The ministers of Kells and Crosmichael were pelted with stones of eight pounds weight. On April 6, fire-balls floated through the cottage. When five ministers were present, “it made all the house shake, brake a hole through the thatch, and poured in great stones.” “It handled the legs of some as with a man’s hand;” it hoisted Mr. Telfair, Lennox of Millhouse, and others off the ground! A sieve flew through the house; Mackie caught it; a force gripped it, and pulled the interior part out of the rim. A day of humiliation was solemnly kept in the parish, which only excited the emulation of the disturbing agent; “it continued in a most fearful manner without intermission.” Voices were heard, which talked nonsense of a semi-scriptural kind; finally the thing died out early in May. By the way, on April 28, “it pulled down the end of the house, all the stone-work thereof.” This is a very odd case, as no suspicion is thrown on the children. The attestations of several witnesses are given, not only at the close, but for almost every separate incident. The vision of the white hand is agreeable. _The Devil of Glen Luce_, in Galloway, was published by Sinclair in his _Hydrostaticks_, of all places, in 1672, and again in _Satan’s Invisible World_, and by Glanvil in _Sadducismus Triumphatus_. In this affair a boy called Thomas, a son of the unlucky householder, was clearly the agent. The phenomena were stone-throwing, beating with sticks, levitation of a plate, and a great deal of voices, probably uttered by the aforesaid Thomas. The Synod ordered a day of humiliation (1655-56). The affair of the Drummer of Tedworth (1661) is, or ought to be, too well known for quotation. The troubles began after Mr. Mompesson seized the drum of a vagrant musician. In the presence of a clergyman, chairs walked about the room of themselves, “a bed-staff was thrown at the minister, but so favourably that a lock of wool could not have fallen more softly.” The children, as usual, were especially haunted. A jingling of money was common, as it also was at Epworth. Lights wandered about the house, “blue and glimmering.” The noise was persistent in the woodwork of the children’s beds, while their hands were outside. The knocks answered knocks made by visitors. There were divers other marvels. The Drummer was suspected, but, consciously or not, the children were probably the agents. They seem to have been in their usual health.[26] In Galashiels (date not given), loud knocks on the floor accompanied a hystero-epileptic girl wherever she sat. In bed, “her body was so lifted up that many strong men were not able to keep it down.” The minister, who could make nothing of her, was Mr. Wilkie; the girl was Margaret Wilson (Sinclair, p. 200).