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After spending a few days in Scituate, he again set out on foot, in search of fame and fortune; assuring his friends, in the most solenn manner, that he would never again revisit the spot of his birth, unless he was accompanied or preceded by one or both of the objects of his pursuit. This was the commencement of another painful separation, which has not yet terminated.

We next find our author in Baltimore, where, during the summer of 1808, the newspapers were repeatedly enriched with the productions of his pen, both in prose and verse. In the following spring he proceeded to the city of New York, where he has ever since continued to reside. In 1810, he formed an attachment for an amiable young lady to whom he was soon afterward united in wedlock, and with whom he continues to enjoy every happiness that can flow from a union founded on reciprocal affection, in a sphere of life but one grade removed from penury and want. They are, however, blest with resigned and contented dispositions, placid tempers, and four beautiful children, worth more to them than all the treasures of Peru.

During the recent contest between the United States and Great Britain, Mr. Woodworth conducted a quarto weekly paper, in New-York, entitled “ THE WAR," and also, at the same time, a Monthly Magazine, called the Halcyon Luminary, and Theological Repository," devoted to the promulgation of the doctrines of the NewJerusalem, of which our author has for several years been a sincere professor, and for some time a licentiate of that church in the city of New-York. Neither of the above publications, however, were profitable to the conductor, who was compelled to sell his office without meeting all the demands to which the expenses of the establishment had rendered it liable.

Discouraged by these repeated failures, his naturally enterprising spirit was tlepressed, and he felt no inclination to commence any new undertaking on his own responsibility. He therefore applied for and obtained the situation of foreman, in the office of a daily gazette, called the Columbian, where he continued until the first of March, 1816, when Mr. C. N. Baldwin, contracted with him, " to write a history of the late War, in the style of a romance, to be entitled the CHAMPIONS OF FREEDOM.”

Woodworth was already known to the public as the author of several Poems, which had met a very flattering reception; but the character of a novelist was altogether new to him, and he consequently undertook the task with no small share of diffidence, in addition to other embarrassments under which he laboured in the task assigned him, with a brief account of which we shall close this memoir.

In writing the Champions of Freedom, the author was confined, by the conditions of his engagement with the publisher, within a compass circumscribed by the latter. By these conditions he was compelled to connect fiction with truth ; and, at all events, to give a complete and correct account of the late war, however much the history of his hero and heroine might suffer in consequence. But this is not all; it is a fact, which we advance on the testimony of persons concerned, that the work was put to press as soon as two sheets were written ; and that the author was often compelled to deliver his unrevised manuscript to the waiting compositora dozen lines at a time! This work was commenced in March, and ready for delivery in the October following ; during the most of which period, the author faithfully discharged the duties of foreman in the office where it was printed.

In the few hints here thrown out, the reader will find a sufficient clue to guide him in tracing, through the following pages, the life and character of the author. This volume may be considered as the abstract of his soul, without disguise or embellishment. The different situations in which he has been placed, and the various feelings resulting therefrom, are all faithfully represented and expressed in the tones of his lyre, as they are taught alternately to change

From grave to gay-from lively to severe." All will immediately perceive, what is actually the case, that he is candid almost to a fault; carrying, as it were, his heart in his band, without making the least attempt to conceal a blemish, or to heighten a beauty. His attachments, it will be seen, are sincere and ardent-his resentments, warm and evanescent. Though an enthusiast in love-he is a philosopher in religion ; exam. ining every doctrine by the light of revelation and reason, before he adopts it as an article of his faith; and however his creed may vary from our own, it is impossible that we should doubt the sincerity of its professor. His life is moral-his conversation chaste-his manners modest and unassuming. Without taking the lead in conversation, he always adds something to its interest; and, though he seldom dazzles, he is ever sure to enlighten. Without prepossessing strangers in his favour at first sight, he possesses the faculty of stealing their affection, before they are aware of its being excited. In one word–he is a good citizen, a faithful friend, an affectionate husband, a tender parent, and an honest

Of his merits as a Poet—the public have now an opportunity of judging for themselves.

A few brief remarks on the volume before us, and we have done:

Most of the smaller pieces contained in this volume, have already appeared before the public, in different periodical journals, under the signature of SELIM. But so little value was attached to them by the author, that he not only neglected to retain copies of them, but has frequently been unable to recognize his own mental offspring, after a few years' absence, until convinced of

man.

their legitimacy by the evidence of circumstances, or the testimony of his friends. Our correspondents in Boston and Baltimore have recommended more than fifty pieces for this collection, the copies of which we have not yet been able to procure; but if encouragement should be given to publish a second volume of Woodworth's Poems, we shall spare no pains to obtain them.

ABRAHAM ASTEN,

MATTHIAS LOPEZ. New-York, March, 1818.

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How happy is the Minstrel's lot,

Whose song each care beguiles ;
The frowns of fortune fright him not,

Nor does he court her smiles.
Contented with his tuneful lyre,

His art can yield the rest;
He pours his soul along the wire,
And rapture fires his breast.

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