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vou are in great distress, and nothing has vet
been done. This shield belonged to my fatlrer,
Ihe White Buffalo, and the lightning you see
on it is red; it was taken from a black cloud,
and that cloud came over us to-day. lam the
White Buffalo's hair, aud I am the son of my
lather!”
In this manner flourished and manoeuvered
Wak-a-dah-ha-hee, (the White Buffalo's hair,)
alternately addressing tire audience and the
heavens, and holding converse with the winds
and lire je bi that are floating about in them ;
stamping his foot over the heads of the magi
who are involved in mysteries beneath him,
and invoking the spirits of darkness and light
to send lain to gladden the hearts of the dan
dans.
It happened on this memorable day, about
noon, that the steam-boat Yellow Stone, on her
first trip up the Missouri river, approached and
landed at the Mandan village, as i have des
cribed in a fyrmer epistle. I was lucky enough
to be a passenger in this boat, and helped to
fire a salute of twenty guns of twelve pounds
caliber, when we first came in sight of the
village,somethreeor four miles below. I hese
guns introdured anew sound into this strange
country, which the Mandans at first supposed
to be thunder; and the young man upon the
lodge, who turned it to good account, was
gathering fame in rounds of applause, which
were repeated and echoed through the whole
village. All eyes were centered upon him —
chiefs envied him—mother’s hearts were bea
ting high while they were decorating and
leading up their fair daughters to tender to
him on his signal success. The medicine
men had left the lodge and came to bestow
upon him the envied title of “ medicine-man, ’
or “ doctor ,” which he had so deservedly won;
wrepths were prepared to decorate his brows,
and eagles’ plumes and calumets were in
readiness for him ; his friends were all rejoiced
—his enemies. wore on their faces a silent
gloom and hatred ; and his old sweethearts,
who had formeily cast him off, gazed upon
him as they glowed with the burning fever of
repentance.
During all this excitement, YVak-a-dali-ha
kee kept his position, assuming the most
commanding and threatening attitudes; bran
dishing his shield in the direction of the thun
der, although there was not a cloud to be seen,
until he, (poor fellow ') (reader, don’t attempt
to imagine!) being elevated above the rest of
the village, espied, to his inexpressible amaze
ment, the steamboat ploughing her way up the
windings of the river below; puffiing her
steam from her pipes, and sending forth the
thunder from a twelve-pounder on her deck !!
Tiie White Buffalo’s hair stood motionless and
turned pale; he looked awhile, and turned
to the chief, and to the multitude, and addressed
them with a trembling lip—“ My friends, we
will get no rain ! there are, you see, no clouds;
but my medicine is great —I have brought a
thunder boat! look and see it! the thunder
you hear is out of her mouth, and the lightning
which you see is on the waters !!”
At this intelligence, the whole village flew
to the tops of their wigwams, or to the bank of
the river, from whence the steamer was in full
view, and ploughing along, to their utter dis
may and confusion.
Iu this promiscuous throng of chiefs, doc
tors, women, children and dogs, was mingled
Wak-a-dah-ha-hee, (the White Buffalo's hair,)
having descended from his high office and
mysteries, to mingle with the frightened
throng.
Dismayed at the approach of so strange and
unaccountable an object, the Mandans stood
their ground but a few moments, when, by an
order of the chiefs, all hands were ensconced
within the piquets of their village, and all the
warriors armed for desperate defence.
A few moments brought the boat in front
of the village, and all was still and quiet as
death; not a Mandan was to Ire seen upon
the banks. The steamer was landed, and
three or four of the chiefs soon after walked
boldly down the bank and into the boat, with
a spear in one hand and the calumet or pipe
of peace in the other. Tire moment that they
stepped on board they met (to their great sur
prise and joy) their old friend Major Sanford,
their agent, which put in instant end to all their
fears and trembling. The villagers were soon
apprised of the fact, and the whole race of the
beautiful and friendly Mandans was paraded
on the bank of the river, in front of the steam
boat.
