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adee, and visited the counties of Down and Derry. I am not very sure about giving you up Meg Merrilies quite so easily; I have reason to think, she was a Marshal, and not a Gordon: and we folks in Galloway think this attempt of the Borderers, to rob us of Meg Merrilies, no proof that they have become quite so religious and pious, as your author would have us to believe, but rather that, with their religion and piety, they still retain some of their ancient habits. We think this attempt to deprive us of Meg Merrilies almost as bad as that of the descendants of the barbarous Picts, now inhabiting the banks of the Dee in Aberdeenshire, who some years ago attempted to run off with the beautiful lyric of Mary's Dream; and which we were under the necessity of proving, in one of the courts of Apollo, to be the effusion of Low's muse, on the classic and romantic spot, situated at the conflux of the Dee and the Ken, in the stewartry of Galloway. But to return from this digression to Billy Marshal:—I will tell you every thing more about him I know; hoping this may catch the eye of some one who knew him better, and who will tell you more.

Billy Marshal's account of himself was this: he was born in or about the year 1666; but he might have been mistaken as to the exact year of his birth; however, the fact never was doubted, of his having been a private soldier in the army of King William, at the battle of the Boyne. It was also well known, that he was a private in some of the British regiments, which served under the great Duke of Marlborough in Germany, about the year 1705. But at this period, Billy's military career in the service of his country ended. About this time he went to his commanding officer, one of the M'Guffogs of Ruscoe, a very old family in Galloway, and asked him if he had any commands for his native country: being asked if there was any opportunity, he replied, yes; he was going to Keltonhill fair, having for some years made it a rule never to be absent. His officer knowing his man, thought it needless to take any very strong measure to hinder him; and Billy was at Keltonhill accordingly.

Now Billy's destinies placed him in a high sphere; it was about this period, that, either electively, or by usurpation, he was placed at the head of that mighty people in the south west, whom he governed with equnl prudence and talent for the long space of eighty or ninety years. Some of his admirers assert, that he was of royal ancestry, and that he succeeded by the laws of hereditary succession; but no regular annals of Billy's house were kept, and oral tradition and testimony weigh heavily against this assertion. From any research I have been able to make, I am strongly disposed to think, that, in this crisis of his life, Billy Marshal had been no better than Julius Cæsar, Richard III., Oliver Cromwell, Hyder Ally, or Napoleon Bonaparte: I do not mean to say, that he waded through as much blood as some of those, to seat himself on a throne, or to grasp at the diadem and sceptre; but it was shrewdly suspected, that Billy Marshal had stained his character and his hands with human blood. His predecessor died very suddenly, it never was supposed by his own hand, and he was buried as privately about the foot of Cairnsmuir, Craig Nelder, or the Corse of Slakes, without the ceremony, or, perhaps more properly speaking, the benefit of a precognition being taken, or an inquest held by a coroner's jury. During this long reign, he and his followers were not outdone in their exploits, by any of the colonies of Kirk-Yetholm, Horncliff, Spital, or Lochmaben. The following anecdote will convey a pretty correct notion, of what kind of personage Billy was, in the evening of his life; as for his early days, I really know nothing more of them than what I have already told.

The writer of this, in the month of May 1789, had returned to Galloway after a long absence: he soon learned that Billy Marshal, of whom he had heard so many tales in his childhood, was still in existence. Upon one occasion he went to Newton-Stewart, with the late Mr M'Culloch of Barholm and the late Mr Hannay of Bargaly, to dine with Mr Samuel M'Caul. Billy Marshall then lived at the hamlet or clachan of Polnure, a spot beautifully situated on the burn or stream of that name: we called on our old hero,—he was at home,—he never denied himself,—and soon appeared;—he walked slowly, but firmly towards the carriage, and asked Mr Hannay, who was a warm friend of his, how he was?—Mr Hannay asked if