It is a low-roofed cottage, half nestled 'mid the trees,

There is music ever round it, the tones of birds and bees,

It is a low-roofed cottage, of brown and sombre hue,
You may see it by the road-side, the chestnut's branches through;
You may see the moss-grown bucket, upraised the well beside,
And the little rural gardens, the cottage matron's pride;
The green and waving tassels of the young and tender grain,
In the blessed sunlight smiling, all fresh with summer rain ;

The graceful undulations of yonder verdant hill,

And the deep green woods that crown it so darkly wild and still.

Then the green, far-speading meadow, so shady and so cool,
And the foot-path trod across it, where the children go to school,
Those happy cottage children, with their tiny shouts of glee,
With their merriment and laughter, so innocent and free,
That happy childish laughter, that gushes up as gay

As the tinkle of the brooklet that leaps across their way.

They are sturdy little urchins, these brave New England boys;

They are blest with freedom's birth-right, and freedom's countless

joys;

You may see it in their bearing, in their fearless open glance,
And the honest independence in each sun-burnt countenance.

Then the maidens of New England, these merry girls of ours,
That bloom within the homestead, its loved and cherished flowers.
Say, where are merrier glances, or lovelier lips and eyes,
Than these which hover round us, 'neath dear New England skies?
And where are trusting spirits more true and pure than theirs,
And who 's a nobler birth-right, than her's she proudly shares?
Those rights our fathers fought for, a soil no slave has trod,
A free, untrammelled conscience, a right to worship God;
And whose proudest, purest honor she feels it is to be
The cherished wife, the daughter, the mother of the free,!

Oh, happy, happy homestead, my spirit round you clings;
Ye live in memory ever, amid its treasured things;

With beauty blooming round you, in spring's soft gladsome hours,
As ye smile in light and shadow, amid our new-clad bowe's,

Or in the golden summer, that festive summer time,

When a thousand flowers are round you, in all their blushing prime,

Or in the merry harvest, when the autumn's golden grain

Is borne amid your meadows upon the lumbering wain,
Or in the depths of winter, when round the fireside hearth,

The household band has gathered, with song. and oy, and mirth,

In climes beyond the ocean their stately homes may stand,
Their dark old feudal castles, their towers so stern and grand,
And battlement, and fortress, in stately strength may rise,
Drawn dark, and stern, and boldly, against Old England's skies;
But dearer, lovelier, fairer, though humble ye may be,
Those happy, happy homesteads shall ever smile for me.
Long amid our quiet valleys may these in beauty stand,
The homes of happy freemen, the glory of our land;
Smile still, oh, skies of Freedom, upon our quiet bowers!
A health to dear New England, and those happy homes of ours.
New Haven, July, 1848.

THE LIFE OF OLIVER CROMWELL.

BY J. T. HEADLEY, AUTHOR OF "NAPOLEON AND HIS MARSHALS," 66 THE SACRED MOUNTAINS," 66 WASHINGTON AND HIS GENERALS," ETC., ETC.

MR. HEADLEY has approved himself one of our most prolific as well as most popular authors. Such a series of books appearing in such rapid succession, written with so much life and spirit, and commanding such an extensive and immediate sale, is unquestionable evidence of something, which, however some may affect to depreciate, all of us would most willingly possess. That the author is a man of real substance and bottom, is further evident, in that his last book is his best. If the spring had not a good deal of depth, so much dipping would be sure to draw up some mud. Mr. Headley's books certainly have faults; but it is worthy of remark that their faults are not of such a kind as to promote their sale; they do not appeal to any of those vulgar and vicious passions, whereby an undeserved, and therefore unstable popularity is so often gained; indeed, their faults are

such that they may be safely said to be popular in spite of them, not in consequence of them. For example, there are many grammatical, and some historical inaccuracies in them; but their success, as it cannot reasonably be attributed to any of these, must obviously be owing to some merit or merits which counterbalance, and more than counterbalance them. Moreover, if any one thing more than another characterizes the American people, those to whom and for whom Mr. Headley writes, it is the love and worship of freedom, secured by republican institutions; and it is absurd to suppose that he succeeds by representing Cromwell and Napoleon as apostles of freedom, since we all know, and cannot but know, that those two were among the most determined and most successful enemies of freedom the world has ever known.

The truth is, men read Mr. Headley because he keeps them awake; by his glowing enthusiasm and graphic power he seizes their minds, interests their feelings, and transports them to the scenes he is describing, and by portraying the great and splendid qualities of his heroes, without disclosing or even remembering their follies or crimes, he continues to reconcile a personal interest in them with our characteristic national passions. We thus have a set of imaginary benefactors developed in and through a portraiture of actual historical events. We know that Cromwell and Napoleon astonished the world with their exploits; and we cheerfully submit to the illusion that those exploits were performed in behalf of our favorite object.

