Scotland is an eminent example of this; and whoever takes the trouble to investigate the structure of Scottish society will, to a certainty, find that for half their virtues, and more than half their information, they are indebted to the presbyterian kirk. Nor is it by any means difficult to find out the reason: A religion of shows and of sounds,--of mummeries and of music,--must ever be a religion of the senses. How gaudy soever the trappings, and how fine soever the music, they can afford nothing more than a gratification of the senses at the time. Forms cannot exist vividly but in matter, and when the string of an instrument ceases to vibrate on the ear, the pleasure which it affords, however sweet or however delightful, is at an end: they enter not into reflection; they stimulate not the more rational and permanent faculties of the mind; and, though they may be made to influence, and influence powerfully, the passions, while they last, they leave no lesson which can be useful as a general rule of life. Hence, though the churches of Scotland be, compared with those of England, rude in the extreme; though the sacred music of Scotland be often the untutored attempt of nature, without the aid of flutes, hautboys, and violins, as in the poorer churches of England, or the solemn notes of the organ, as in the richer ones; and though the prayers of the Scottish preacher are generally couched in terms less stately and sublime than those of the service-book of the English church, yet we have the clearest proof that can be given of the superior efficacy of the Scottish mode of worship, in the superior veneration which the people of Scotland, without any hope or even possibility of earthly reward from it, pay to the rites and ordinances of religion, and especially to that most beneficial of all religious institutions, the setting apart of the sabbath as a day of calm tranquillity and holy meditation. I know not whether the Author of these pages, or the Sovereign of these realms, was the more delighted with the calm, sustained, and religious air of the people of the Athens and of Scotland, as they both proceeded from the palace of the Holyrood to the High Kirk, on the morning of Sunday, the 25th of August. A countless multitude thronged the street, and filled the windows and house-tops; they were habited in the neatest and cleanest manner; and their profound silence formed a wonderful contrast to the noise of their mirth upon the former occasions. There was not a cheer, a shout, or even a whisper; but, as the King passed along, the men lifted their hats, and the whole passed with the most sustained but respectful reverence. They appeared to respect their King, but to respect him less than they did the institutions of their God, and the simple sublimity of that religion which their own perseverance, faith, and courage, had gained them, in spite of the efforts of courtiers and kings, by whom its integrity, and even its existence, were menaced.