This tiny personage, though light of limb, has the reputation of being, like all other unearthly beings, endued with supernatural strength, of which his exploits with John M‘Charles afford an instance. Not many years ago, a man in Mull, when returning home about dusk, perceived a person on horseback coming towards him. Supposing it might be some person whom he knew, he went up to speak to him; but the horseman seemed determined to pass on without noticing him. Thinking he observed something remarkable in the appearance of the rider, he approached close to him, when he was unexpectedly seized by the collar, and forcibly dragged about a quarter of a mile by the stranger, who at last abandoned his hold, after several ineffectual attempts to place his terrified victim behind him, which, being a powerful man, he successfully resisted. He was, however, so much bruised in the scuffle, that it was with difficulty he could make his way home, although he had only about half a mile to go. He immediately took to his bed, which he did not leave for some days, his friends wondering all the time what could be the matter with him. It was not until he told the story, as we have related it, that the adventure was known. And as, after the strictest inquiry, it could not be ascertained that any person on horseback had passed that way on the evening on which it took place, it was, by the unanimous voice of all the seers and old wives in the neighbourhood, laid down as an incontrovertible proposition, that the equestrian stranger could be no other than “_Eoghan a chinn bhig_.” In whatever way the tradition originated, certain it is that, at one time, it was very generally, if not universally, received over the island of Mull and adjacent parts. Like other superstitions of a similar nature, it has gradually given way to the more enlightened ideas of modern times, and the belief is now confined to the vulgar. FOOTNOTES: [1] See introduction to “Peveril,” where the Scottish Novelist describes himself as wearing such old-fashioned habiliments. [2] While Sir Walter Scott resided at Ashesteil, Jock frequently visited him, and was much noticed, on account of his strange humours and entertaining qualities. [3] A respectable clergyman of our acquaintance, who is in the habit of preaching his elegant discourses with the help of M.S., was once extremely amused with the declaration of a hearer, who professed himself repugnant to that practice. “Doctor,” says he, “ye’re just a slave to the bit paper, and nane o’ us ha’e that respect for ye that we ought to ha’e; but to do ye justice, I maun confess, that since I changed my seat in the loft, and ha’na ye now sae fair atween my een, so that I can _hear_ without _seeing_ ye, fient a bit but I think ye’re just as good as auld _Threshin’ Willy_ himsel’!” [4] The Russiade, a poem, by James Hogg.