master in Chancery, which office he resigned on being appointed, by the governor and council, clerk of the county.

He was chosen one of the electors of the president of the United States when Mr. Adams became the successor of Washington; on which occasion he composed the verses on the resignation of the latter.

His situation had now become comparatively opulent; and had his life been prolonged, he would have enjoyed an ample competence for one so disposed to retirement, and so moderate in his desire of wealth.

An hereditary gout, and a general debility, occasioned, probably, by a too sedentary life, were the ostensible causes of his early death. He died at his house in Salem, on the 1st of September, 1798, in the 34th year of his age, justly and universally regretted by his friends and numerous acquaintance. He married, about ten years before, the daughter of Colonel Mosely, of Westfield, in Massachusetts, but had no children.

The talents of Mr. Honey wood as a painter were not less than those he possessed as a poet. His favourite style was caricature, and he would have been no unsuccessful imitator of Hogarth. Many of his historical sketches display great felicity and judgment. His design and execution are the more to be admired, as he never received any instruction in the art, and had no opportunity to behold or study the works of a master.

He had all that eccentricity which is supposed to characterize strong geDius. With a fund of genuine humour, and a lively and rapid conception, his great singularity of manners rendered him highly interesting to his friends and acquaintance, to whom his society was an unfailing source of amusement and instruction. His mind was stored with sound learning and various knowledge; and possessed of an excellent heart, the most acute sensibility, a high sense of honour, and incorruptible integrity, he was fitted to be the delight of his associates.

With feelings alive to every impression, and a fancy ardent and active, it is not surprising that he should have been sometimes absent, wayward and inconsistent, and even petulant and capricious. These occasional weaknesses of temper are too often allied to genius; they are of little account when weighed against the general merit of such a character as Mr. Honeywood.

The Editor ought, perhaps, to apologize for attempting to delineate the portrait of one of whom his knowledge is so limited; but he craves indulgence for the imperfect sketch he has given. It is hoped some friend, possessing more ample materials, may be induced to gratify the public with a particular account of a man of such singular genius and worth, and who merits a conspicuous place in the pages of American Biography.

Most of the poems in this collection, appear to have proceeded from the impulse of the moment, and, as may be expected, are of unequal merit. Some of those retained by the partiality of the editor, might have been omitted, without injury to the metrical reputation of the author; and probably would have been omitted, had the volume issued from the press under his own inspection. On the whole, however, they afforded us much pleasure in the perusal; and we are disposed to speak, in a strain of no languid eulogium, of Mr. Honeywood's powers as a poet. We present the lines On General WASHINGTON'S declining a re-election to the Presidency of the United States, as a favourable specimen of the author's merits.

As the rude Zemblian views, with anxious eyes,
The sun fast rolling from his wintry skies,

While gathering clouds the shaded vault deform,
And hollow winds announce th' impending storm,
His anguish'd soul recoils, with wild affright,
From the drear horrors of the tedious night:
Such fears alarm'd, such gloom o'ercast each mind,
When WASHINGTON his sacred trust resigned,
And open'd to his much-lov'd country's view
Th' instructive page which bade the long adieu:
So erst Nunnides, of prophetic tongue,
Prince, victor, seer, to Juda's list'ning throng,
Gave his last blessings: so, long ages since,
Mild Solon and the stern Laconian prince,

Those boasts of fame, their parting counsels gave,
When, worn with toils, they sought the peaceful grave.
Columbians, long preserve that peerless page,

Fraught with the counsels of your warrior-sage;
In all your archives be the gift enroll'd;

Suspend it to your walls, encas'd in gold;

Bid schools recite it; let the priestly train

Chant it on festal days, nor deem the task profane!

When round your knees your infant offspring throng,

To join the matin prayer or evening song,
Those rites perform'd, invite them to attend
The farewell counsels of their good old friend;
And say he left you, as his last bequest,
Those golden rules to make a nation blest.
O land thrice blest? if to thine interests wise,
Thy Senates learn this precious boon to prize,
While guilty Europe's blood-stain'd empires fall,
While heav'n, incens'd, lets loose th' infuriate Gaul,
Thy States, in phalanx firm, a sacred band,
Safe from the mighty wreck, unmov'd shall stand.
But if, may heaven avert that shameful day!

By base intrigues or factions led astray,
With servile fondness for some foreign state,
We court their quarrels and espouse their hate,
Thenceforth farewell to dignity and fame,
For independence dwindles to a name.