The “ Rain-Maker,” whose apprehensions
of a public calamity brought upon the nation
by his extraordinary medicine, had for the
better security of his person from apprehended
vengeance, secreted himself in some secure
place, and was the last to come forward, and
the last to be convinced that this visitation was
a friendly one from the white people; and that
his medicine had not in the least been instru
mental in bringing it about. This information
though teceived by him with great caution and
suspicion, at length gave him great relief, and
quieted his mind as to hts danger. Yet still in
his breast there was a rankling thorn, though
he escaped the dreaded vengeance which he
had a few moments before apprehended as at
hand ; yet he had tlie mortification and dis
grace of having failed in his mysterious opera
tions. lie set up, however, (during the day,
in his conversations about the strange arrival)
his medicine, as the cause of their approach,
asserting every where and to every body, that
he knew of their coming, and that he had by
his magic brought the occurrence about.
This plea, however, did not get him much au
dience ; and, in fact, every thing else was
pretty much swallowed up in the guttural talk,
and bustle, and gossip, about the mysteries of
the “ thunder-boatand so passed the day,
until, just at the approach of evening, when
the “ White Buffalo’s hair” (more watchful
of such matters, on this occasion, than most
others) observed that a black cloud had been
jutting up in the horison, and was almost di
rectly over the village! In an instant his
shield was on his arm and his bow in his hand,
and he again upon the lodge ! Stiffened and
braced to the last smew, he stood, with his face
and shield presented to the cloud and his bow
drawn. He drew the eyes of the whole village
upon him as he vaunted forth iiis superhu
man powers, and, at the same time, con.
munding tlie cloud to come nearer, that he
could draw down its contents upon the lieads
and tlie corn, fields of tlie Mupdutis ! In this
wise he stood, waving his shield over his
head, stamping his foot and frowning as he
drew his bow and threatened the heavens,
commanding it to rain—his bow was bent,
and the arrow, drawn to its head, was sent to
the cloud, and he exclaimed, “My friends, it
is done! Wak a dah-ha-hce’s arrow has
entered that black cloud, and the Mandans
will be wet with the water of the skies!” His
predictions were true; in a few moments the
cloud was over the village, and the rain fell in
torrents. He stood lor some time wielding
his weapons and presenting his shield to the
sky, while he boasted of his power and the
efficacy of his medicine to those who had
! been about him, but. were now driven to the
shelter of their wigwams. Heat length fin
islied his vaunts and his threats, and descen
ded from his high place (in which he had been
perfectly drenched) prepared to receive the
honors and tire homage that were due to one
so potent in his mysteries; and to receive the
style and title of “ Medicine Man.” This is
one of an hundred different modes in which
a man in Indian countries acquires the ap
pellation.
This man had made it rain, and, of course,
j was to receive more than usual honors, as he
had done much more than ordinary men could
do. All eyes were upon him, and all were
ready to admit that he was skilled in the magic
art; and must be so nearly allied to the Great
or Evil Spirit, that he must needs be a man
of great and powerful influence in the nation,
and well entitled to the style of Doctor or Me
dicine Man.
Readers, there ate two facts relative to
these strange transactions which are infallibly
true, and should needs be made known. The
fir-t is, that when the Mandans undertake to
make it rain, they never fail to succeed ; for
their ceremonies never stop until rain begins
to fall. The second is equally true, and is
this—that he who has once ‘-made it rain,”
never attempts it again ; lus medicine is un
doubted, and on future occasions of the kind
he stands aloof, who has once done it in pre
sence of the whole village, giving an opportu
nity to other young men who are ambitious to
signalize themselves in the same way.
During the memorable night of which I
have just spoken, the steamboat remained by
the side of the Mandan village, and the rain
thvt had commenced falling, continued to pour
down its torrents until midnight; black thun
der roared, and livid lightnings flashed until
the heavens appeared to be lit up with one un
ceasing and appalling glare. In this frightful
moment of consternation, a flash of lightning
buried itself in one of the earth-covered lodges
of the Mandans, and killed a beautiful girl!
Here was food and fuel fresh for their super
stitions, and a night of vast tumult and ex
citement ensued. The dreams of the new
made Medicine Man wore troubled, aud he
had dreadful apprehensions for the coming
day, for ho knew that he was subject to the
irrevocable decree of the chiefs and doctors,
who canvass every strange and unaccountable
event with close and superstitious scrutiny,
and let their vengeance fall without inerey upon
its immediate cause.
