one of these men was very big, so much so that their like is not to be found now. “There is a little man here,” said he to his father, “who looks like a clever fellow, a Scotchman, and he is wishful to see you.” He spoke to him, and said, “Where did you come from? Give me your hand, Scotchman.” His son laid hold of the old coulter of a plough that lay there. He knotted a cloth around it. “Give him that,” said he to the Scotchman, “and don’t give him your hand.” The old man laid hold of the coulter, while the man held the other end in his hand. Instead of the coulter being broad, he made it round, and left the mark of his five fingers in it as if it were a lump of leaven. “You have a brave hand, Scotchman,” said he. “If your heart were as brave and clever, I would ask something of you that I never asked of another.” “What is that, man?” said he; “if there is anything that I can do, I shall do it.” “I would give you,” said he, “a whistle that I have here, and you will find out where Tomnahurich is near Inverness, and when you find it you will see a little grey rock on one side of it. When you go to the rock you will see about the size of a door, and the shape of a little door in the rock. Strike the point of your foot three times, and at the third time it will open.” He went away, and he reached and found the door. “When you open the door,” the old man said, “you will sound the whistle; you will sound it thrice. At the third sounding all that are within will rise along with you; and if you be clever enough to do that, you, and your son, and your grandson, and your great-grandson, will be the better of it.” He gave the first sound on the whistle. He looked, and he stopped. The dogs that lay near the men stretched their legs, and all the men moved. He gave the second sound. The men rose on their elbows, and the dogs sat up. The man turned to the door and became frightened. He drew the door after him. They all cried out, “Left us worse than he found us; left us worse than he found us.” He went away running. He came to a little fresh water loch that was there, and he threw the whistle into the loch. I left them. These specimens give a good idea of the popular prose literature of the Highlands. Whence it was derived it is difficult to say. It may have originated with the people themselves, but many portions of it bear the marks of having been derived even, as has been said, from an Eastern source, while the last tale which has been transcribed above gives the Highland version of an old Scottish tradition. POETRY.