WHITEADDER AND LAUDERDALE 



as in the wicked south, and in the still worse play- 

 grounds of the denationalised Highlands ; for this 

 is Scotland proper, real, typical, sturdy old Scotland, 

 not a portion of the Gaelic fringe leased out to Eng- 

 lishmen, Americans, and Israelites. Practically no 

 southerner or alien ever treads this quiet street or 

 throws a fly in these waters, or even shoots the grouse 

 upon the hills. 



If you go to church on Sunday, at the Old Parish 

 Kirk you will find it well packed with men as well as 

 women, who as vocalists leave nothing in the way of 

 fervour to be desired. You will hear an admirable 

 sermon, too, from a minister who is not only a theo- 

 logian, but as a naturalist and antiquarian and essayist 

 has illuminated the wild heart of the Lammermuirs 

 to the great delectation of Edinburgh and Scottish 

 readers generally. As you are borne out of church 

 with the full flowing tide of worshippers, you are pretty 

 sure to meet the other tide pouring down the wide 

 street from the opposition place of worship — that of 

 the United Free Church. This is the moment when 

 Lauder looks really animated and lively, for it is a 

 thoroughly church-going place. Moreover, it is no 

 longer incumbent upon a Scotsman to dissemble his 

 feeUngs on emerging from the kirk. He may now 

 show that he is cheerful and happy, and freely exercise 

 those social instincts that for no occult reason seem 

 common to all congregations on their escape into the 

 open air. 



The Lauder burgesses used to ride their bounds on 

 the king's birthday, finish up with a horse-race down 

 the street, drink the king's health in front of the 



379 