Me looked upon his well-earned fame as
likely to be withheld fiom him, and also, that
his life might be, perhaps, demanded ns the
forfeit for the girl’s death, which would cer
tainly be charged upon him. He looked upon
; himself as culpable, and supposed the accident
to have been occasioned by his criminal de
j sertion of his post when the steamboat was
i approaching the village. Morning came, and
he soon learned from some of his friends the
opinions of the wise men, and also the nature
■of the tribunal that was preparing for him : he
Jsent to the prairie for his three horses which
were brought in, and lie mounted the Medi
cine Lodge, around which, in a few moments,
the villages were all assembled.
“My friends,” said he, “ I see you all a
j round me, and lam before you ! My medi
cine, you see, is great! it is too great! lam
young, and I was too fast. I knew not when
jto stop! The wigwam of Muh-sish is laid
low, and many are the eyes that weep for
Ko-ha! (the antelope.) Wak-a-dah-ha-hee
gives three horses to gladden the hearts of
those who weep for Ko-ka. His medicine
was great! His arrow pierced the black
cloud, and the lightning came and the thunder
boat, also ! YY r ho says the medicine of Wak
a-dah-ha-hee is not strong ?”
At the end of the sentence an unanimous
shout of approbation ran through the crowd,
and the “Hair of the While Buffalo” descen
ded among them, where he was greeted by
shakes of the hand, and among whom he
now lives and thrives, under the familiar and
honourable appellation of “the Big, Double
Medicine. ”
RULES FOR LADIES.
1. Marry not a profane man , because the
depravity of his heart with corrupt your chil
dren and embitter your existence.
2. Marry not a gambler, a tipler or a haun
ter of taverns, because he who has no re
gard for himself will never have any for his
wife.
3. Marry not a man who make promises
which he never performs; bee; use you can
never trust him.
4. Marry not a man whose actions do not
correspond with his sentiments—because the
passions have dethroned reason, and he is pre
j pared to commit every crime to which an evil
nature unrestrained, can instigate him. The
'state of that man who regaids not his own
ideas of right and wrong, is deplorable, and
the less you have to be with hin» the better.
| 5. Marry not a man who is in the habit of
| running after all the girls in tlie country : be
cause the affectiens are continually wavering—
and therefore cun never be permanent.
G. Marry not a man who neglects his busi
ness ; if he does so when single, he will be
worse when married.
|
Chatellard, a French gentleman, beheaded
in Scotland for having loved the queon. and
even for having attempted her honour, Bran
tome says, would not have any other viaticum
than a poem of Ronsard. When he nscen.
ded the scaffold he took the hymns of th's
poet, and lor his consolation read that on
death, whicli lie says is well adapted to con
; quer its fear.
THE SOUTHERN POST.
The following beautiful lines are copied, with the
permission of tne publishers, from the new novel of
Svdney Clifton, to be issued from the press of the
Messrs. Harper in the course of a few days.
[New-York Mirror.
TIIE PAST.
The past, the past, th’ insatiate past,
Within its broad domain
Crushed hopes and bleeding joys lie cast,
Like war’s unburied slain !
We saw their plume3 in triumph wave,
A bright and fair airay;
The morning mists are curling o’er
The hill: but were are they ?
The past, the past, the ’mbalming past —
Behold its march sublime;
Gamering the harvest, prostiate cast
By the bald reaper Time !
Wit’s diamond shaft, and learning’s tome,
Devotions lore divine, —
Fame's glittering wreath and poesy's crown—
In added lustre shine.
The past, the past, the joyous past,
How bright its visions seem.
When age and youth the hours contrast.
Like some enchanted dream:
Love’s honey’d kiss, and manhood’s pride
And pleasure’s syren strain ;
The civic wreath, the sparkling cup—
All—all are ours again.
The past, the past, the shadowy past.
How dim the scene appears,
When eyes that on us look’d their last
Relume in after years.
The dazzling cheat in mockery throws
Its light o’er hopeless gloom,
Like a faint taper’s flickering ray
Above the silent tomb.
