d editor of the _Cecil Whig_,
which was the Union organ of the county. Being a man of decided
convictions, and unflinching courage, he never lost an opportunity to
advocate the cause of the Union, to which he adhered with great
devotion, through evil and through good report.

In 1876 he disposed of the _Whig_ and the next year bought an interest
in the _Kansas Farmer_ and the _Juvenile Magazine_, published in Topeka,
Kansas. He subsequently became connected with the _Daily Capital_, and
eventually became sole proprietor of the _Kansas Farmer_. The climate of
Kansas not agreeing with him, he removed to Highlands, Macon county,
N.C., where in 1882 he established the _Blue Ridge Enterprise_ which he
soon afterwards disposed of, and in 1885 became the proprietor of the
_Midland Journal_, published in the village of Rising Sun, in this
county.

Mr. Ewing is a brilliant and forcible writer. Like many others Mr. Ewing
kept none of his poems except one which is too lengthy to be given a
place in this volume. In consequence of this the compiler has only been
able to obtain the following specimens of his poetry after great labor
and trouble.

THE CHERUBIM--A VISION.

'Twas at that season, when the gloom
Of cheerless Winter's pass'd away,
And flowers spring up, with sweet perfume,
To scent the breeze and cheer our way,
Where'er we saunter--o'er the hill,
Or through the valley--warm and still,
Or broken only by the sound
Of tinkling rills, which softly flow,
And busy bees, that hum around
The flowers which on their borders grow,
That I, from life's turmoil had strayed
To spend an hour in solitude;
And where a sparkling fountain played,
I laid me down, in pensive mood,
To ponder o'er the fleeting day
Of youth, that hies so fast away
In golden dreams which quickly fly,
Like tints that deck a Summer sky.

Soon Fancy, on her airy wing,
Was sporting mid Elysian bowers,
Where flowers of sweetest odor spring,
And birds of golden plumage sing,
And wanton thro' the sylvan bowers.
There lakelets sparkled in the glow,
Wreathed round with flowers of many a hue,
And golden pebbles shone below
The wave that bore the swan of snow,
Reflecting, in its mirror true,
The flowers which o'er its surface grew,
The tints of earth--the hues of sky--
That in its limpid bosom lie.
And groups of happy children played
Around the verge of each cascade;
Or gambol'd o'er the flowery lea
In wanton mirth