CHAPTER THIRD.
-- It strikes an awe And terror on my aching sight; the tombs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a chillness to the trembling heart.
Mourning Bride.
Notwithstanding the impatience of my conductor, I could not forbear to pause and gaze for some minutes on the exterior of the building, rendered more impressively dignified by the solitude which ensued when its hitherto open gates were closed, after having, as it were, devoured the multitude which had lately crowded the churchyard, but now, enclosed within the building, were engaged, as the choral swell of voices from within announced to us, in the solemn exercises of devotion.

The sound of so many voices united by the distance into one harmony, and freed from those harsh discordances which jar the ear when heard more near, combining with the murmuring brook, and the wind which sung among the old firs, affected me with a sense of sublimity.

All nature, as invoked by the Psalmist whose verses they chanted, seemed united in offering that solemn praise in which trembling is mixed with joy as she addressed her Maker.

I had heard the service of high mass in France, celebrated with all the _e'clat_ which the choicest music, the richest dresses, the most imposing ceremonies, could confer on it; yet it fell short in effect of the simplicity of the Presbyterian worship.

The devotion in which every one took a share seemed so superior to that which was recited by musicians as a lesson which they had learned by rote, that it gave the Scottish worship all the advantage of reality over acting.
As I lingered to catch more of the solemn sound, Andrew, whose impatience became ungovernable, pulled me by the sleeve--"Come awa', sir--come awa'; we maunna be late o' gaun in to disturb the worship; if we bide here the searchers will be on us, and carry us to the guard-house for being idlers in kirk-time." Thus admonished, I followed my guide, but not, as I had supposed, into the body of the cathedral.