The past, the past, the mighty pasi;
How boundless is its sway :
Hark ! to its trumpet's summoning blast,
While listening worlds obey !
The conquering chief his helmet dofis—
The brandish’d sceptre falls :
And silence rein’s where wassail shouts
Rang through the festal halls.
The past, the past, the storied past —
Here genius sits enshrined, —
On this bright sane your offerings cast,
The Mecca of the mind !
Beneath these arches’ vaulted roofs
Immortal spirits throng;
Here Shakspeare’s radiant fancy beams—
Here Homer weaves his song!
The past, the past, the new-fledged past,
Even now, with raven wing
Its lengthening shadows grown more vast
Around my footsteps cling.
My fingers vainly sweep the lyre,
No answering tones arise ;
Pale memory flees to happier breasts,
And hope to brighter skies!
From the Southern Literary Messenger.
EDUCATION.
BY A NATIVE VIRGINIAN.
To make a successful prosecution of an
inquiry into the rig it method of education, we
shall ho compelled to enter upon a field ot in*
vestigation entirely new to most of our rea
ders; and on that account, it will require a
j considerable effort of attention to follow
through, and to comprehend fully, all tire ar
j guments which may be advanced. But we
j hope this effort of attention will be exerted—
because the subject we are about to enter
j upon, is one of vital importance, not only to
tin* teacher and his pupil, but to the parent,
and to all those who are endeavoring to im*
1 prove themselves.
Education is not a tiling of chance, to be
conducted according to the crude notions of
each individual. It is a science, based on
j philosophical principles, deduced from a con
i sideration ot the human mind, the subject of
, education.
Instead of amusing, therefore, with a few
trite and general remarks on this hacknied
theme, we have determined to go to the very
bottom, and unfold the principles which should
govern every one, both in the education of
himself, (the most important,) and in the edu
cation of youth.
The main object of education is to devclopc,
and to strengthen all the faculties of the mind.
The fitst question,then, which we have deter
mined is, What are the. faculties of the mind ?
The second, What are the best means of iin
proving, or, (in words already used.) of un
folding and strengthening thesefacu'ties.
Writers on the philosophy of the human
mind have divided what they call the faculties
into two divisions— the intellectual and the
mora/faculties. To this division we have no
objection. The intellectual faculties, they say,
are Perception, Attention, Conception, Mem
ory, &c.
On this philosophy have been based all our
systems of education. The elementary books
of instruction—tlie course of studies projected
in our schools and colleges, have been in re
ference to this subdivision of the mind into
faculties. Such a study, we are told, is in
tended to improve the memory—such another,
to improve the attention—and so on through
all the faculties, as they understand them: —
for it is a well known fact that education, in
every country, is conducted in exact accor
dance to the opinions entertained as to the
nature of the mind and the number of its facul
ties. Not only is education influenced by the
speculations of the metaphysician, but morality
also derives her practical lessons from the
same source. Hence, an unsound philosophy
makes an unsound scholar and an unsound
man.
Now, we say, that the system of philosophy,
which we have received into this country
taught in our colleges—held as infallible—as
based on a correct idea of the constitution of
the mind, and necessarily true in the nature
of things; we say that this philosophy, this
Scotch metaphysics, is entirely erroneous,
founded on a limited view of the human mind
—a mistaken idea as to what constitutes the
original faculties; and has, consequently, been
the cause of many errors in education, and the
cause of much disastrous evil to the morals of
our country.
Before we give the arguments which ha\c
led us to tiie conclusion just announced, we
will point out tlie source whence those argu
ments have been druwn. When we deserted
the philosophy of the schools, from a conscious
ness that it was unsound and pernicious, we
i were compelled to look at facts alone ts our
last resort in the search after truth. We were
compelled to observe men as we saw them liv
ing and acting around us. We collected our
materials from actual observation, and studied
them. We consulted our own experience—
and from these sources alone—observation
and experience—we have endeavored to draw
all our conclusions. We have carefully a
voided, so far as it was possible, all a priori
deductions from abstract theories—they are
as unsafe in morals as in physical science. It
is by a collection and observation of facts
alone, that we can hope to arrive at truth. By
following this humble way, the student of na
tural science is making most rapid and un
paralleled advances—by neglecting it, the
student of our moral and intellectual nature
stands where he was more than two thousand
years ago—involved in mystery, and bewil
dered in the mazes of abstract speculation.
