New-York daily tribune. [volume], October 18, 1843, Image 1

About New-York daily tribune. [volume] (New-York [N.Y.]) 1842-1866

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Yhe trib u n e
foreign corresson'dence of the tribune.
Letters from Italy.No. XXL
Foreign Correspjudencf of the N. Y. Tribuuu.
the ladies ok italy and the ladies ok
new-York.
April, 1343.
? The black-eyed Beauties of Italy?The Blue
Heavens of Italy !" Who has not heard these
exclamations ? and that, too, in contrast with our
own beautiful women and clear atmosphere until
he has dreamed of.a sunny land wreathed with
rivers and filled with radiant,passionate creatures ?
\t another time I shall contrast the climates.
At present, reversing the rules of rhetoric, I take
the most interesting objects first; and as to these
dark-cved beauties?dark-eyed enough though
they are, and very pretty withal?yet, like many
other things in this world, they appear much bet?
ter when dreamed about, with 4,000 miles of
ocean between us, than when looked upon in
'propna persona.' And it is not the partiality
one naturally feels for his countrywomen that Stov?
erns me when I say that the beautiful women
with us stand to them in the proportion of five to
one. Walk on a pleasant day at the promena?
ding hour from the Astor House to Bleeckcr-strcct,
and you shall see more beautiful women than you
will find in any Italian city, though you walk it
the entire day. I am sure that no one could be
more inclined to look on every tbinir in this once
glorious land in a more romantic light than my.
self. It was the land of my early dreams?the
one bright vision in all my scholar's lifo, and
when its blue hills rose on my view I felt like the
pilgrim, as he catches the first glimpse of the
Prophet's Tomb from afar. Yet the truth 1 maun
be said.'?Perhaps one would sec more beauty
were the young ladies permitted to appear more
in socie ty. The foolish custom of shutting them
up in convents, occupied with their .studies, until
married off by their -parents^ still prevails. It is,
however, losing somewhat of its ancient force,
especially in Tuscany. If my letters to you dur?
ing the Carnival had not been Jost, you would
have been able to judge yourself somewhat of the
claims of Italian women to superior beauty. Yet
take a little of my experience and disappointment
in this matter, as a specimen of what awaits the
American traveler, who has the leisure and op?
portunity to move among the higher classes of
Italy. Genoa has been regarded from time imme?
morial as the most celebrated of all Italian cities,
for the beauty of its women. In that city I re?
sided five months, and mingled freely in every
class of society. Being an invited guest to all
the large assemblies and soirees of the nobility, I
had every opportunity of seeing its society in its
moid brilliant coloring. I shall never forget my
disappointment at the first great soiree I attended
in Italy. It was at the old Doge's Palace in
Genoa. As I entered through the grand gate?
way, guarded by soldieis with their glittering
arms, and passed through the long line of4 Porta
tine,' or sedan chairs, arranged on each side of
the walk, from which were emerging closely
veiled figures, and ascended the long and magni?
ficent marble steps, amid the presenting of arms,
into the entrance chamber, filled with liveried ser?
vants, I expected to be dazzled with such an ar?
ray of beauty as never before blessed the eye of
man?unless it was King Solomon in the midst
of his Harem. Indeed my accustomed self-con?
fidence was fast oozing out, and I have no doubt
I should have committed some blunder had not
our erood Antonio, like a capital valet as he was,
done every thing in its proper time. 1 first en?
tered a large saloon, and, lo! it was filled to
overflowing with nothing but officers in their uni?
form. I wandered on till I came to the 'ladies'
room,' and it is no more sad than true, there was
not a really pretty woman in it. I must acknowl?
edge, however, there were not many present. The
Governor, whether he noticed my disappointment,
or wished to be civil, 1 know not, said, " You must
come next Monday evening ; tiiis is a 1 conver?
sazione,* and there are but a few ladies here?
Monday evening we have a Ball, and there will
be more present." Just then a beautiful creature
swept into the room, and the Baroness of L
was announces!. As she saluted the Governor
and passed on. he whispered to me, " A very
beautiful woman." " Very beautiful," I replied',
at the same time drawing a long breath like one
relieved from a long suspense. But she was a
Russian Baruiicss on a visit to the Governor, and
not an Italian. I need not say that the next
Monday I did not go. Indeed his soirees, which
were twiec a week during Carnival, I found so
excessively stupid, that unless 1 was sure of some
extra attraction, I seldom attended. My next
disappommcntwasin one of the smaller and select
Circles of one of the first nobles in the Kingdom.
CM Aim 1 shaU have more to say hereafter" At
ms ' viUetta' 1 met the pleasantcst society I have
seen abroad. 1 was there almost every week, and
yet never saw but one lady that could be called
beautiful, and she had the blue eye and light hair
and rosy hue of the Saxon race. One night at
an unusually brilliant assembly at the Palace of
the Governor, as I was standing amid u croup of
officers, I caught a view of a head and face that
drew from me an involuntary exclamation. There
was a beauty and glory about it I never had soen
but once in my life before; but no one could tell
me who she was or where site came from; vet
<*U looked as if they would give the world to know.
