Many a long winter night have I listened to the feats of Ewen-a-chin-vig, the faithful and indefatigable guardian of his ancient family, in the hour of their last and greatest trial, affording an example worthy the imitation of every chief,—­perhaps not beneath the notice of Glengarry himself.

About a dozen years since some symptoms of Ewen’s decay gave very general alarm to his friends.  He accosted one of his own people (indeed he never has been known to notice any other), and, shaking him cordially by the hand, he attempted to place him on the saddle behind him, but the uncourteous dog declined the honour.  Ewen struggled hard, but the clown was a great, strong, clumsy fellow, and stuck to the earth with all his might.  He candidly acknowledged, however, that his chief would have prevailed, had it not been for a birch-tree which stood by, and which he got within the fold of his left arm.  The contest became very warm indeed, and the tree was certainly twisted like an osier, as thousands can testify who saw it as well as myself.  At length, however, Ewen lost his seat for the first time, and the instant the pony found he was his own master, he set off with the fleetness of lightning.  Ewen immediately pursued his steed, and the wearied rustic sped his way homeward.  It was the general opinion that Ewen found considerable difficulty in catching the horse; but I am happy to learn that he has been lately seen riding the old mouse-coloured pony without the least change in either the horse or the rider.  Long may he continue to do so!

Those who from motives of piety or curiosity have visited the sacred island of Iona, must remember to have seen the guide point out the tomb of Ewen, with his figure on horseback, very elegantly sculptured in alto-relievo, and many of the above facts are on such occasions related.

JOCK AND HIS MOTHER.

Ye see, there was a wife had a son, and they called him Jock; and she said to him, “You are a lazy fellow; ye maun gang awa’ and do something for to help me.”  “Weel,” says Jock, “I’ll do that.”  So awa’ he gangs, and fa’s in wi’ a packman.  Says the packman, “If you carry my pack a’ day, I’ll gie you a needle at night.”  So he carried the pack, and got the needle; and as he was gaun awa’ hame to his mither, he cuts a burden o’ brackens, and put the needle into the heart o’ them.  Awa’ he gaes hame.  Says his mither, “What hae ye made o’ yoursel’ the day?” Says Jock, “I fell in wi’ a packman, and carried his pack a’ day, and he gae me a needle for’t, and ye may look for it amang the brackens.”  “Hout,” quo’ she, “ye daft gowk, you should hae stuck it into your bonnet, man.”  “I’ll mind that again,” quo’ Jock.