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 sed 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.

T

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

er of exciting them to deeds of war, either to gratify their vanity, their revengeful malignant passions, or to procure horses to ease them from the immense burthens they are sometimes compelled to carry.

The apparel of the women consists of a sort of petticoat of blue strouding, fastened to the waist, and reaching to the knees; a covering of like material over their shoulders and breasts; and leggings of blue or red cloth, as high as their knees. In the hot season, they generally appear without the two last articles; the men have nothing but a breech cloth and blanket, or buffaloe skin over their shoulders. The boys go entirely naked, and the girls are clothed with but little regard to decency. This is their ordinary costume; when the men want to appear to advantage, they daub their faces and bodies over with vermillion, have leggings ornamented with stained porcupine quills, and their blanket or buffaloe skin, fantastically painted.

The women in our lodge appeared fond of scolding; they exercise this talent upon their children, dogs, and each other with all the violence and gesticulation we are accustomed to witness among the lower class of whites: actual quarrelling however, is very rare; we have witnessed nothing of the kind, since we have been in the village. On the contrary, both men and women are generally in good spirits, lively, and social, and having plenty of corn and buffaloe meat, they appear happy and contented, go to sleep at night while they are singing, and are awoke in the morning by the same sort of music. Every morning the whole village, men women and children, bathe and wash themselves in the river. Their cleanliness in this respect, is very much at variance with their filthiness in other matters. The interior of their lodges are extremely dirty; their horses are generally brought into the village at night, tied near the owner's door, to secure them from their enemies: as the filth thereby occasioned, is