At length seeing her seated in familiar conversa?
tion beside a lady with whom I was acquainted.
I soon pierced the mystery that surrounded her.
You can guess my surprise and pleasure to learn
that this beauty was of American origin. She
Wae the daughter of Lord Krskinc, Minister to
Court of Vienna. When Minister to the
United Slates ho married a beautiful Philadelphia
lady, who, it sccxras, had transmitted the charms
fcat had enthralled the noble kffd to the daugh
kr. You can judgo of the effect of American
beauty on the Uaaaas when X tell you that while
BF GREELEY & McELRATH.
VOL. Iii. NO. 16*.
I stood by her. the young nobles marched by in
regular platoons, and paused as they came oppo?
site her. and gazed as if moon-struck. The
radiant creature sat ' quite unconscious of all this
of course," as the lady sitting by her side not very
amiably whispered to me. It is but just to say,
however, that at some of the more magnificent
Bails and Soirees there was a very fair collection
of beauty. At the annual Ball given by the Gov
crnor at his Palace, there were many beautiful
women. At that time alone, during the whole
year, unless in Court, do the nobility wear the
family jewels. On this night they are ail exhib?
ited on the necks, heads and arms of the matrons
and their daughters. It makes a perfect blaze of
diamonds. The nobility of Genoa is among the
richest of Italy, for the wealth the crusades opened
to them i:.i the East is still gathered here. Such
a profusion of ornament I never beheld. There,
for the first time, I saw the belle of the citv?the
.Marchioness of Balbi. I was glad to see what
the Italians regarded as beauty, and she also had
the light complexion and rosy checks of the Sax?
on race. She was beautiful?very, but of that
kind of beauty I do not particularly admire; it
was, what I would term, of the doll hind. But
oh, such spirits, and such a dazzling quantity of
diamands ; one almost needed to shield his eyes
to look on her. The value of them was variously
estimated, but the lowest which a very calculat?
ing Italian gave me was a hundred thousand dol?
lars. But even her diamonds could not outshine
the sparkling joy of her countenance. I never
saw a being float so through a saloon, as if her
body was a feather and her soul the zephyr that
floated it. It made me sisgh to look on her. Such
aboundinggayety?such thrilling mirth !?I knew
it could not last; this world was not made for it.
The next time she was in deep mourning, with
her head bowed down like a bulrush. The bloom
had gone from her cheek and the light from her 1
eye. She vanished from the gay world like a
stricken bird. Her brother, the Marquis of Pala
vacini?one of the noblest young men I ever met
?liberal in his feelings and handsome in his per
son?the pride and hope of his family?suddenly
died. I saw him last at the Marquis di Negro's.
As I bade him good evening I was struck with
the expression of his countenance : it had a look
so intensely anxious that it fixed my attention.
This was Friday evening.?Sabbath morning a
mutual friend called on me and told me he was
dead ! But I have run into a more serious mood
than I anticipated. At tho Cassino, which is
simply a collection of noblemen who give three
Balls during the winter in a Palace devoted to
that purpose, I have often met the entire beautv
of the upper classes of the city; and although
there were many pretty women, yet the average
of beauty was very low. For, with fourteen
rooms thrown open, and all so crowded that one
could hardly move, one would expect some beauty
in any country. In Naples and Rome I have not
had the same opportunities, as I have been in
them during Lent, when Balls, and large Soirees
and gayctics arc unknown. But still I have not
been without facilities: and if national beauty
is worth being proud of, we can boast over Italy
?that is, in our women ; 1 wish I could say as
much of the men. It is not so easy to decide on
the peasantry; they differ so much in different
portions. Sometimes you may travel all day and
sec nothing but the ugliest faces, and you wonder
how nature could have gone so awry in every
instance; and then again in another province you
see at every step the beautiful eye and lash, and
flexible brow, and laughing face of your true Ital?
ian beauty. In form the Italians excel us. Larger,
fuller, they naturally acquire a finer gait and
bearing. It is astonishing that our ladies should
persist in that ridiculous notion that a small waist
is, and per necessita, must be beautiful. Why
an Italian lady would cry for vexation if she pos?
sessed such a waist as some of our ladies acquire,
only by the longest, painfullest process. I have
sought the reason of this difference, and can sec
no other than that the Italians have their glorious
statuary continually before them, and hence en.
deavor to assimilate themselves to them ; where?
as our fashionables have no models except those
French stuffed figures in the windows of millin?
er's shops. Why if an artist should presume to
make a statue with the shape that seems to be
regarded with as the perfection of harmonious
proportion, he would be laughed out of the city.
It is a standing objection against the taste of our
ladies the world over, that they will practically
assert that a French Milliner understands how
they should be made better than Nature herself.
