hardly worth while, madam, to bring us so far for this." And next
day the worthy men withdrew in dudgeon, but quite convinced that they had
discovered the agent in the hauntings.

But they had not!

On the other hand, Scott (who had seen one ghost, if not two, and had
heard a "warning") states that Miss Anne Robinson managed the Stockwell
disturbances by tying horsehairs to plates and light articles, which then
demeaned themselves as if possessed.

Here we have _vera causa_, a demonstrable cause of "stirs," and it may be
inferred that all the other historical occurrences had a similar origin.
We have, then, only to be interested in the persistent tradition, in
accordance with which mischievous persons always do exactly the same sort
of thing. But this is a mere example of the identity of human nature.

It is curious to see how Mr. Sinclair plumes himself on this Devil of
Glenluce as a "moliminous rampier" against irreligion. "This one
Relation is worth all the price that can be given for the Book." The
price I have given for the volume is Ten Golden Guineas, and perhaps the
Foul Thief of Glenluce is hardly worth the money.

"I believe if the Obdurest Atheist among men would seriously and in good
earnest consider that relation, and ponder all the circumstances thereof,
he would presently cry out, as a Dr. of Physick did, hearing a story less
considerable, 'I believe I have been in the wrong all the time--if this
be true.'"

Mr. Sinclair is also a believer in the Woodstock devils, on which Scott
founded his novel. He does not give the explanation that Giles Sharp,
alias Joseph Collins of Oxford, alias Funny Joe, was all the Devil in
that affair. Scott had read the story of Funny Joe, but could never
remember "whether it exists in a separate collection, or where it is to
be looked for."

Indifferent to evidence, Mr. Sinclair confutes the Obdurest Atheists with
the Pied Piper of Hamelin, with the young lady from Howells' "Letters,"
whose house, like Rahab's, was "on the city wall," and with the ghost of
the Major who appeared to the Captain (as he had promised), and scolded
him for not keeping his sword clean. He also gives us Major Weir, at
full length, convincing us that, as William Erskine said, "The Major was
a disgusting fellow, a most ungentlemanlike character." Scott, on the
other hand, remarked, long before "Waverley," "if I ever were to become a
writer of prose romances, I think I would choose Major