As we proceed with this subject, we shall
advance no opinion which cannot be illustra
ted by a living example, and the soundness of
wh ch cannot be attested by the experience
and common sense of all.
Attention, Memory, Conception, &0., so
far from being primitive, innate faculties of
the mind, are nothing more than the different
modes by which the capabilities manifest their
activity. We can form no idea of the mind,
except through its capabilities—just as we
have no idea of the Diety by his attributes.
All we know about the Almighty is, that he is
an invisible being, possessed of infinite power,
infinite wisdom, and infinite goodness—sepa
rate from these attributes we have no idea of a
God—they are, in truth, God with us. So
with the mind—it is an invisible, immaterial
thing, possessed of certain faculties or capa
bilities—which capabilities manifest greater or
less activity by a greater or less degree of
memory, attention, conception, &c. If the
mind of any individual possesses an original
faculty, strongly developed, it will manifest
that superior strength or development by an
accurate perception, a retentive memory, and a
distinct conception of all the subjects which
come within tiie scope of that faculty.
It is a common observation, that when a
man possesses a strong and unconquerable
propensity to any one pursuit in preference of
all others, he has a natural bent for that pur
suit, or, that he has a genius for that kind of
occupation.
When this inclination is very strong, the
mind manifests extraordinary capability on all
those subjects which nourish and gratify that
! inclination. The man learns with astonish
ling rapidity every thing that has any connec
tion with the natural inclination of his mind—
ihe retains them longer—has a clearer in
sight into their nature —lie even goes beyond
! the present acquired knowledge on the sub
ject, and makes new discoveries of his own.
j All this too, without any previous education
whatsoever. Take an example.
When James Ferguson, the celebrated as
tronomer, was about seven or eight years of
age, he discovered an extraordinary talent for
mechanical pursuits. The roof of the cottage
having partly fallen in, his father, in order to
raise it again, applied to it a beam, resting on
a prop in manner of a lever, and was thus
enabled, with comparative case, to produce
what seemed to his son quite a stupendous es.
feet. The circumstance set our young philo
sopher thinking ; and, after awhile, it struck
him that his father in using the beam, had ap-1
plied his strength to its extremity, and this, lie!
immediately concluded, was probably an im- j
portant circumstance in the matter. He pro- j
ceeded to verify his notion by experiment;
and having made several levers, which lie
called bars, soon not only found that lie was
right in his conjecture, as to the importance
of applying the moving force at the point most
distant from the fulcrum, hut discovered the
rule or law of the machine, namely, that the
effect of any weight made to bear upon it is
exactly propoitional to the distance of the point
on which it rests from tho fulcrum. From
this he went on reasoning, until he discoveied
the principle of the pulley. The child had
thus actually discovered two of the most im
portant elementary truths in mechanics—the
lever, au<l the wheel and axle; lie afterwards
hit upon others ; and all the while, he had not
only possessed neither hook nor teacher to
assist him, but was without any other tools
than a turning lathe of his father’s and a little
knife wherewith to fashion his blocks and
wheels.
After the labors of the day, young Fergu
son used to go at night to the fields, with a
j blanket about him, and a lighted candle ; and
I there, laying himself down on his back, pur
sued for long hours his observations on the
I heavenly bodies.
A book was once given him, containing a
I description of a globe, without illustration by
any figure—nevertheless, says Ferguson, I
made a globe in three weeks, at my father’s,
! having turned the ball thereof out of a piece of
wood ; which ball I covered with paper, and
delineated a map of the world upon it; made
,tlie meridian ring and horizon of wood, cover
ed them with paper, and graduated them; and
was happy to find that by my globe, (which
was the first I ever saw,) I could solve the
problems.
He was confined to his bed for several
months in consequence of the cruel treatment
ofhis master. In order, says he, to amuse
myself in this state, I made a wooden clock,
the frame of which was also ol wood, and it
kept time pretty well. The bell on which the
hammer struck the hours was the neck of a
broken bottle.