In another letter I shall speak of the manners of
the Italian ladies, which is the real cause of the
preference given them by all travelers. II.
Unitarian Convention.?A General Conven?
tion of Unitarian Clergymen was recently held at
Providence. K. 1. The following resolutions, af?
ter an interesting debate, were unanimously adopt?
ed by the Convention :
1. Resolved, That there is an imperious call upon our
denomination for a clear and earnest stateineut of our di?
tiuctil e doctnues, and an ur^eiu application of the m to prac?
tical life.
?J. Resolved, That, as the spirit of rrVrrence is so little
cherished iu our laud, d votiou should have a mure promi?
nent place in public worship and rx-rsou.il culture.
3. ficiohed. That there ;, need of more uuited action in
oni churches, especially anioui; our men.
4. Resolved, That while we mouru the loss of our be
loved brethren, Greenwood, Ware and others, and sympa?
thise willi the ^nef of their families, we render '.hanks to
Almighty God lor the power of theii lues and the worth ol
then meuiorits.
?. Resolved, That the Rev. Dr. Dewey, of New-York,
Iler. Messrs Lothrop, of Boston, aud Folsom, of Huer,
hill, be a Committee to tix the time a*-d place of next meet?
ing.
6. Resolved, That believing in the Christian Church as
an oi';,'-un2ed communion of believers, we deem tlut new
interest should be aw.dieinJ in its peculiar ordmaucr
Murijeker Arrested.?We learn from the Ot?
tawa, 111. Free Trader thu a man named Geor<;* Thompson
has been arrested in that place for the murder of a Miss Cdth
arine Hand in iu SanduAy Co. Ohio, about sixteen mouths
since. He had been arrested once or twice before, but ef?
fected bis escape. Since his couliuemeot iu jail 1* ha* con
fe&aed his guilt.
IT The steamer Constitution at Chicago on
tbe 9th report, the schooner Albany, which was on her way
to that port with about 120 emigrants, ashore on the reef
known as the Snows, fcw Macinac. They had all been
safely landed, and there waa a probability that the schooner
woula be got off.
UTTwo soldiers belonging to the Royal Canadian
Rafles stationed at Arnheistborg, U C. wwe drowned by tbe
apsetaup of a ?ano^eoe.Uy.wkik o? a sporting expedition
_ OFFICE NO. 160 .
NEW-YORK, WEDNESDAY -1
THE WARRIOR.
BY AUGUSTUS SNODGRASS.
When of old the daring Knight
Sought the foe on battle-field,
Firm he donned his armor bright?
Seized the spear and raised the shield.
Hurtling arrows filled the air ;
Lances shiv ring flew around:
Old and and young, and brave and fair,
Bleeding, sought the purple ground I
Foremost in the battling crowd.
Speeds the steel-clad warrior by :
Rings the clamor wild and loud,
Thicker still the arrows fly.
On his breast the lances shiver?
Fast their swords the focmcn wield,
And the arrows, broken, quiver,
Falling, harmless, from his shield !
Thus may'st thou an image find.
Leaning on Lift's battle-field,
Armor round thy limbs to bind,
Seizing firm a trusty shield.
Man an errant warrior is.
Death-ward fighting bold his way
Rocks among, and Wilderness,
Or where pleasant valleys lay!
Wouldst thou ever victor bo,
O'er thyself, and o'er the world,
Press thou onward valiantly,
Where the lance and dart are hurled !
Bind thy limbs in amor sure ;
View with rare the battlefield ;
From thy soul by watching pure,
Seize a bright and trusty shield !
Then in vain shall arrows flv :
Speirs shall shiver on thy breast ;
With a bright, unflinching eve,
May'st thou win the warrior's rest!
Korieich, ,y. j'.
' The Present:
Mr. Chawint;'s new Monthly has reached its
second number, and is as heartily deserving the
approbation of the virtuous and philanthropic as
his warmest admirers could desire. We have
had no Literary work hitherto which so happily
blended the Religious spirit, utterly devoid of
scctism, with a profound, intelligent and active
Philanthropy. The spirit in which the great
question of a Social and Industrial Reform is
discussed in its pages must commend that sub?
ject to the favorable attention of many who are
repelled by more methodical and scientific state?
ments. We make room for one article from the
new number:
PRINCE'S POEMS'?by parke godwtn.
Two years have elapsed, since this man Princo
made his appearance above the chaos of London,
and yet no American publisher has thought of
putting his poems \n press?nay, worse than that,
no American Review has thought it worth while
to tell us of his existence. We admit that Ameri?
can publishers are not bound to reprint every
thing that makes its appearance in London, in?
deed, that American Reviews are not bound to
notice every thing of that sort; but, at the same
time, we must say, that many things cscaj>e the
eye of both that it would have been well for them
to seize. Here, for instance, is an unpretending
volume of poems which deserve some attention.