It is often objected against Mr. Headley's books, that they tend to cherish a martial spirit. We could hear this objection with more patience, if those who made it would show themselves equally opposed to something far worse than a martial spirit. It is common, indeed, for war to be spoken of as the worst of all possible evils; whereas in reality, there are several worse evils, such as national cowardice, national infidelity, and national mammonism. To worship Mars is better than to worship Mammon; and if Mr. Headley's books will cultivate a martial spirit, and thereby do something towards arresting the spirit of money-making which is threatening to cut the life and soul out of us, they will deserve still higher praise than any they have yet received. And, indeed the very tendency to regard war as the greatest of evils, may be interpreted by some as a sign that greater evils than war have

already got hold of us; evils, perhaps, which war may be the most effectual means, under Providence, of defeating.

As to the efforts which have been made in certain quarters to bring discredit on Mr. Headley and his enterprising and honorable publishers, we have only to express the hope, that they will prove as impotent and ineffectual as they are ungenerous and illiberal. Of the representations which have been put forth for this purpose, it is enough to say, that they are secured against being refuted by their exceeding stupidity. If any one can muster up resolution enough to read through them, he will probably understand how apt some men are to suspect or pretend dishonesty in all transactions that do not make for their own interest.

To return to Mr. Headley. The best recommendations of his books are to be taken from the pages of the books themselves. Here is his description of Buckingham, no less just than lively and penetrating, and which, to be remembered, needs but be read:

"Of a handsome person, courtly manners-bold, daring and unscrupulous he sought power only to gratify his love for magnificent display and the baser passions of his nature. He neither rejoiced in the prosperity of his country, nor felt for its disasters. Absorbed wholly in his selfish schemes, and capable of beholding nothing but himself aggrandized, he used his power so recklessly that he became a public calamity. Implacable in his hatred, fickle in his friendships, promoting his flatterers to places of trust, thinking more of seducing a woman than of carrying a great political measure; gay, gallant and unprincipled, his death was a great blessing to England. Formed to shine in courts, he dazzled awhile, and then disappeared from the kingdom he had helped to undo."

The account of Laud is rather more liberal than we should have expected from Mr. Headley. It would have been more just, however, as well as more complete, if he had added, that Laud's bigotry and severity were in defence of the doctrines and institutions of his fathers, while the bigotry and cruelty of his enemies were in behalf of their own inventions. Bigotry is certainly bad enough at the best; but as there is no bigotry so violent as that of innovation, so there is none so inexcusable. The bigotry of conservatism is not inconsistent with many just and generous feelings; the bigotry of radicalism generally springs from the worst form of selfishness; a selfishness that "mistakes the giddiness of the head for the illuminations of the spirit." Here is our author's account of Laud.

"Still, Laud has probably been as much maligned as Cromwell. He was a bigot; so were many of the Puritans, fanatics. The former persecuted the dissenters; so did the latter the Papists. Laud hurried men before the star-chamber and court of high commission, and had them punished for no crime but that of speaking against oppression; nay, caused them to be put in the stocks, publicly whipped, and their ears cropped off:-equally violent measures were adopted by the Puritans against the Irish Catholics. Now, to allow for the intolerance of the one, and not for that of the other, is manifestly unjust. The age and the times in which men live, must be taken into consideration, when we judge of their characters. Laud was, doubtless, a sincere and honest prelate. He did what he thought was for the good of the church. Believing that it could not prosper in the midst of dissensions and radicalism, he set about their eradication in the way he thought best to secure his object. That he should see nothing but discord and ruin in the spirit of rebellion against the church and the state, that was abroad, was natural. There was no more bigotry in his looking upon dissenters as criminals, than in the Puritans regarding the Papists as such."

Still finer, perhaps, than either of the above, is the following short, vivid, expressive portrait of Cromwell :

"Add to this, a face whose features seemed wrought out of iron, a large rubicund nose, wrinkled and warted cheeks, heavy and shaggy eye-brows, with a majestic forehead above them, rising like the front of a marble temple over the coarser features beneath, and around it rich and clustering hair, parted in the middle, with a single lock straying loosely by itself-firm-set lips, deep and solemn grey eyes, piercing you through and through, and when lit by excitement terrible as lightning, and you have the personal appearance of Oliver Cromwell."

Such are some specimens of our author's talent for describing persons. It is vain to say that such writing is the work of a "humbug;" at least, no people need be ashamed to be humbugged by such writing. Those who are fond of guarding the public taste would do themselves more credit by beating than by reviling an author who writes thus.

But it is in the description of battles that Mr. Headley is generally, and perhaps justly thought to excel; and as he has few equals in this art, so there are few subjects that would afford him a better field for exercising it, than a life of the Protector. Of course, his descriptions of battles are not so individual as those of persons; the subject does not admit of it; but what is