A short time after this, he actually con
structed a time-piece, or a watch moved by a
string. His own account is very amusing.
He accidentally raw the outside of an orrerv,
but had no opportunity of inspecting the ma
chinery—he had, however, seen enough to set
his ingenius and contriving mind to work ;
and in a short time he succeeded in finishing
an orrery ofhis own. In the course ofhis life
he constructed, he tells us, six more, all unlike
each ather.
Here we have an individual, quite a child,
without education, without experience, fixing
his mind in the deepest attention on inechani
cal operations, making contrivances to repeat)
those operations, and so meditating on them I
as to discover tlie laws by which they are J
governed—and finally going on from one step i
of induction to anotiier, until be discovered two!
of the most important laws of mechanical
philosophy. All this too while a child of eight
j years old, without the help of book or teacher;
and without knowing even that there was such
a thing as mechanical philosophy.
Follow him in after life, you find his mind,
under all circumstances, whether adverse or
j prosperous, ever bent on pursuits of a kindred
j nature to those above mentioned. Neither
sickness nor poverty could divert his mind, for
: a moment, from its favorite occupations.
i VY hen a poor shepherd in the fields, the stars
'and their mechanical operation were his
1 themes of meditation. YY’hen laid on .a bed of
' sickness by the cruelty of a master, his mind
was busied'on the complicated mechanism ofi
a clock. Wherever he went, curious and
I complicated machinery seemed to be the only
tilings that attracted his attention, or that af-
forded him any gratification.
He needed no detailed explanation—his
mind perceived at once all the parts —and re
tained long afterwards, an accurate conception
of the most complicated operations.
Now, we would ask, how can this extraor
dinary mental phenomenon be explained ?
Will any one pretend to say that it was mere
accident that gave to Ferguson’s mind the
bent which it took, and produced the extraor
dinary developement which it so early mani
fested ? Such an explanation would be totally j
unsatisfactory to a reflecting mind. Does not
sound philosophy teach us that there can be
no vera causa, no true cause, unless it be
adequate to the whole effect ? Now, is the
mere accidental circumstance of raising a
falling house with a beam, a true and adequate
cause for the peculiar character of Ferguson’s
mind ? Would it not be more philosophical to
; say that the circumstance only discovered the I
previous existing state of mind, and was not
the cause of that existing state ?
°
Would any one say that the riots at Boston
and the destruction of tea in Boston harbor
was the true cause of the American Revolu
tion ? Would it not be a shameful discovery
of ignorance even of the first principles of
reasoning, to say that so trifling au incident I
was the cause of such tremendous effects?!
'Flic riots at Boston, and the destruction of tea
in Boston harbor, only discovered the rebel
lious spirit already kindled up in the minds of
the people by the oppressions of the mother
country, and their determination no longer to
submit to foreign tyranny. On no other prin- \
ciple can we explain the menial phenomenon
now before us. Ferguson’s mind had a strong
bent or inclination to mechanical operations, j
or, (in other words) his mind possessed an
extraordinary capability for mechanical inves-j
t.gations. We know«nothingof the mind ex
cept through its capabilities for certain pur
suits. And when we have discovered all the
different capabilities of the mind, we have dis
covered the true nature of the mind itself.
Now, in the case of Ferguson. His capa
bility, and consequently his inclination for me
chanical philosophy, was so much greater than
tiie rest, as, like Aaron’s rod, to swallow them
tip and give a peculiar character to the whole
mind.
Many other cases similar to that of Fcrgu
son might he brought up to prove that there is
such a thing as mechanical genius, or, iu more
philisophical language, that there is such a
(tiling as a development of the mind, which
leads the possessor irresistibly to the pursuit ofi
the mechanic arts; and, where this develop-1
ment or capability is very great, even to ori-j
ginal investigations and discoveries in median-!
ical philosophy.
By studying the characters of nien re--!
markable for their great genius iu one thing.'
and a deficiency in every thing else, we may!
easily discover all the original innate capabili
ties of the mind.