Apart from the extraordinary history of the au?
thor, (to which we shall refer, ' apart from the
singular circumstances of suffering under which
they may be said to have been squeezed out, they
have merit enough in themselves to pay one for
their perusal. In truth, when we come to think
of it, wc consider the fact, that we have not be?
fore heard of this man here, pretty strong evi?
dence that our literature is not properly watched
over or cared for; but, unfortunately, evidence
is not needed on that point. Why lias not some
sagacious publisher, or some quarterly reviewer,
or sume able editor let us know of the claims and
whereabouts of this John Critchley Prince ? We
take it hard that they have allowed us to remain
in ignorance so long.
As no other, then, has come forward to intro?
duce the stranger to American readers, we shall
volunteer the duty ourselves, glad in having the
opportunity of so agreeable a chaperonship.
Let us, then, say in the outset, that we look
ujxm him as altogether one of the most surprising
phenomena that have recently crossed our literarv
horizon. He is one of the rarest instances of
" the pursuit of knowledge under difficulties."?
No better exemplification than he could be found,
of the miserable unfitness, of the discordancy
and despotism, of the radical viciousncss of our
modem modes of social organization. His life
has been one continued and perilous struggle for
bread. Society, when he only asked it for fish,
has given him a scorpion. Able to work and
vvAling to work, with strong muscles, and a heart
full of ail good sensibilities, he has yet wandered
over the earth like an outcast. There is scarcely
a brute horse, in Iiis native land, who has had a
harder time of it, in his pinched and precarious
existence, than this fuli-grown,noble-souled man.
This is abundantly shown by a brief "sketch
of the author's life," prefixed to his volume, and
which we intend to avail ourselves of, in what we
are now about to say.
Prince was born at Wigun. a small town of
Lancashire, England, on the -1st of June, in the
year 1S08. He is therefore, now, thirty-five years
of age. His father made reeds for weavers, out
of the scanty pittance received for which, he en?
deavored to rear a family of several children.?
We say he eridea cored; for it does not appear
that he succeeded in that laudable purpose, that
he did accomplish., at all times, the getting them
victuals and clothes for the body, and much less
spiritual food for the mind. They grew up, ac?
cordingly, so far as he was concerned, without
education, sive that which is derived from hun?
ger and hard work. Yet the mother, good soul,
"an intelligent and industrious woman," con?
trived, in the midst of her destitution, to instil
good principles into their minds, and to provide
them occasionally with a seat in the Baptist Sab?
bath School. One of them, John, the subject of
our present writing, seemed to have a natural
appetite for books. He learned his letters almost
by intuition, and was soon able to devour every
printed thing that came in his way. Every
leisure moment, that the rigorous exactions of an
apprenticeship to the trade of his father allowed
him, was devoted to the pursuit of learning. Nor
was he always suffered to indulge himself, even
during these snatches of time; since he often ex?
perienced harsh treatment at the hands of the
aamc parent, for what was supposed to bo his in
corrigible and pernicious idleness. In the ^soli?
tary hours of the night, when all the rest of the
faoiily were in bed, he would steal from und'.: h?
coverlid, creep stealthily down stairs, and, by lha
? Bonn with Um Mues, hjr J?ho Critchley Pri*?A Ss-|
ooai N&iea. fcofldoa, ]
NASSAU-STREET.
IOIOING, OCTOBER 1?, 1843.
dim twilight of a "slacked" tire, give himself up
I to the enjoyment of the mysterious romances of
Mrs. Radcliffe and the wonderful adventures of
Robinson Crusoe.
In 1821, when he was thirteen years of age,
his lather was compelled, by his increasing em.
barrassments, to remove from Wigan to Man?
chester. At that place he procured a brief em.
plovment, but was speedily forced to go to Stock.
port, whence distress again drove them to look
lor work at Manchester. Two incidents only,
worthy of note, befel youno* Prince during iiis
residence in the latter town. His first was, that
he met with a copy of the works of Lord Byron,
which he perused with an indescribable intensity
of excitement. But what was of more use to
him, at this time, was an accidental acquaintance
formed with an old German soldier, whose head
and heart were filled with the beautiful and
touching romances and legends of his fatherland.
These he was accustomed to recite with the en
j thusiasm of a poet, and they awoke in the bosom
of Prince, now become his inseparable compan?
ion in nightly wanderings over the hills, all those
indefinite yearnings and aspirations which are
. the source of poetry. The old man, too. had
seen much of the world ; lie had been in different
armies; he had conversed with philosophers ; he
h id stored his mind from books; and he was able
to temper the enthusiasm of his youthful disci?
ple witli less >ns of wisdom and virtue. But, while
his inward life was thus ministered to, his condi?
tion, externally, was one of increasing poverty
and toil.
