rounded by faithless ministers.' The people never attribute his crimes, his errors, or his faults, to himself,

Why then should subjects love their king? Because he is, above every thing, the representative of the old times, of the recollections of infancy, the depository of that blind confidence, which at an early age we are obliged to grant, and which we withdraw only when sad experience constrains us. Because he is the king of our fathers; and that name recalls to us, the time when we still had about us those first objects of our affections, and when they took upon themselves, for us, all the cares of life. It is he, or the son, or the grandson of him, who reigned in the good old times, the times which we supposed to be free from abuse, because abuses did not come to our knowledge. When the historian reviews the events of several ages, the wickedness, the abuse of power, of which some dynasties have been guilty, he often searches in vain for the causes of the love, confidence, and gratitude of the people; but the causes are within themselves. It is not the king that they love, but the old time, and the old time is that of their infancy.

Respect for ancient families, for ancient authorities, for ancient laws, for an ancient constitution, is also of the same nature. Time is the great enemy of our race, and every thing that has triumphed over time, becomes dear to us by that title. But most frequently, it is less the antiquity that we love in things that are old, than our own infancy; by a singular association the two ideas, almost always present themselves to us united. Our respect for the old time, would be very cold, without the remembrance of our early years; and the act of our memory which awakens a vague sentiment of love, is the return towards a period, in which we loved ourselves better.

Every religion offers in its turn, as a certain proof of its heavenly origin, that instinctive respect for its mysteries, which reappears after a long interval in the hearts of those, who it

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

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 enclo

sure.

On the slab rests the base of the monument nine feet