tion? ed the equally alarming violations ocean of ignorance and superstiand pollutions which attended the sacred record itself; has seen it disguised and mutilated by the surreptitious interpolations, or wanton omissions, of polemic theologists, and the sense perverted and abused by the disputatious cavils of arrogant and supercilious schoolmen, where ignorance and want of candor, self-conceit and intemperance directed their inquiries, enslaved their opinions, and depraved their judgments; when he has perceived it almost lost to mankind by the ignorance and superstition of papal priestcraft; when he shall have at tended it through its more cheering progress on the revival of learning, after reason, so long captive and confined within the fetters of monkish tyranny, again awoke to freedom and unrestrained exertion; when he shall have beheld its purity recovered, and its mutilated text restored; have known the labors which marked the life of a Wickliffe and a Luther, a Cranmer and a Latimer-he then only will be able to comprehend what infinite labor, what patient perseverance, what science, and what learning, are connected with the philosophy of religion; what attainments are necessary to be possessed, what talents exerted, in so wide a field, so intricate a maze of inquiry. To human learning mankind has been indebted for a second revelation; it was the instrument appointed by providence, by which a second time the light of the gospel was enkindled, and which has shone forth to this our day. It was when learning emitted its rays from the obscurity of the dark ages, that Luther, giant-like, arose from the general slumber, and restored to astonished Europe the gospel in its original character of purity and perfection. And have we not reason to expect that when science and learning shall cease to be cultivated, the sun of our righteousness will again set in darkness, and sink in the When reason was clouded by prejudice, and the understanding darkened by ignorance, the exertion of the divine power in miracles, or immediate fulfilment of familiar and long-expected prophecies, could alone be sufficient to establish the divine authority of the Christian religion. But when education and science have matured the understanding, and reason has discovered and felt the strength of its powers, it then wanders forth secure, in the labyrinths of inquiry-can trace the nature and attributes of the Deity in the perfection of his works: from observing its own freedom to will and do what is good, can discover its own deficiency in the purity of his sight, and, from the principles of natural justice, infer the punishment which such a defection from duty deserves, and the need of expiatory services. From these and similar modes of reasoning, and an inability to arrive at any certainty, it at length perceives the want of some supernatural communication; and when, by means of the same faculties, it shall have investigated and approved of the dispensation offered, and been satisfied of its authenticity, its purity, and perfection, from such internal and convincing proofs of reason, the soul becomes enabled to render to God the acceptable homage of faith in his promises, and the merits of his Son; of faith, not merely assenting, but quick and lively,-productive of all that benevolence and good will to mankind, for which the advent of the Saviour was proclaimed to the world. Religious poetry, in this age of the world, should take this high point of philosophical endeavor. If learning be so necessary to the religionist, more especially is it necessary to the religious poet. For every poet is an enthusiast. The ignorant enthusiast acts from the dictates of internal conviction, and his internal convictions proceed (at least according to his own ideas) from the knowledge of truth; but here he stops; he inquires no further, either how he came by them, or how far they are consistent with, or contrary to the great laws of natural reason and justice. His convictions, therefore, arise from no certain authority, nor are they confirmed by the decisions of cool and dispassionate judgment. By what motives his conduct may be directed is left to the doubtful operations of prejudice or passion; and by what argumenss defended, to the blind and partial system of inward feeling. Like the madman, who reasons right from wrong principles, he also takes for granted the truth of certain principles, of which his mind, neither enlightened by science, nor strengthened by learning, is unable to detect the error, or, if detected, remove; and on these he acts with all the impetuosity, and often real fortitude, which the occasions may demand. The poor man who fancies himself a king, and acts with the dignity which he is conscious should be attached to such a station, calls forth, indeed, more pity, but excites far less apprehension. To preserve the religious poet from this madness, and to prevent him from making others mad also, learning and science are indispensably necessary. the sublime recompense of love and friendship, which, however, are not external guerdons, but matters of the heart within,) but for the personal satisfaction which it was capable of affording to his own mind and feelings-for the honor which it could procure him from the great and good; and, above all, for the glory which would thereby accrue to his country. With no less worthy aims than these, should the poet, who is solicitous of genuine happiness, adopt the practice of the divinest of all arts. To give breath to that aspiration after those purer, lovelier, mightier, and sublime attributes of being, of which the germs are enfolded in the energies of this present life-to develope the processes of nature, and the antagonism of spirit, and to manifest those powers of growth and perfectibility, which are the instincts of the human soul, is a task of no vulgar attainment, and not at all to be reached by one who would make a trade of his inspiration, and set his feelings up to sale. In success from these sources of worldly prosperity, he