Onec more, his father, tormented by pecuniary
difficulties, made an effort to escape them by re?
moving to Hyde, a village eight miles distant
from Manchester. It was a vain attempt : for
the existence of the family dragged on as before,
amid accumulating causes of disappointment and
anguish. The times, to use a commercial phrase,
were bad ; there was little or no employment to
be had for the j>oor; the mouths to be fed and
the backs to be clothed were multiplying ; and,
altogether, the world had a most forbidding and
disastrous look for that household. Add to this,
a piece of imprudence of which John was guilty,
and the sum of their misery is complete. In
1 826, when under nineteen years of age, by no
means a proficient in his trade, and still an ap?
prentice to his father, he contracted an attach?
ment lor a woman even poorer than himself, and
married. Poor fellow, he was induced to do so,
in the hope of making a happy home for himself;
his own having become intolerable! lie appears
to have chosen a wife of excellent qualities, but
alas! where were they to lodge, and how to be
fed ? These were questions which neither of
them could readily answer : yet they managed
to " share the curse"' until a year or two brought
them children, and with them, again, the want
of bread. What to do now, Prince did not know.
Work, which so many fly from, would have been
to him a rare privilege.
It was said in the newspapers, this was about
1830?that recent events had opened a way for
artisans in France, and thither would Prince go.
Leaving Iiis wife and three children to provide
for themselves?how, Cod only knew?he sat off
for St. Qucntin in Picardy. He walked to Lon?
don, and thence to Dover. After a detention of
five days, on account of the political troubles of
those times, he finally made his way to the town
to which he was to go. We can imagine how
many anxious wishes must have filled his breast
during that solitary journey?wishes cruelly des?
tined to disappointment. In the interval since
his departure from Hyde, the French Revolution
had broken out, scattering terror over all France ;
Charles X. had been dethroned; Louis Philip
elected king of the French ; consternation pre?
vailed on on all sides ; and, of course, business
of every kind, for the time, suspended. Prince j
could get no employment among manufactures
disturbed by the agitations of civil war. All his
trouble and time, spent on the long journey from
his home, had been worse than wasted. He-was
now among strangers, without a penny in his
pocket, without a friend to console him, without
a house to shelter his naked head. Whither
should he fly ? Must he sink down to the earth
in despair, or make one more desperate effort for
his starung wife and children ? His noble spirit
did not desert him in this extremity. All was
not yet gone: for, there were his strong arms
and his resolute will.
He pushed forward to M?lhausen, on the up?
per Rhine, which was mentioned to him as a con?
siderable seat of manufactures. Arriving there,
he found that trade was little better than it
had been in Picardy. The manufacturers were
standing idle, and an unparalleled distress per?
vaded all classes of the working people. Alone,
and among strangers whose language even he did
not understand, his prospects grew gloomier than
they were before; and being totally destitute of
means to return home, for five protracted months
he continued with starvation daily staring him in
the face. Now and then the snatches of work
vicldrd to him in charity, were all that kept him
this side of the grave. Often, for two whole days
together, did he wander about without a mouth*
fui of food. A winter of unusual sevcritv was
fast coming on, when he resolved, if he must die,
to die among his kindred and friends.
In January of 1831, he quited Milhausen for
the purpose of walking to his home. What an
undertaking was that .' To walk through strange
lands in the depth of winter, many hundred miles
witiiout a guide and without money, surely, re?
quired the soul of a hero ! Prince was such a
hero. In the midst of his privations and suffer?
ings, his cheerfulness and his poetry did not de?
sert him. Nay, he could even stop, at times, to
admire the wonders of art and nature which are
so thicklv scattered along the regions of the Rhine.
His imuirination fed on the glories of those rich
old countries ; his piety warmed in their cathe?
drals and churches. He journeyed through Stras?
bourg, Rheims, Verdun, Chalons, begging his way
as he went, and sleeping at night in hospitals and
under sheds, until his feet, weary and sore, once
more pressed the beach of Calais. There he was
furnished with means, by the British consul, to
carry him to Dover.
His heart grew buoyant with delight when he j
touched his native >hore; the thoughts of once
more seeing those who were dear to him, filled
his mind with unspeakable ecstasy. Vet, in Eng?
land his miseries may only be said have begun.
" The first night after his arrival,*' says the sketch, j
u ne applied for food and shelter at a work-house
in Ken'. ?nd was tlirust into a tumble-down gar?
ret, with the roof sloping to the floor, where he
was incarcerated with twelve others, eight men
and four women, chiefly Irish?the lame, the halt,
and the blind. Some were in a high state of fe?
ver, and were raving for drink, which was denied
to them ; for the door was locked, and those out?
side, like the bare walls within, were deaf to their
cries. Weary and way-worn, he lay down on the
only vacant place amid the mass of misery at the
back of an old woman, who appeared to be in a
dyintf state; but he could get no rest for the
groans of the wretched around him. Joyfully did
he, indeed, hail the first beam of morning that
broke through the crannies of this chamber of fa?
mine and disease; and when the keeper came to
ie. him out, his bedfellow was dead !"
d<r this time, his shoes had worn out, so that
rjv rest of his pilgrimage was made pq hi* bwe
FIVE DOLLARS A YEAR.
