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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: