ly worship the reigning power. A foreign power let loose upon our shores would do us infinitely less mischief than this doctrine. That might ravage our cities and burn our villages; this corrupts our hearts, debases our intellect, and destroys our self-respect. That might attack and defeat us, and drive us from the seaboard to the mountains and the wilderness, but we should still retain the proud consciousness that we were freemen. This is an enemy eating the core of our heart, withering all honest principle, all manly sensibility, all high-mindedness and conscious freedom. This is a trafficker in the souls and consciences of free-born men, buying them like dumb-driven cattle, or branding them like slaves and convicts, while honest men looking on blush to think they are the countrymen of Hancock, Adams and Washing

ton.

The hordes of mercenary Hessians whose bones now bleach on the battle-field of Trenton, were bought by George III. at the rate of fifteen pounds a head, and yet think it not strange if those same Hessians shall rise up in the judgment from their mouldy beds against the hireling bands of corrupt office-holders and seekers who fester around the shambles of executive patronage. We have referred to this subject chiefly for the sake of young men who are not yet hopelessly involved in political life. Lastly, there is a sad waste of mind resulting from the hurry of imperfectly educated persons to appear before the public as writers or as professional men. Hours and weeks which are now wasted in injudicious reading, or in premature attempts at authorship, if spent in a welldirected course of study, and in the acquisition of mental furniture, would at least qualify them to become ornamental and intellectually rich members of society; and be respectable if not distinguished. Instead of this, most young men of a little reading imagine they have fathomless wells of literature and poetry gushing up within them, and they continue to think so even after the bucket they have sent down for it returns hundreds of times empty. And this hastening to be what we are not, and are not prepared to to be, runs through all classes, and seems to be a disease of the times. The young theological student is weary with the tedious length of his preparatory course, and hurries into the arduous and responsible labors of the ministry, long before he is ready to assume them, and having assumed them, finds little leisure, and perhaps as little inclination to inform and discipline his mind, and atone in some degree for the deficiencies in his education. Others are panting for

the day when they shall figure in the legal or the medical profession, satisfied if they can pass without disgrace a nominal examination, and have permission to hang out their sign; this done, they will be content to be sciolists and ignoramuses all their days. Consequently the liberal or learned professions, as we have been wont to call them, are filled with very unlearned men, with men who have entered them not from love to science, but for the sake of lucre or reputation. There are, it is true, many honorable exceptions in all the professions; but still the force of our conclusion is unabated.

We conclude these somewhat desultory illustrations of a vital theme with a word of persuasion to those who have accompanied us. Be entreated, patient reader, to rouse yourself from mental slumber, and educate the immortal mind God has planted in your bosom. Suffer not that god-like thing to pine, and waste away, and die within you for lack of necessary care and culture. Endure any other wants rather than the wants of the mind-any other abuse rather than that which contracts and debases this. Remember, the most priceless property you can have and hold is your mind, and that every improvement you can make in it will last for ever. It will live when earth melts and passes away, immortal amid the ashes of the universe, standing erect while stars fall and the heavens are on fire. Take care of your MIND! Treat it not as a toy or a trifle, but remember it is the "divinity stirring within you." Be not seduced by the cares or pleasures, the business or the amusements of this world, from your fidelity to this prime concern of your life. Over all that rich land of promise and hope, lying in your own bosom, with all its silver floods, and waving fields, and purple clusters, we call you to become cultivators and overseers, as ye are also lord-like proprietors. Let others scramble for this world's pelf and perishing vanities, search ye for mental and moral excellences. Put the body off, if need be, with the hardest fare and the coarsest raiment, but spurn a less possession than kingdom, crown, and sceptre for the mind. Regard the outer man as thy shadow, the inner man as thyself; and while worldlings and sensualists fish for pearls in stagnant mud-pools, cast thou into the clear crystal depths of a soul that has been refined, illumined, elevated by prayer, pains-taking, and a divine blessing, tili its bosom has become studded with stars, and its untroubled surface is a serene picture and panorama of the glories of the overhanging sky. YOD.

Je ne is ready to assume them, and having assumed them, finds little leisure, and perhaps as little inclination to inform and discipline his mind, and atone in some degree for the deficiencies in his education. Others are panting for

illumined, elevated by prayer, pains-taking, and a divine blessing, tili its bosom has become studded with stars, and its untroubled surface is a serene picture and panorama of the glories of the overhanging sky. YOD.

THIS is an elegant shrub, growing in almost all parts of the United States and throughout Great Britain. It seems naturally to prefer a dry, sandy or rocky situation, rising to the height of about five feet; but when cultivated and set in a rich soil, it mounts upward twenty feet or more; its flowers are very much multiplied and enlarged, and it becomes a splendid acquisition to ornamental grounds,—and let me possess either the humble cot or the kingly palace,

"Its sides I'll plant with dew-sweet eglantine." It is not in summer only that it is beautiful. Its rich, scarlet fruit remains on the bush during the winter, and I have sometimes thought that it was as valuable an ornament then as at any other season.

It is the Rosa rubiginosa of Eaton. Rosa is taken from the Celtic rhos or rhudd (red), in allusion to the prevailing color of this genus of flowers. Its specific name, rubiginosa (rusty), is given to it on account of the rusty appearance of the under side of the leaves. Its common names are wild briar rose, sweet briar, eglantine, hep or hip tree, &c.

It is of the eleventh class, Icosandria-order 12, Polygynia-Germs ovate-petals, 5, heart form, tapering to the base-peduncles and petioles glandular, hispid-petioles with small prickles stem glabrous; thorns scattered, slender, hooked at the end-leaves alternate-leafets opposite, with a terminal one, from 5 to 7ovate, serrate, sub-glandular beneath-flowers in clusters of from 3 to 7, at the termination of the branchlets.

From some allusions made by poets of former times, it is supposed that it was once thought to possess important remedial virtues. Dryden says:

"And the fresh eglantine exhaled a breath, Whose odors were of power to raise from death."

Dr. Coxie, of Philadelphia, suggests the idea that the stiff hairs that surround the seed might be used instead of the cowhage, and to answer the same purpose. The fruit is called heps or

hips, and the pulpy portion of it contains saccharine matter and citric acid, and makes a very pleasant conserve.

The eglantine has ever been considered the poet's flower. Poetry is its sentiment. Its flowers themselves are exquisitely delicate and sweet-scented, but the leaves are still more fragrant, and perfume the breeze of " dewy morn" and "balmy eve" for several yards around. Its odor is much stronger when the leaves are moistened with dew than at any other time; hence it is frequently associated with whatever is gentle and kind, and is sometimes made use of as an emblem of peace. Wordsworth makes

it answer the swollen, threatening waterfall in the following manner :—

"Ah! *** blame me not;

Why should we dwell in strife?
We who in this sequestered spot
Once lived a happy life!

You stirred me on my rocky bed—
What pleasure through my veins you spread!
The summer long. from day to day,
My leaves you freshened and bedewed;
Nor was it common gratitude

That did your cares repay.

When Spring came on with bud and bell,
Among these rocks did I

Before you hang my wreaths, to tell
That gentle days were nigh!
And in the sultry summer hours,
I sheltered you with leaves and flowers;
And in my leaves-now shed and gone,
The linnet lodged, and for us two
Chanted his pretty songs, when you
Had little voice or none.

But now proud thoughts are in your breastWhat grief is mine you see.

Ah! would you think, even now how blest
Together we might be!

Though of both leaf and flower bereft,
Some ornaments to me are left-

Rich store of scarlet hips is mine,
With which I, in my humble way,
Would deck you many a winter's day,
A happy Eglantine!"

THE actors in the great Revolution which freed the American colonies from the British crown, have almost all passed away, and the few that remain are following with rapid pace. In a very short time no living witness of that eventful struggle will stand among us to animate our patriotism, to "shoulder the crutch and show how fields were won," or to remind us of the sacrifices and sufferings with which our political inheritance was gained.

In their absence it would be well if our historical reminiscences were more ample and more securely laid up, of those minute details which reveal the pervading spirit of a people struggling to be free, more perfectly, perhaps, than those great events which are commonly seized upon by the grave historian. A history which should take us into the cabins and the hearts of the humblest of the people, as well as into the tents of generals and the council board of statesmen, which should reveal to us the beatings of the common heart in its country's cause, and show us how sober matrons, blushing maidens, and even the children of the nation gave their earliest thoughts and prayers for that country's salvation; such a history would be the one we want. But that is beyond our reach and our hopes. Still, something has been done toward garnering up a treasury of revolutionary incident which may hereafter be drawn upon for the illustration and embellishment of our national history.

No State in the Union is richer in patriotic recollections than the State of New Jersey. For several years it was the theatre of the revolutionary war, and in that struggle her losses both of men and property were greater than that of any other State, in proportion to the population and wealth. When Gen. Washington was retreating through the Jerseys, almost forsaken, her militia were at all times obedient to his orders, and for a considerable time composed the strength of his army. There is hardly a town in the State, that lay in the progress of the British army, that was not signalized by some enterprise or exploit. The military services performed by the soldiers of New Jersey, and the sufferings of the people during the revolutionary war, entitle her to the admiration and warm gratitude of her sister States; and by her sacrifices of blood and treasure in resisting oppression, she placed herself in the foremost rank among those who struggled for American freedom. The fields of Trenton, of Monmouth, of

Princeton, like the plains of Marathon or the pass of Thermopyla, will never be mentioned without stirring all the latent patriotism of the American bosom.

The instances of female patriotism and deep devotion in New Jersey were numerous and striking; nay, it was universal, and the final success of the struggle was very much owing to this fact. They infused the love of country and the spirit of patriotic enthusiasm into the breasts of their lovers, brothers, husbands and sons; they shamed away lukewarmness and apathy, and not unfrequently gave examples of heroic endurance and personal courage, worthy of Sparta herself. Thus, in the spring of 1777, a young woman passing a forsaken house in Woodbridge, saw through the window an intoxicated Hessian soldier who had straggled from his party. There being no man within a mile of the town, she went home, dressed in man's apparel, and armed with an old firelock, returned to the house, entered it and took the Hessian prisoner, whom she soon stripped of his arms and was leading him off, when she fell in with the patrol guard of a New Jersey regiment stationed near Woodbridge, to whom she delivered her prisoner. Such was the heroic temper of the time, so pervading the spirit of lofty, self-sacrificing patriotism. And what could stand before it? No wonder that the most distinguished British statesman of that age declared in Parliament that no amount of military force sent to America could possibly subdue it. A fire was kindled that could never be extinguished, a spirit of freedom was aroused that all the artillery of England could not intimidate. The villages and cities of the colonies might be burned, their little army annihilated, their crops destroyed, and their commerce cut off, but all this availed nothing towards the subjugation of a people whose men were crossing ice-bound rivers barefoot in pursuit of the enemies of freedom, and whose virgin daughters were leading Hessian mercenaries captive to American quarters.

After the war was over the same warmhearted patriotism continued to display itself; an affecting and striking instance of which occurred at Trenton when Gen. Washington reached that city on his way to New York, then the seat of government, to enter upon the duties of the Presidency, to which he had just been chosen. The venerable Marshall, in his Life of Washington, has recorded with feeling