WHOLE NO. 785.
feet. He hurried, from the horrid precincts in
which death bad been his sleeping companion,
toward London, which had now become the goal
ot his hopes. During the day, he begged from
door to door for the sustenance that alone enabled
him to pursue his course ; at night, he lav in the
open fields, for the want of even a pallet of straw
to receive his weary limbs. Wlscn he arrived at
the metropolis, he had been the whole day with?
out so much as a crumb. There was no one. in
all the mighty multitude of human beings, who
j was likely to give him enough to eat to keen him
alive one night. Rut a thought struck him ! He
had gone without his shoes; why could he not
also go without his waistcoat I It was a happy
thought, con<: dcring all things, and away he post?
ed to Rag fair, to sell the superfluous Varment.
Once more lie had money in ins pocket, amount?
ing, when all told, to just cightpence, about six?
teen red cents. A penny loaf, bought to relieve
the instant demands ivf hunger, and four penny
worth of paper, to receive the thoughts which
his outlook into God's universe at that time sug?
gested, were the results of his firs! expenditure.
How sweet that morsel of bread ! How pleasant
that home of composition, in the midst of dingy
coal-heavers and the squalid sediment of London
j life ? Not many, we think, in this world, have
had such an experience.
ki But why waste the few pennies he had in
buying paper, whereon to write a parcel of silly
verses V asks a worldly-wise man, who has funds
in the stocks. " It would have been much better
to have saved them against the next tit of empti?
ness of the stomach." Granted ! oh most worthy
individual, for so the event proved. The poor
fellow had fancied that he might write something
which the publishers would buy : it was only a
fancy. What would well-fed publishers have to
do with a shoeless, coatless, hunger.strieken me?
chanic .' The lean, haggard, joyless look of the
famished bard were enough on that head ; so no
negotiation was entered into for the needed shil?
ling. He was again left to wander along the busy
streets. All around him he saw a profusion ot
wealth; magnificent houses, costly equipages,
men and women, ilressed in bilks ami velvets ;
tbe very dogs in the gutters more fat than he.
But not a jot of this wealth existed for him ; the
exquisite gentlemen, who heedlessly jostly him
from the pavement, perhaps reveled in it; the su
perfine lady, eying him with a curious stare from
her gilt carriage, perhaps lavished a great portion
of it on lap-dogs and favorite cats; yet he, a fel?
low and a man, the child of God, the heir of im?
mortality, might not so much as lay a little linger
on the smallest particle of the abundance. Fierce
dragons, indeed, guarded the golden fruit of that
Hesperidcs. Nay, more, he could not enter with
impunity into one of those many thousand houses.
An insuperable embargo kept him out of those sa?
cred harbors; an invisible law of quarantine made
him an infected outcast from society. The cold
stones of gateways were his pillows ; the hard,
bare bricks his couch.
The third day he left London, to attempt to
find his way to Hyde. We shall not dweil
upon the ' incidents' of his ' travel.' His bio?
grapher lets us into much of the history of it,
in these words : " On his route, he ground com
at Birmingham, sung ballads at Leicester, la)'
under the trees in ISherwood Forest, lodged in ti
vagrant office at Derby, made his bivouac al
Bakewell in a ' lock-up,'and finally reac/Vxi Ilydo,
but found, alas! it contained for him a home no
longer !*' While he had been suffering abroad,
his wife and family had been Buffering at home.
The wretched woman, in spite of her persevering,
never-ending exertions, was unable to support
their children ; she was forced, to avoid utter star,
vation, to apply for parish aid ; and she had, in
consequence, been removed to the poor-house in
Wigan. Thither Prince hastened, and having
discovered them, brought them back to Manches?
ter, in the hope of getting employment. Here
they inhabited a garret, without fire, clothes or
furniture, for several months, until the poems of
the father attracted the notice of some charitable
persons, by whose aid they were published. He
I has since been enabled to live in a more com for t
' able way ; hut we follow the history no further.
These were the circumstances of his life. And
what effect have they had in moulding the man !
How have they taught him to regard this strange
existence into which he has been cast ! What
thinks he of the men and things around him ? and
how has he conic out of the battle ? Here are
questions of no small interest to those who wish
to know the various phases of our many-sided hu?
manity, and of the influence that external facts
have upon it. In other words, what sort of mu?
sic has this pressure and jostling ground out of the
nature of Prince ? We answer, a very tolerable
and even pleasant kind of music. From out of
the dark entanglements and pinching straits of his
life-long distress, he has managed to yend up
strains of sweetness and hope. So heart-piercing
wail, no gloomy mutttrings, no bitter cursings
come from him ; but rather the subdued plaint of
a manly heart touched by a sympathy for his
fellows. He is joyful in the presence of Nature
and God, and only sad when he looks at Iiis de?
based and down-trodden brother. Vet he does
not despair ; an instinct of goodness fills him with
joyful hope for the future.
