, and nae scrimpin’ o’ masonry. Its lum taps would build a hoose in themselves." 

Through parks a former generation could pursue a right-of-way, coming out at Rocky Knowe. To-day, the route to the Loanhead Well, the scene of. plighted troths, and the rural glory of a once beautiful n