may be disappointed; but the genius which looks to the more certain sources of success-in the increasing life of the eternal soul, the awakened and ever more awakening might of the indefatigable imagination, the heightened and ever more majestic stature of the immortal mind-shall find its reward in its own progression, in its union with universal being, its sympathy with unearthly intelligence, and its anticipation of those excelling states of power and glory, and beauty and blessedness, whereof the promise is the food of faith, which are themselves the objects of hope, and shall only be realized in the full development of the energies and activities of imperishable Klopstock looked on the art which he had adopted as one of sacred origin, and appears, with a truly Miltonic spirit, to have cultivated his faculties as a religious duty. Poetry he made the business of his life, and was not ashamed of it; indeed, he was anxious, at the outset of his career, to make it, if possible, his only business; and this is the true secret of excellence in a poet. He loved his art-for itself alone. He valued it not for love. any extrinsic reward, (if we except THE UNEARTHLY WITNESS. BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD. SIR,-With regard to the story which has reached you of the late consternation caused at Castle Gower, by the return of William Tibbers from the grave, and the events following on that phenomenon, I am without doubt enabled to write you at great length. And if a man is allowed to take the evidence of his own senses, I am entitled to vouch for the truth of a part of my narrative. thing I know, and there is no worse mark of a man-he was abhorred by his servants, and I do not think one of them would ever have staid a second season with him for double wages. Such was the man, of whose fate you are pleased to inquire, and of whose singular destinies I am now to give you an account. When the good Sir John died, You knew Mr. William Tibbers, Mr. Tibbers was chosen by the reat least I remember of your having latives as acting trustee or factor, met with him. He was a man of on the estate of which he got his that specious cast, of that calm rea- will, for the young baronet was soning demeanor, that he had great abroad in the army; and the rest of influence with all the gentlemen of the trustees, knowing the late Sir the county, and could have carried John's embarrassments, cared not any public measure almost that he to trouble their heads much about pleased among them, so purely dis- it. And, in short, after an altercainterested did all his motives and tion of six or seven years, between arguments appear. He was em- the young laird and the old factor, ployed by them all, as a factor, a the estate was declared bankrupt, valuator, a land-letter, and an um- and sold, and William Tibbers bepire in all debates. And then such came the purchaser of the best part general satisfaction he gave in all of it. The common people of our cases. O, there was no man like district made a terrible outcry about old Willie Tibbers! He was quite this; but the thing was not so exa public benefit to the country, and traordinary after all. It is rather a a credit to the class to which he common occurrence for the factor belonged. to become the laird, and I know six or seven very prominent instances of it as having occurred in my own remembrance. So far, so well. This was the opinion of the gentlemen concerning him, at least of all, save one or two, and their shakes of the head, and hems and haws, were quite drowned in the general buzz of approbation. But the sentiments of the common people relating to him differed widely from those of their superiors. They detested him; accounting him a hollow-hearted deceitful person; an extortioner, and one who stuck at no means, provided he could attain his own selfish purposes. They even accused him of some of the worst and most flagrant of crimes heard of among men; and I have heard them say they could prove them. This may, however, have originated in the violence of their prejudices; but there is one But the young baronet was neither to be holden nor bound. He came home in a great rage to expose the factor and get him hanged, and reverse all the sales of his father's property. As a prelude to this bold undertaking, he summoned a meeting of the friends and trustees of the family, before whom compeared the calm and specious William Tibbers. But the fury, the extravagance, and the utter defiance contained in the young soldier's accusations, had no weight when laid in the balance against the calm and strong reasoning of Tibbers, who concluded every statement by regretting, with tears, that the case was so, but he made it plain to them that it could not be otherwise. The friends only smiled at the indignation of the young baronet; but acquitted, on every charge, their respected friend, Mr. Tibbers. This decision drove the young soldier beyond all bounds. He threatened his ruinator with the High Court of Justiciary, of which Tibbers highly approved. He threatened him with every sort of vengeance which it is possible for one to inflict on another; and, finally, with a flogging every day when they met, until he should render him up his just rights. This last threat the soldier was not long in putting in execution, for no sooner had they left the court, than he began and gave him a good lashing with his hunting-whip, cursing him most potently all the while. Tibbers replied to all with a grin of despite, and these words, "Ö, how sweetly you shall repent of this!" He flogged him afterwards at the market of our county town, and another time at church, or at least on the way from it; on both of which times Tibbers resisted unto blood, which was fine diversion for the soldier, and made him double his stripes. The country gentlemen deprecated these outrages in unmeasured terms, and said it was a shame to see an old man maltreated in that manner, and that this young bully ought to be legally restrained, for it did not behove that he