The probability of a change of religion on the part of an entire people may, it is true, be argued on the adverse, as well as on the favorable side, and with great appearance of reason. The obstinacy of the human mind in adhering to the worse, even when the better is presented to its choice, seems not seldom to possess the invincibility of a physical law; and it has been found as impracticable to reform an absurd usage, as to remodel the national physiognomy. How often have both reason and despotism been baffled in their endeavors to effect even a trivial alteration in ancient usages or costumes; and there has been room to suppose, that the tenacity of life belonging to customs or opinions, bears direct proportion always to their absurdity and their mischievous consequence. The high antiquity, and the still unbroken force of the Asiatic idolatries, in themselves so hideous, so burdensome, and so sanguinary, stand forth as appalling confirmations of the truth, that whatever has once gained for itself the sanction of time, may boldly defy the assaults of reason. And then, when religious opinions and practices are to question, we have not merely to break through the iron law of immemorial usage, but to encounter the living opposition of the priesthood, already firmly seated in the cloud-girt throne of supposed supernatural power, and interested as deeply as men can be who have at stake their civil existence, and their credit, and their means of luxurious idleness. Again, in most instances, ancient religious opinions have sent down their roots through the solid structure of the civil institutions of the people:—the old superstition is an oak that was sown by the builder of the state, and has actually pervaded the entire foundations, and forms now the living bond-timber, to remove which would be to bring to the ground the whole tottering masonry of the social system. When this side of the question has been long and exclusively contemplated, the schemes of missionary zeal may seem to be utterly chimerical; or if not chimerical—dangerous. But the friends of mankind do not forget that the very same objects may be viewed in another light. Even before particular facts are appealed to, an hypothesis of an opposite kind may plausibly be advanced. It may be alleged that Opinion—the invisible power that rules the world—is a name without substance, which, though omnipotent so long as it is thought to be so, vanishes quicker than a mist, when once suspected to be impotent. It might also with great appearance of reason be affirmed as a universal law of the moral world, that the better, when fairly brought into collision with the worse, possesses an infallible certainty of ultimate prevalence.