was believed, had forever shaken off the yoke of their fathers' faith; those tardy conversions of persons who have been notorious for their worldly life, or their infidelity; that faith which triumphs over doubt, long after doubt had sapped the foundations of faith; the return of the Jew to his Tabernacle, of the Mohammedan to his Mosque, of the Bonze to his Pagoda, after their wanderings in the midst of Infidels; that intoxication of joy in a whole people, when Julian reestablished an ancient worship, with its old superstitions, which was supposed to have been long since deracinated by the growth of a better philosophy. An argument that all Religions can make use of, should not be conclusive for any; the fact is, it proves nothing, but the power of our recollections, and particularly of those of our infancy.

Every father of whatever religion, considers it his duty to give to his children, what he calls a religious education: that is to say, to teach them with care, the creed in which he was himself brought up, to strike the imagination with its miracles, to offer to their tender and ingenuous hearts, religion as an object of love, to allay the fears of ignorance by its consolations and its support. All the poetical powers of youth, those faculties so vigorous in early life, and which are weakened in proportion as frigid reason advances with a firmer step, are betimes associated with the national religion, whatever that may be. If parents doubt, they conceal it from their children, and always wish to transmit to them, a perfect faith, which they do not possess themselves. If that faith is contrary to the natural light of reason, to the fundamental principles of morality, and if the believer should find himself under the necessity of exercising his mind in the comparison of his creed with those of other sects, and of doubting that which he had taken for truth, the whole structure of his faith crumbles before his eyes, often before he finds time to build another; all his principles are shaken; he is tossed on a sea of uncertainty; his distrust extends to eve

ry thing, and he regrets the happy time when he believed, and disputed not. Then, let but disease or old age arrive, with their weakness and terrors, the faith of his youth, called however by him the creed of his fathers, will appear to him as a revelation, with all the charms of youth. It will recall to him all the hopes he had conceived, awaken his first love, which was extinguished in his frozen veins, and revive in his memory the fugitive dreams of an imagination that he possesses no more. He would believe, because in believing, he seems to begin life anew, and perhaps his faith would be sincere.

The recollections of infancy afford support to a prejudice favourable to every thing that exists, or that has existed, whether it be good or bad. They consequently perform a very important part in the social organization, since the first thing that men ought to seek in forming their institutions is a guarantee for their stability and duration. The power of the recollections of infancy acts as a bridle upon that innovating and unquiet spirit which is produced among the people by a time of hardship. If the constant desire of reform was alone listened to, no reform could ever take place, because none would have time to produce its proper fruits. But except in times of great suffering, the power of recollections has much more influence over the people, than the desire of reform, or the taste for change. Other prejudices also, are constantly in arms in favour of the established order, so that the terror of mind excited by innovation, and the distrust with which we regard the uneasiness of the people, are often totally destitute of foundation.

There is however, one case, in which the power of the recollections of infancy, and of the prejudices resulting therefrom, is arrayed againt the established order, and is able frequently to excite revolution, although the established order may not be very bad; it is that, in which the whole organization civil or religious, has already been changed by a revolution. It is the nature of the memory, which recalls to us a time different from the present, to efface the evil and to enhance the good; because memory always represents to us the new order of things and ourselves; but it represents ourselves as younger, more full of life, hope and enjoyment, bearing with ease the burthen of evil, less conscious of its existence and having more confidence in others and ourselves. When once a complete revolution has changed the government under which we have lived, after the lapse of a few years, we look upon the new order, with the sad views of advanced age, whilst we look back upon our former state, through the colorgiving prism of youth. If reformation has succeeded to the catholic worship, the old man regrets the pomp of the ancient church, which he saw in his youth, the magic of her mysteries, and that sincere faith, which, whilst it forbade examination, also excluded doubt. When a warlike usurper succeeds to a long dynasty of idle and peaceable kings, the old man regrets those times of peace and ignorance, when long abuses were buried in profound silence, and his ear not being assailed by complaint he did not believe in the existence of evil. If the conqueror should be overturned, and the legitimate king find himself again upon the throne, the nation regrets the glory, that it fed upon, in the days that are no more, and forgets the sacrifices, at the price of which, that glory was purchased.

This constant difference in our appreciation of the present and the past, this universal prejudice in favour of the regime we have lost, is one of the great causes of those long vibrations, which always follow political and religious revolutions, of those unexpected and often successful efforts, to restore an order of things, which was supposed to have no more partisans. History shows us these effects in every page, from the conspiracy of the sons of Brutus in Tarquin's favour, to the present day.

ART. IV. Monument to Captain Ross.

ACCOMPANYING this number of the Analectic Magazine, is a correct architectural view of a monument erected in Philadelphia to the memory of Captain Charles Ross, a gentleman who was much esteemed and whose death in the prime of life and usefulness, caused general regret. The die presents four tablets for the inscriptions.

I. On the West Side.

In

Memoriam

Caroli Ross, Equitis
Turmae Equitum Ducis,
Qui Natus est Vto Otobris
MDCCLXXII,

Obiit VIIITM Octobris

MDCCCXVII

Etatis suæ

XLVI.

South Side.

'In the field; to the manly virtues of the soldier he joined the discipline, honour and deportment of the officer. In private life, the urbanity of the gentleman, the valuable qualities of the useful citizen, dutiful son, affectionate brother, sincere friend governed his conduct. Noble, generous, honourable, intrepid, he departed in the prime of life.

It is left for us to mourn his loss, to emulate his character, and by this testimony of our affection, to show our respect for his talents and his virtues.'

North Side.

This Monument

is erected by the Members of the
"First Troop Philadelphia City Cavalry,"
Friends and Associates

of their late Commander, Charles Ross;

of which Troop

He was a member 23 years
and Captain 6 years.

Consecrated

by Friendship to departed Worth.

The virtues

of the

Brave and Honourable

we cherish.

East Side.

Sacred

to the

Memory

of

Charles Ross.

How sleep the brave who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest.

The body decays; but the immortal
soul awaits the last trumpet's
joyful sound.

The monument is a specimen of much classick beauty and is probably the only one in our country in which the marble and bronze are united. It stands in an enclosure surrounded by a basement wall and iron railing. The foundation under ground, is an arch sprung upon walls five feet deep, and covered with solid brick two feet above the surface of the ground, which is sloped to conceal the brick work. The whole is covered by a slab marble fourteen feet by four, extending in length between the basement wall of the encloOn the slab rests the base of the monument nine feet