been in the hands of
somebody's father, or grandfather; but at last we had no reason to
believe they were other than Irish. Martin mentions Irish, but never any
Earse manuscripts, to be found in the Islands in his time.

I suppose my opinion of the poems of Ossian is already discovered. I
believe they never existed in any other form than that which we have
seen. The editor, or author, never could shew the original; nor can it
be shewn by any other; to revenge reasonable incredulity, by refusing
evidence, is a degree of insolence, with which the world is not yet
acquainted; and stubborn audacity is the last refuge of guilt. It would
be easy to shew it if he had it; but whence could it be had? It is too
long to be remembered, and the language formerly had nothing written. He
has doubtless inserted names that circulate in popular stories, and may
have translated some wandering ballads, if any can be found; and the
names, and some of the images being recollected, make an inaccurate
auditor imagine, by the help of Caledonian bigotry, that he has formerly
heard the whole.

I asked a very learned Minister in Sky, who had used all arts to make me
believe the genuineness of the book, whether at last he believed it
himself? but he would not answer. He wished me to be deceived, for the
honour of his country; but would not directly and formally deceive me.
Yet has this man's testimony been publickly produced, as of one that held
Fingal to be the work of Ossian.

It is said, that some men of integrity profess to have heard parts of it,
but they all heard them when they were boys; and it was never said that
any of them could recite six lines. They remember names, and perhaps
some proverbial sentiments; and, having no distinct ideas, coin a
resemblance without an original. The persuasion of the Scots, however,
is far from universal; and in a question so capable of proof, why should
doubt be suffered to continue? The editor has been heard to say, that
part of the poem was received by him, in the Saxon character. He has
then found, by some peculiar fortune, an unwritten language, written in a
character which the natives probably never beheld.

I have yet supposed no imposture but in the publisher, yet I am far from
certainty, that some translations have not been lately made, that may now
be obtruded as parts of the original work. Credulity on one part is a
strong temptation to deceit on the other, especially to deceit of