should be suffered to come among them and take the law into his own hand. Some of them ventured to expostulate with him, but he only sneered at them, and answered, that nobody knew how he had been used but himself, and that the old villain had not got one third of what he intend-, ed for him as yet; but he hoped he would live to see him hanged, that would be some comfort. The common people viewed the matter quite in a different light. They were grieved at the violence of the young baronet, who, for his father's sake, was their darling; but it was for his own safety alone that they feared, for they were sure that Tibbers was studying some secret and consummate vengeance upon him. He never in his life, they said, bore a grudge at any one whom he did not ruin; and yet the deed never appeared to proceed from him, and never had he got such cause of offence as from the young baronet. Their predictions were too soon fulfilled, though, in all probability, not in the way Tibbers premeditated. At this time an event happened, which seems to have changed the vantage ground of the parties in a very particular manner. Here there is a great hole in the ballad, as the old singers were wont to say. My narrative must grow confused, because the real events are not known to me, nor, as far as I can gather, to mortal man. All that was certainly known, is as follows: The soldier, who had been watching his opportunity, nay, straining every nerve to discover something that would show the man in his true colors, now gained his purpose. He discovered him in some deadly crime, with full proof of its commission; of this there is no doubt. But what that crime was, or whether committed at that time or on a former day, I declare I know not. Reports were various and contradictory. It was said, and believed, that the young baronet got his cue from a man who had once been a servant with Tibbers, and that he followed it out with such persistency, as to watch his enemy night and day till he made the discovery he wanted. I have examined this man oftener than once, and though he admits that "he has a sayan guid guess "what the offence was with which the captain charged Tibbers, he will not so much as give a hint concerning it; but, en the contrary, always try to mislead from one thing to another. This then is the first great blank in the narrative, for I dare not even mention some of the reports that were current among the common people. But one day, as Tibbers was standing among his harvest workers, the young baronet and Mr. Alexander M'Gill, a friend of his, and a relation of my own, came briskly up to him on foot. He, suspecting some new outrage, drew close to his work-people, and thus addressed his determined persecutor, "You had better refrain from any of your mad pranks to-day, spark; else, depend on it, I have those about me, will chastise you." "I don't regard these a pin," returned he; but I am come today with a different intention, namely, to make you a full and final recompense for all the favors you have so liberally bestowed upon my late father and me." "I have never done aught either to you or your father which the laws of my country will not support me in," said he ; "and while I have the law on my side, I defy you, and will yet revisit all your outrages upon your head seven-fold." 66 "O, it is a noble thing, the law of our country," exclaimed the soldier; "it is that which protects the innocent against the fangs of the oppressor, and bestows the due awards of justice on the villain and the wretch. And now to that blessed and infallible establishment I cheerfully resign you, old fellow. I have you on the hip now, and may honor blast my name if I do not follow up my advantage till I see you strapped like a worrying colley!" The young baronet then with a face of the most inveterate exultation, stepped forward, and in an under voice informed Mr. Tibbers of something, appealing to M'Gill as a witness. The old fellow drew himself up with a shiver that shook his whole frame; his countenance changed into the blue and pallid hue of death, his jaws fell down, and his whole frame became rigid, and there he stood gazing on his accusers as if in the phrenzy of de spair, until the malignant turned on his heel, and desired his humbled enemy to go to dinner with what stomach he had. This scene was witnessed by twenty people, although none of them heard the accusation. Tibbers spoke not a word; his spirit shrunk within him like that of a man going to execution. He drew his cloak closer about him, and hasted home to his house, in which were none but his two daughters. When there, he threw himself upon the bed, and exclaimed, "O, girls, I am ruined, I am ruined! I am gone! gone! gone! I am ruined and undone forever, and you are ruined and undone forever! We must fly from our country this night, this very night, or hide our faces where they can never be seen again! O death, death! I dare not cross your dark threshold of my own accord! And yet I would hide me in the depths of the grave.' In this way he continued raving on till towards the evening, and, as the girls declared afterwards, would tell them nothing, save that they were all three undone. At night he sent express for his attorney, who had conducted all his legal business, knew his parents, and was suspected to be even a greater villain than himself. The two consulted together the whole night, counted over a great deal of money, and early the next morning set off for the county town. The young baronet and Mr. M'Gill followed some hours after, as Tibbers well knew they would, to deliver him up into the hands of justice. But he was beforehand with them for that day, for when they arrived none of the functionaries were to be found, and nothing could be done. Tibbers must now have been put to his last shift; for it was perceived, that when the two gentlemen went up to the sheriff's house, that Tib-、 bers was watching them; and as they returned disappointed, he immediately made up to them and desired to speak with them. At first, |