Minishant stands by
the roadside about 3 miles from Maybole, and is one of the neatest little
villages to be found in this district. Its trade is blanket-weaving, of the old
Scottish kind, for which purpose there are two factories, one driven by
water-power, the other by steam. Culroy burn crosses the road at the end of the
village, and a short way further stands a remarkably neat church erected by the
late Sir Peter Coats in memory of his wife. In the vestibule facing the entrance
door, is a striking figure in marble, from a drawing by Sir Noel Paton,
representing the risen Christ, with the following inscription beneath : - This
church is built to the glory of God, and in memory of Gloriana Mackenzie, the
beloved wife of Sir Peter Coats, Auchendrane. She died 21st April, 1877. Psa.
84. 4." The stained-glass window above contains representations of an
Anchor and a Stag’s Head, the emblems respectively of the Coats and the
Mackenzie families. Internally, the church is exceedingly neat and comfortable,
and is furnished with a fine harmonium. Behind, there is a Reading Room and a
Library, with the Church-officer’s house below.
The church is seated for 300
persons, and is well attended, especially in the summer months.. Before the
church was built, evening service was held in the small school by the burnside,
which is now demolished, and in which the children, to be out of the way, used
to squat on the floor, or sit on the window-sills. But all this
is altered now, and
the Memorial Church has been found to supply a felt need. The site was granted
free by Mr Paterson of Monkwood, whose mansion house adjoins; and the services,
since the church was built, have been conducted by eight ministers of the
various Presbyterian denominations around. Within the grounds of Monkwood,
between forty and fifty years ago, there resided one of those retiring geniuses
who are a credit to their country, and whose name should in no wise be
forgotten. This was Mr James Smith of Monkwood Grove. He corresponded regularly
with Sir William Hooker, and furnished him with much valuable information on
botanical subjects, which he incorporated into his works. He now lies in the old
churchyard of Ayr, where a suitable monument has been erected, bearing the
following inscription: "Erected by his friends and admirers in memory of Mr
James Smith, Botanist, Monkwood Grove, who died 1st January, 1848, aged 88
years. This simple monument to the Father of Scottish Botany will direct the
many students who profited by his kind gratuitous instructions in the science of
Botany, where the tear of fond remembrance may mingle with the dust of a dear
and true friend." Mr Smith was merely the tenant of an orchard, so far as
worldly business went, but intellectually he was a light to all around on the
subject of his favourite science, and was resorted to by gentle and simple in
quest of information or advice.*
A short way farther
on stands, by the banks of the Doon, the handsome modern mansion of Auchendrane
(James Coats, Esq.), erected on the site of the old castle of the Mures. The
story of this family connects itself with the slaughter of the Laird of Bargany,
already narrated. Bargany being slain, and the king (James VI.) refusing to call
my lord of Cassillis to account, it was left to some of the Bargany party to
take up the avengement for themselves; and the prime mover in this Vendetta was
Mure of Auchendrane. To get at the Earl himself might not be so easy a matter;
but iii those days of rough justice it was considered quite sufficient if you
could get at a relative.
And so it was
resolved that means should be taken to make away with the Earl’s uncle—Thomas,
the laird of Culzean— who had been personally present at the fight, and who
was considered a chief adviser of his lordship. Now it so happened that this
Thomas was preparing to go to Edinburgh on some business, and had sent word to
the laird of Auchendrane to that effect. The lad who brought the message was a
poor student named Dalrymple, and he was bribed to return, saying that the laird
was not at home. Auchendrane now gathered some of the Bargany faction, and made
known to them this intended journey of poor Culzean. They resolved to lie in
wait for him, and so, as he was riding past St. Leonard’s, near where the
present race-course stands, they set upon and slew him, in revenge for the death
of their kinsman. Auchendrane now sought to keep Dalrymple out of the way. He
sent him to Arran, to the Continent, to several places, but he always turned up
on their hands; and so, at last, on the plea that "dead men tell no
tales," he decoyed him down to Chapel Donan, near Girvan, and there, with
the help of James Bannatyne, one of his retainers, murdered him. But Bannatyne
now, in turn, became Auchendrane’s terror, and so he tried to make away with
him too. But Bannatyne was too quick for him. He went and delivered himself up
to justice, and confessed everything. The result was that Auchendrane and his
son were both hanged. This gloomy story has been dramatised by Sir Walter Scott,
under the title of "Auchendrane, or the Ayrshire Tragedy."
*
Mr
Smith was exceedingly sympathetic, an amusing instance of which is thus recorded
by Hugh Ainslie in his Pilgrimage to the Land of Burns :—" A brown beech, and one who was a chief among his
tribe, had at one time thrown his arms so wantonly abroad, as to shadow and
injure considerably several others of a different family that grew within his
reach. After deliberating upon the extent of these extending injuries, Mr Smith
condemned him to the axe. Taking up his instrument of execution, he went forth
to finish his award, but when he came to where the noble spoiler stood, waving
away in all his brown majesty, he had not power withal to lift his hand. Evil
reports, however, thickening against this vegetable invader, he again sallied
forth, and again returned as before. At last, he rushed forth at full speed,
that his purpose might not cool, shut his eyes when he drew near, groped his way
to the offender’s trunk, and, ere he opened them, gave him a few irreparable
gashes; then slowly, with a sigh to each stroke, finished the work of
justice."
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Minishant is a bonnie wee
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