WHITEADDER AND LAUDERDALE 



current run down between the laird's lawns and woods 

 on the one side and the mossy knowes clad with ferns 

 and indigenous oaks upon the other. An ancient little 

 kirk, a manse, and a few scattered cottages make up 

 one of the most idyllic spots in the south of Scotland, 

 in ancient days, as its name implies, a religious settle- 

 ment of which scarce any trace is now left. 



Though but four miles from Grant's House on the 

 main line, it is virtually a cul-de-sac as regards roads, and 

 is entirely shut off from the outer world — all, that is to 

 say, but the world of wandering fishermen from both 

 sides of the Border. And as there is almost nowhere 

 nowadays for such wanderers to lay their heads on the 

 upper Whiteadder, very few come up at the back-end 

 of the season, and you may usually have as much water 

 as you could wish for to yourself. From Abbey St. 

 Bathans down to the flat, low country of Berwickshire, 

 the river pursues a romantic and tempestuous course ; 

 chafing in deep-channelled rocky flumes between fern- 

 draped walls and crags all beplumed with waving 

 tufts of birch and rowan, or spreading out in wider 

 streams and pools between the over-arching foliage of 

 great forest trees. Above all these miles of stirring 

 waters with their delightful blend of crag, heather, 

 bracken, and woodland, Cockburn Law lifts its purple 

 crown a thousand feet into the sky. Bird-Hfe is every- 

 where astir. The grouse, the partridge, the pheasant 

 are at close quarters here and in goodly numbers in 

 brake and brae ; cushats, sandpipers, water-ousels, 

 moorhens, wagtails, pied and grey, revel in the lush 

 abundance of everything their hearts most desire by 

 land and water. Broad and deep, too, are some of 



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