The Highland ‘Bobadil,’ MacGregor, is said to have appeared publicly in London, both in street and park, and that, as he was walking in front of St. James’s Palace, the Duke of Argyle pointed him out to George I., or according to another version, George II.; and that at the sight, the king declared, he had never seen a handsomer man in the Highland garb. This was probably one of the floating stories of the time, lacking foundation, save that a plaided Scotsman may have been seen near the palace; thence came the story. ◆[Sidenote: _ROB ROY IN LONDON._]◆ With a fictitious story of Rob’s exploits, the Londoners, however, were familiar. This appeared in a history called the ‘The Highland Rogue.’ Scott describes it as ‘a catchpenny publication. In this book, Rob is said to be a species of ogre with a beard of a foot in length; and his actions are as much exaggerated as his personal appearance.’ It seems to have been made up of details in which there was much inaccuracy and still more invention. Seven years after the release from Newgate, Rob Roy died at Innerlochlarig-beg, on the 28th of December, 1734. He was buried in Balquhidder churchyard, half a dozen miles from where he died, and he was, at the time of his death, sixty-three years and some odd months old. An honest man, one who served his country well, but who has not been celebrated in romance like Rob Roy, was missed from the Southwark side of the Thames, where his figure had been daily familiar for a long period to the inhabitants, namely, Sir Rowland Gwyn. On the last Monday in January, this venerable baronet died. The ultramontane Jacobites had little respect for him. When Sir Rowland was M.P. for Radnor, in King William’s reign, he brought in the Bill for settling the Protestant Succession in the House of Hanover. For some time Sir Rowland was our ‘Resident’ in Hanover; but he displeased Queen Anne’s Ministry, withdrew to Hamburg, and did not return to England till the accession of George I. After figuring in London for a time, hard circumstances drove him to live in the Liberties of the King’s Bench, and there, after having been familiarly known to, and diversely treated by, both Whigs and Tories, the old ultra-Protestant Baronet died, somewhat miserably. [Sidenote: _A NOTE OF ALARM._]