Take an example of that great mathemati
cal genius, Edmund Stone. His father was
gardener to the Duke of Argyle, who, walk
ing one day in his garden, observed a Latin
copy of Newton’s Principialyingon the grass,
and thinking it had been brought from his own
library,called someone to carry it back to its'
place. Upon this, Stone, who was then in his
eighteenth year, claimed the hook as his own.
“ Yours?” replied the Duke. “Do you un-.
derstand Geometry, Latin, and Newton?”
“I know a little of them,” replied tiie young
man. The Duke was surprised ; and having 1
a taste for the sciences, lie entered into corn er-1
sation with the young man. “ But how,” said
the Duke, “ came you by the knowledge of all j
these things ?” Stoi e replied, “ A servant j
taught me ten years since to read. Does one
need to know more than the twenty-four let
ters in ordei to learn every thing else that one
wishes?” Tiie Duka’s curiosity redoubled ;
he sat down on a bank, and requested a detail
lof the whole process by which he became so
learned. “ 1 first learned to read,” said Stone:
“ the masons were then at work on your house.
I approached them one day, and observed that
the architect used a rule and compass, and
| that he made calculations. I inquired what
! might he the meaning and use of these things,
und 1 was informed that there was a science
[Called arithmatic. I purchased a book of
iarithmatic, and 1 learnt it. I was told there
was another r.cience called geometry; 1
bought the necessary books, and I learnt ge
ometry. By reading, 1 found that there were
good books in these two sciences in Latin ; 1
bought a dictionary and learnt Latin. I un
derstood, also, that there were good books of
the same kind in French ; I bought a dictiona
ry, and I learned French. And this, my
Lord, is what I have do le : it seems to me
that we may learn every thing when we know
the twenty-four letters of the alphabet.”
Here we see the capability of mathmatical
investigations so strongly developed, as to give
the possessor most remarkable success in their
pursuit. lie seems to have needed no assist
ance, no instruction, hut marched through the
most difficult and abstruse science with the
strides of a giant. No delay cooled his ardor;
no obstacle bafUed him in liis purpose. Was
there a branch of mathmatics lie wished to
know, he bought the book and learnt it. Was
tliTe a valuable mathmatical work m a foreign
language—he learnt the language. How like
the fiats of Almighty, are tlie rapid and gigan
tic efforts of genius. “ Let there be light,
and there was light.”
l ake un example of genius in Painting.
Benjamin West, when only six years old, was
placed by his mother to take care of an infant
sheur.s absent. After sometime the
child happened to smile in its sleep, and its
beauty attracted his attention. He looked at
it with a pleasure lie had never before experi
enced, and observing some paper on the table"
together with some pens and red and black
ink, he seized them with agitation and endea
vorod to delineate a portrait—although at this
period he had never seen a picture nor an en
graving. So soon as young West had an on.
portumty of indulging the natural bent of his
j tnind, lie was so enchanted as to forget his
| schof)l hours. For several days he withdrew
| to a little garret, and devoted hirnself to paint
mg, without letting the family know what I, J
become of him.
Is this accident? Is it the result of educa
tion ? What education could theie have been
in this case? The boy had never seen a
portrait in Ins life—not even an engravioe.
But, yet, with what enthusiasm did he behoTd
the smiling countenance of the sleeping infant?
\/ Imt agitation seized his nerves? He snatch,
ed the first thing that came in his way, and, as
if by inspiration, struck off a perfect likeness
of the sleeping child. Was this the result of
accident? Ilnd not ten thousand nurses be
lore, beheld the smiles that play over the illu
mined face of a beautiful infant—but did it
e\ cr create a genius for the graphic art in any
otner mind, save that of Benjamin West ? The
same cause must always, under similarcircum
stances, produce the same effects. It is utter.
lv impossible to account for this remarkable
development of mind, except on the principle
which we have already mentioned. The mind
of West possessed a strong, innate capability
of delineating the forms of nature, and of
relishing the beauty and harmony of symetri
cal forms. The accident of nursing tire child
only served to show the previously existing
capacity, and to waken it up to activity by the
gratification which it afforded.