Let it be understood, that Prince is not a great
man, in the high sense of the word. He is not
one of those robust spirits, who trample down
the obstacles of fate with the firm tread of a giant.
He is simply one that has not been overcome by
evil. In the midst of so much that would have
crushed feebler natures, he has retained his integ?
rity. His spirit is unbroken by the rough and
tumble of his career. Poverty has not corrupted
him. nor has it made him much better than he
would otherwise have been. The talent the Mas.
ter gave him has been returned, without loss, if
not with manifold increase. This will be seen
from his poems, which we proceed to give an ac?
count of, as fully as our limits will allow. The
longest of them is called ' The Port's Sabbath,'
and embodies the feelings and reflections of a
hard-worked man during his hebdomadal emanci?
pation It is a production of no mean charactir.
A quick sensibility to the influence of outward
nature, a delicate faney, the love of freedom and
meditation, a tender sympathy for man, are the
qualities which it shows the author to possess in
a high degree. We might say the same thing of
other pieces, with, perhaps, even greater truth,
such as the 4 Vision of the Future,' a glowing
burst of prophetic enthusiasm ; the 1 Epistle to a
Poet,' full of fine traits: and the 'Captive's
Dream,' a touching narrative, mingled with noble
lyrics. In the first of these we lind this descrip?
tion of morning :
" 'Tis morn, but yet the fall and cloudless laoou
Pours from heriWrry urn a ci.ay.ei.ed light:
'Tu but a little sjiace beyond the noon?
The still, d-lici-jui no^u of Summe!-! uiyht;
Forth from my home I take tm early flight,
Down ihe low? rale pursue my d^Tioiis way;
Bi;uad oVr the m?adows with a kov d-li^ht,
Brush from the f?rest learrf the dewy spray,
And scale the toilsome steep to watch the kindling day.
Th* lark U up, disdainful of rhe earth,
Exulting iu his airy realst cn hi?b ,
Hi. soag, prof ose io melody and mirth,
Make? rocal all the region of :br dty .
Tbe startled moor-cock, with a sadden cry,
Springs from beneath my f?e* J a?*d s> I pass, :
The cheep rega/d me with an earnest eye,
Ceasing to aibble at the scanty grass,
Aad scow sbc bans? if sate ia Janoltaow ua? j
m V'1* ttm k!T "*anin~. W<J UV dawn
*"B?-*? aad burns athwart tlv e.ut-tehold,
1 7 rA.r -V ?"?'.^hiBd the apUad lawn,
LwUo er che summit ?uh a front of cold ;
Bark rom hu _beaminS brow the muts ar- rolled.
And ? b* Chab. the cryual tower of morn,
T \M0?M ' *"? EW04 ?*,r depths USfold ;
The trembling dew, Rro* bri^r o. the thorn,
AaJ N i:ure ?mtleia? fre?h auf bat Cev*lj boxa.
G d f the boT.dU** Univerv '. 1 come
To hold communion with mjirii iuj The? ?
A J though ex;-.? of beauty nnke? m- Jumb
Mj u^hrs ixe eloquent wir, all 1 ?e* ? "
Mj WOC i? on the mountains?1 am free,
.\:; ! tuo\ j.; Xi the winds that round me blow t
My dreauunr* sunny as yon ple*>aa.t lea,
And tranquil as the pool that sleeps below ;
While, circling round my heart, a Poet's raptures glow.
Trial or Cassias m. Clay?Sprech of Henry
Clay.
Correspoudence of The Tribune.
LexiXGTO.n, Ky , Oct. lOtb, 1S43.
Messrs. Editors:?Not knowing that you have
j arrangements made for receiving early and accu
| rate reports of the important trial between tiic
Commonwealth of Kentucky and Cassius M.
Clay, which has just terminated, and knowing
that a suit cannot be uninteresting to vou oryour
; readers, where the Whig party and the powers of
; the Tyler dynasty are brought into collision, and
around which Henry Clay has thrown the charm
of his mighty eloquence, I will attempt to give
j you a short account of the trial.
With the particulars of the affray which gave
! rise to the present suit you are no doubt acquaint
j ed. It occurred on the 1st of August ult. at Rus?
sell's Cave, 7 miles from this city, between Cas?
sius M. Clay and Samuel Brown. This Sam
Brown is a salaried officer of the Tyler Adminis?
tration, (a Post-Office Agent for the Southern
District,) who was at that time carrying out the
principles of the Captain's non-interference cir?
cular by traveling about this County on an elec?
tioneering tour with Robert Wickhife, (nephew
of the Postmaster General, who was the Tyler
candidate for M C. in opposition to Garret Da?
vis, the regular Whig candidate. At the political
meeting at Russell's Cave, Mr. Wickliffe was
making a stump speech in his own behalf. In the
speech he made some statements with reference to
the proceedings of some other meetings in the
country, which Mr. C. M. Clay knew to be in?
correct, and which he politely begged leave of
Mr. W. to rectify. Thereupon Mr. Sam. Brown,
the Post-Office Agent, was exceeding wroth, (for
so himself testified,) instantly bristled up to Mr.