Would those who counsel kings these truths attend;
Romantic wish! for kings have ne'er a friend;
But were these rules on royal minds impress'd,
Monarchs might reign, and subjects would be bless'd;
Dantons and Robespierres had died unknown,
And the mild Capet still had grac'd a throne.
Behold the man, ye crown'd and ermin'd train!
And learn from him the royal art to reign.
No guards surround him or his walks infest,
No cuirass meanly shields his noble breast;
His the defence which despots ne'er can find,
The love, the prayers, the interests of mankind.
Ask ye what spoils his far-fam'd arms have won?
What cities sack'd, what hapless realms undone ?
Though Monmouth's field supports no vulgar fame,
Though captur'd York shall long preserve his name,
Where brave Cornwallis, in a glorious hour,
Doffed his proud helm, and own'd the victor's power;
I quote not these-a nobler scene behold,

Wide cultur'd fields fast ripening into gold:

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There, as his toil the cheerful peasant plies,
New marts are opening and new spires arise:
Here Commerce smiles, and there en groupe are seen
The useful arts, and those of spritelier mien.
To cheer the whole, the Muses tune the lyre,
And Independence leads the white-rob'd choir.
Trophies like these, to vulgar chiefs unknown,
Were sought and priz'd by WASHINGTON alone.
From these with all his country's honours crown'd,
As sage in councils as in arms renown'd,
Great in this action as in all the past,
Forever true, and faithful to the last,

He turns-and urges, as his last request,

Remote from power, his weary head to rest.
Illustrious man, adieu! yet, ere we part,

Forgive our factions, which have wrung thy heart;

Still with indulgent eyes thy country see,

Whose ceaseless prayers ascend the heavens for thee: Go, midst the shades of tranquil Vernon stray;

In vain attempt to shun the piercing ray

Of circumambient glory-till refin'd

All that could clog to earth the heaven-lent mind,
Then rise triumphant to the blest abodes,

And join those chiefs whom Virtue rais'd to gods.

Ye who have fought in Freedom's sacred cause,
Who grace our senates and expound our laws!
Freemen, to whom your country's rights are dear,
Indulge the Muse, and lend a listening ear-
Say, if on you the rights of suffrage wait,
Whom hail we next as Father of the State?
To each has heaven peculiar gifts assigned,

And men, like stars, to certain spheres confined;

In paths eccentric few allow'd to stray,

Drawing a splendid train, and brightening all the way.
Saturnine souls, who think and act by rule,
Excel in grave debate and reasonings cool;
Impetuous minds, of more impassioned form,
"Ride in the whirlwind, and direct the storm:"
Hence those in councils, these in arms excel,
But few indeed are those who govern well;
For in his breast, who sways the rod of State,
Must centre every gift supremely great;
And as the stars which guild the vault of night,
Unnumber'd, pour effulgence on the sight,
So chiefs and senators in crowds abound,
But rare as comets WASHINGTONS are found.
Is there a man, who thrice ten years well tried,
Who ne'er has crouch'd, or meanly chang'd his side?
Ardent and foremost in his country's cause,

The friend of order and of equal laws.

Who views with stern contempt a clamorous throng,
Strife in their heart, and freedom on their tongue;
A whiffling tribe, who, at their leader's nod,
Would sell their souls, their country, or their God:
Who, had they liv'd in Jove's impartial reign,
Had join'd the giants, and enthron'd a Paine !
Is there a man in whose capacious mind
A Murray, Locke, and Chatham live combin'd,

Who joins to all that men or books have taught,
The fire of genius and the force of thought?
Is there a man, who in these changeful days,
Unaw'd by censure, unallur'd by praise,
True to his aim, and obstinately good,
While factions rag'd, unmov'd as Atlas stood;
Whose ancient morals stoics might revere,
And Rome, reviv'd, behold her Censor here;
Such as ere Grecian spoils her temples grac'd,
And solid virtue sunk to Attick taste?
Should such a man preside, the land were blest-
Advert your eyes, and ADAMS stands confest.
Fir'd at the name, enraptur'd Fancy flies,
Old Time rolls back, and years long past arise,
To memory fresh unfolds a solemn scene;
Columbia's sires in high divan convene,
Of dread concerns commission'd to consult,
And chains or empire wait the grand result:
Full in the front I see the patriot stand,
All fire his eye, all energy his hand;
Such graceful majesty round Tully shone,
When Rome's proud master trembled on his throne:
"Ye guardian powers of eloquence divine,
"Prepare each soul to grasp the grand design!
"Inspire my tongue the glorious cause to plead,
"Impel each hand to sign the deathless deed."-
He ceas'd-Assent remurmur'd through the throng,
While INDEPENDENCE thunder'd from his tongue.

In The Selfish Man's prayer on the Prospect of War, our author has not unhappily displayed the feelings of

"A wretch concenter'd all in self."

The measure appears to be intended as a sneer at the pious metre of our New-England brethren.

Again the clouds of battle lower
With terror and dismay;
Protect me, all-disposing power,
In this disastrous day!

As in the camp the soldiers learn
To riot, curse and swear,
'Twould give my pious soul concern
To have my boys go there!

Then while my neighbours and their sons

Are call'd to war and arms,

Grant that my boys, secure from guns,

May cultivate my farms!

And while with taxes and expense

My kindred are distress'd,

O grant that all my hard-earn'd pence
May slumber in the chest!