We might thus go on and bring numerous
examples to prove to the satisfaction of any
reflecting man. that the mind consists of cer
tain original, innate capabilities or faculties
that tiiesc faculties are definate in their num
ber and distinct in their character. We might
prove that there js an original capability of
mind which befits the possessor in an eminent
degree for physical science, for music, for
sculpture, for poetry, and for abstract specu
lation. But the examples already adduced
must suffice—time will not permit a further in
vestigation.
Now we have discovered this great peculi
arity in men who possess one ot another of the
faculties stongly marked—they have no need
of instruction nor assistance from men or
books—they seem to learn, as by inspiration,
every thing that affords gratificaton to the pe
cuiiar propensity of their mind. If all men,
therefore, were possessed of some faculty rie
| veloped above all the rest,or if they possessed
| all the faculties strongly developed, they would
j have no need of assistance or instruction from
others. But all men are not so gitted. It is
but here and there that we find one who mani
fests an extraordinary ta'cnt for any pursuit.
Men generally possess the faculties or capabili
ties of mind in an even degree, and slightly
developed.
It is a wise provision of nature that it is so.
Men who aie endowed in an extraordinary
manner with one talent, are generally unfit fur
any other puisuit in life. They take no inter
est m the ordinary affairs of society —are lost
to all motives of prudence, or considerations
ot tiie useful—every tiling is sacrificed to the
indulgence of the one ruling passion. It is
well, we say, that society is not made up of
such men—but that it consists of those who
ha\e no very great capacity for one pursuit
more than another—and who possess all the
faculties in a moderate degree. For it is this
even balance of the faculties, moderately de
veloped. which constitutes the best state of
mind fora prudent course and a sound judg
menf.
'Flic investigation which we have just con
eluded, offers many important hints in the
management of education. We have seen,
that a man who possesses a talent strongly de
veloped, has a most extraordinary memory in
every thing connected with that faculty —is
capable of fixing his mind in the deepest atten
tion upon subjects of his inquiry—in a word,
possesses all those things which have been
generally callo I faculties of the mind—per
ception, memory, attention, conception, &c.
His thoughts, too, are more numerous, more
profound and originial.
When, therefore, we observe that the mere
possession of a faculty without instruction,
without help—nay, in spite of all opposition,
gives such a decided advantage, is it not obvi
ous that our main object should be to find out
what are the faculties of the mind— and then
by all judicious means to unfold and strength
en those faculties or capabilities ?
[to be concluded.]
Communisated.
To all whom it may concern — Tatters , Fabricators, (fc .
Mr. Editor: —Having seen with regret some of the
false reports which are going the rounds of the press,
derogatory, in the eyes of the world, to the Baptist
Church of Macon, as a religious body, I think it an act
of courtesy due them to contradict any statement that
has been made against them, touching the sale of their
building, and the transformation of it into a Theatre.
The old building was taken in part payment for a
house to be built of a more respectable size and ap.
pearanre, in a place more central to the socie.y; and
was intended and used as a work-shop for some time
subsequent to the sale, and thinking that I had a right
to make a penny if I could—and not having the fear of
popular prejudice before my eyes, nor holding myself
accountable to any human agent, or esteeming it more
sacred than any other old building—did, by the advise
of several of my friends, convert the building into a
Theatre, (and a right respectable one it makes !) Report
says also that the Churrh is dissolved; to prove to tlie
contrary, and for the especial benefit of scandal-mon
gers at a distance, I will subjoin an extract from the
contract existing between tlie building committee and
myself. “ The said Brown agrees to do the said work
on the following terms, viz: fie agrees to receive tne
building now owned by tlie Church, and the lot where
on it stands, at the price of , the Church reserving
the pulpit and all the scats which the said Brown is to
put up m the new buildingi and the further sum of,&c.
the said Church giving to you immediate possession ot
the old building." (Signed.)
Elias Beall,
Benjamin Russell, I j
Wiluam llamiltok, [ i
Thomas G. Bates, :
F. Geeen- J 1
A I). BROWN, Builder.
Editors who have noticed the misstatement
to, will do the Church an act of justice by noticing too
above. .Respectfully, BROVVN .
Building
Committee: