appeared in the thickest of the fray, mounted on a snow-white charger, leading his beloved Spaniards to victory. Now the conquestador freely admits that he himself did not behold the saint; on the contrary, what he did see in that particular spot was a cavalier named Francisco de Morla, riding on a chestnut horse. But does he, on that account, puff himself up with pride, and declare that his more fortunate comrades were mistaken? By no means! He is as firmly convinced of the presence of the vision as if it had been apparent to his eyes, and with admirable modesty lays all the blame upon his own unworthiness. "Sinner that I am!" he exclaims devoutly, "why should I have been permitted to behold the blessed apostle?" In the same spirit, honest Peter Walker strained his sight in vain for a glimpse of the ghostly armies that crossed the Clyde in the summer of 1686, and, seeing nothing, was content to believe in them, all the same, on the testimony of his neighbors.
Sir Walter Scott, who appears to have wasted a good deal of time in trying to persuade himself that he put no faith in spirits,
