and it still lives in Lady John Scott, who has sung of _The Bonnie Bounds of Cheviot_ as if the mantle of the Border minstrels had fallen upon her. After all, the ballads of Yarrow and Ettrick, of the Merse and Teviotdale, owe their superior fame as much as anything to the happy chance that the Wizard of Abbotsford dwelt in the midst of them, and seizing upon them before they were forgotten, made them and the localities classical. Other districts have in this way been despoiled to some extent of their proper meed of honour. Fortune as well as merit has favoured the Border Minstrelsy in the race for survival and for precedence in the popular memory. But Galloway, a land pervaded with romance, claims at least one ballad that can rank with the best. _Lord Gregory_ has aliases and duplicates without number. But the scene is always Loch Ryan and some castled island within sight of that arm of the sea, whither the love-lorn Annie fares in her boat 'wi' sails o' the light green silk and tows o' taffetie,' in quest of her missing lord: '"O row the boat, my mariners, And bring me to the land! For yonder I see my love's castle Close by the salt sea strand."' Alas! cold is her welcome as she stands with her young son in her arms, and knocks and calls on her love, while 'the wind blaws through her yellow hair, and the rain draps o'er her chin.' A voice, that seems that of Lord Gregory, bids her go hence as 'a witch or a wil' warlock, or a mermaid o' the flood'; and with a woful heart she turns back to the sea and the storm. And when he wakes up from boding dreams to find his true love and his child have been turned from his door, it is too late. His cry to the waves is as vain as Annie's cry to that 'ill woman,' his mother, who has betrayed them: '"And hey, Annie, and how, Annie! O Annie, winna ye bide?" But aye the mair that he cried Annie, The braider grew the tide. "And hey, Annie, and how, Annie! Dear Annie, speak to me!" But aye the louder he cried Annie, The louder roared the sea.'