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tions to a grain, is evidently, in the first place, that of composition of modification. A grain is a certain combination of particles, arranged in that particular manner which we behold, from which we obtain a complete idea of it. Now when this grain is sowed in the earth, a decomposition of its parts immediately takes place, and that very instant in which any of its particles is destroyed, and consequently when the identity of modification and of numerical particles is destroyed, the grain dies. Still, however, some radical statement remains, which is quickened into future life; and in this view, all that is thrown off is but a mere excrescence, sufficient to destroy the original identity which consisted in the union of all the parts, but insufficient to prevent returning life.

D. But can the future grain be said to be the same grain which was sown?

C. In one sense, it is not, in another, it is. It is not the same in all its numerical particles, neither is it the same in the modification of them: but as this stamen of life, was actually included in the parent grain, and formed a part of it, it is really the same that was sown, though quickened into another life, through the separation of the particles of the parent grain of which it formed an essential part.

D. I believe here is another Parson coming. Curse the Parsons, it is all their fault that I have thus exposed myself. I beg you will say no more.

C. Permit me then to give you this wholesome piece of advice. Whenever you get into company with strangers, be careful how you attack them, unless you get better qualified to defend what you advance.

D. I certainly shall take your advice. But I am determined when I get to London, to read Volney with attention, and to fortify myself with arguments.

C. If you are resolved to espouse the cause of infidelity, you have certainly formed a very prudent resolution. Permit me, Sir, to ask you plainly, did you ever read either Volney or Paine? D. That is a close question, but I will answer frankly, I have

not.

C. Well really I admire your candour, but prey how came you by their names?

D. I belong to a club in London, in which these books are read, and their principies discussed.

C. But what could induce you, sensible as you must have been of your own deficiency, to commence an attack upon me as soon as we mounted the coach?

D. I thought you were a country farmer, and I wanted to have a little fun.

C. Did you not suspect when you began that you were com mitting yourself?

D. I had my suspicions after a little while, but I had gone

too far to retreat.

C. It was a conviction of this fact which induced me to accept your challenge. But pray how do you like the fun you have had? kaza, sn

D. Just as you may suspect. I would not have had any of my acquaintances in company for fifty guineas.

I on

C. Well, sir, you have left me in possession of all my arguments; you have assented to the leading features of christianity? and have not had one word to oppose to what I have delivered. I do not conceive that all I have advanced is conclusive. ly spoke from the impulse of the occasion and the moment; but I am confident that the ground on which I have stood is perfectly tenable; and the event has proved, that what I have advanced, has imposed silence on you. I claim no merit in conquering you, for this even a child might have done; my only merit consists in attacking you when you held out such a terrific front.

D. I beg you will drop the discourse; we are getting into town, and I fear the people will hear us.

C. Sir, I will say no more. I thank you for preserving your temper, and recommend to your notice that Bible which you have been taught to despise.

A PRISONER AMONG THE INDIANS.

Narrative of John Slover, who was taken prisoner by the Miamese Tribe of Indians, and of his escape from them.-American Magazine.

THE following account of the wonderful deliverance of John Slover, an American soldier, from the Indians, who had condemned him, with many other prisoners, to be burnt, is extracted from his narrative, inserted in Richard Parkinson's Tour in America, published at London in 1805. Richard Parkinson, late of Orange-Hill, near Baltimore, wrote the "Experienced Farmer," and has been considered as an author of undoubted credit.

"I was taken," says John Slover, "from New River, in Virginia, by the Miamese, a nation of the Indians, by us called the Picts, amongst whom I lived six years. Afterwards being sold to a Delaware, and by him put into the hands of a trader, I was carried amongst the Shawanese, with whom I continued six years; so that my whole time amongst these nations was twelve

years; that is, from the eight to the twentieth year of my age. At the treaty of Fort Pitt, in the fall preceding what is called Dunmore's war, (which, if I am right, was in the year 1773) I came in with the Shawanese nation to the treaty; and meeting with some of my relations at that place, was by them solicited to relinquish the life of a savage, which I did with some reluctance, this manner of life having become natural to me, inasmuch as I had scarcely known any other. I enlisted as a soldier in the continental army at the commenceme, t of the present war, (the American war) and served fifteen months. Having been properly discharged, I have since married, have a family, and am in communion with the church.

Having been a prisoner among the Indians many years, and so being well acquainted with the country west of the Ohio, I was employed as a guide in the expedition under Colonel William Crawford, against the Indian towns on or near the river Sandusky, in the year 1782. On Tuesday, June 4, we fought the enemy near Sandusky, and lay that night in our camp. The next day we fired on each other at the distance of 300 yards, doing little or no execution.

In the evening of that day, it was proposed by colonel Crawford, as I have been since informed, to draw off with order; but at the moment of our retreat, the Indians (who had probably perceived that we were about to retire) firing alarm-guns, our men broke and rode off in confusion, treading down those whe were on foot, and leaving the wounded men, who supplicated to be taken with them.

I was, with some others, on the rear of our troops, feeding our horses in the glade, when our men began to break. The main body of our people had passed by me a considerable distance before I was ready to set out. I overtook them before they crossed the glade, and was advanced almost in front. The company of five or six men, with which I had been immediately connected, and who were at some distance to the right of the main body, had separated from me, and endeavoured to pass a morass; for, coming up. I found their horses had stuck fast in the morass, and, endeavouring to pass, mine also, in a short time, stuck fast. I tried a long time to disengage my horse, until I could hear the enemy just behind me, and on each side, but in vain. Here then I was obliged to leave him. The morass was so unstable, that I was to the middle in it, and it was with the greatest difficulty that I got across it; but which having at length done, I came up with the six men, who had left their horses in the same manner I had done; two of these, my companions, having lost their guns.

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