Clay, and told him his statements were not true.
Mr. Clay exclaimed that they were true. The lie
and the " damned lie " soon passed between them,
and Mr. Brown attacked Mr. Clay with an um?
brella, who defended himself with a whip he had
in his hand, Mr. Wickliffe in the mean time
cheering on his gallant defender, Mr. Brown, by
exhorting him to " kill him, damn him." In the
contest, Mr. Brown succeeded in getting the
whip from Mr. Clay, and as he advanced upon
him with it the latter drew a bowie knife and told
him t<> stand off. Mr. Brown continued to ap?
proach, till he came within reach of the knife,
when he received a blow from it over the head.?
The bystanders, it seems, now made some efforts
to separate them, and did get them apart; but &
friend soon handed Brown a six-barrel pistol and
told him to defend himself. Mr. B. commanded
the crowd to get out of his way and let him shoot
the ??damned rascal." Other voices also ex?
claimed, 4k shoot the damned rascal." The crowd
separated, and Mr. Brown drew his pistol at
Mr. CJnjr, who was about eight foot from
him, endeavoring to distract his aim by rapidly
moving back and forth. His aim, however, was
skilful and precise, for the ball would have pierced
the heart had not the sheath of his bowie-knife
providentially interposed an effectual barrier.?
Immediately alter the discharge of the pistol, Mr.
Clay closed upon his antagonist to prevent a sec?
ond shot. He gave him several blows upon the
head with the knife, nearly cutting off an ear
and quite extinguishing an eye ; after which they
grappled and both came to the ground, and were
soon after finally separated.
Such are the essential facts of the affray, as
detailed by thirty or forty witnesses, to whose
testimony I have listened. Now a word about
the trial. At the instance of some body or
bodies, with whom I have not now to do, who
were actuated by motives upon which animad?
version were waste of words, a bill of indictment
was procured against Cassius M. Clay for assault
and battery with intent to kill. The trial came
on*yesterday morning, (Oct. 9th,) at the Court
House in this city. After the empaneling of a
Jury?which was a work of much difficulty, as
nearly all had formed opinions or imbibed preju?
dices which disqualified them?a lengthy and
nearly uniform routine of testimony was gone
through with, the substance of which I have
given above. At noon, to-day, the testimony
closed ; ami, on the re-assembling of the Court
after dinner, Mr. Robertson, the Commonwealth'*
Attorney, opened the argument for the prosecution.
Mr. R. is ;i very young man,?in my opinion too
young for the station he holds,?but on this occa?
sion he evinced not a little skill and acumen. Mr.
Smith, a lawyer of eminence, followed on the
part of the defence, and ably analyzed the evi?
dence, and drew up hismrgurncnts. When he sat
down there was silence in Court. A breathless
stillness pervaded the dense mans that filled the
house, till broken by that voice which has so often
awakened listening silence into rapturous ap?
plause. Henry Clay needs but to rise, to bow,
and to smile, and his audience are enchained.?
He commenced his address to the jury by saying
that more ?ian fourteen years had elapsed since
he last appe:;-cd before the bar of this Court as an
advocate in a criminal prosecution. He then de?
fended a young man who was indicted for the
crime of murder and who was acquitted. What
a change, said he, has come over the customs and
practices of our country since that period. Where?
fore I, though not over young in years, stand be
j fore you this day somewhat in the condition of a
1 novice in pleading, and I ask at your hands
j the same forbearance and the same kindness
J which you would extend to a youthful aspirant
; after fame and reputation. But time and space
j forbid me to follow liim through as I could wish.
i Sometimes he poured out the most indignant and
bitier sarcasm on the despicable chicanery of Ty?
ler and his minions, who, far from the fields of
their olScial duties, were espousing the quarrels
: and urging on the interests of particular favor
' ites. and then he led the understanding captive by
the -rguments he gathered from the testimony
to prove that his client was innocent of the crime
charged in the indictment Be spoke auout an
hour and a half, and was heard ?iroughout with
breathless interest, save when admiration and de?
light were too highly exoted to be controlled by
the restraints of a court of, ustice, and manifested
themselves in enthusiastic notes of applause. Mr.
Robertson then concluded his argument for the
prosecution, and the jury retired. They needed
no long space of tune to mature their decision,
but soon returned into Court with a verdict of
Not Guilty. So eadeth Capt. Tyler's unlucky
oxperiaeot upon the gallant sons of Kentucky.
Yours ist truth, hoste? Stc. 1*