As a priest, with all the assurance of an eye-witness—of an equal and of intimate and long continued communion, he bears testimony for the divinities. He gives a minute description of their physical appearance, their dwelling place, and their attendants. He reveals their disposition, their powers and their employments, as one who has been with them. He dictates prayers and chants, institutes fasts and feasts, dances and sacrifices. He defines sin and its opposite and their respective consequences. In short, he imposes upon the people a system of demonism and superstition, to suit their depraved tastes and passions, and caprices, and circumstances, and interests as savages, with an air of authority and with a degree of cunning which does seem to be almost superhuman—a system so artfully devised, so well adapted to them, so congenial to them, that it readily weaves itself into, and becomes a part of them, as really as the woof becomes a part of the texture, ensuring their most obsequious submission to its demands. It becomes part of their body, soul and spirit. They breathe and speak, and sing and live it. It is not something that can be assumed and laid off at pleasure. In the character of a priest, the influence of these demons in human form is so complete and universal, that thirty years ago, scarce an individual could be found among them who was not a servile religionist. Every individual was trained to it from early infancy. Mothers put the consecrated offering into the little unconscious hand of their babes at the breast, and caused them to cast the present to the god. As soon as the little tongue could articulate, it was taught to say, “grandfather befriend me;” or “grandmother befriend me.” On one occasion the writer witnessed a whole band, old and young, male and female, march out to the lake shore in Indian file, and perform their acts of devotion, and offer their prayers at the back of the medicine man, who was at the same time officiating between them and the god—each individual was obliged to the performance—the mothers fixing the little mouths of unconscious infants carefully, reverently, on the stem of the consecrated pipe, which the priest extended to them backward over his shoulder.