none of Cambria's sons perish in a cause less noble!

On the evening of the 4th of February I attended a public meeting for
the relief of the Irish. It was held in the New Commercial Exchange,
and was the first public meeting I had had an opportunity of attending
in America. The Commercial Exchange is a fine large building, supported
by pillars, and containing an area on the ground floor that would
accommodate about 1,500 people. It is but ill-adapted for a public
meeting, having no seats or benches. I found about 800 gentlemen
present, but no ladies. Nor was that to be wondered at; for out of the
800, about 799 were spitting, 600 smoking cigars, 100 chewing tobacco,
and perhaps 200 both chewing and smoking at the same time, for many of
those people chew one end of the cigar while burning the other. There
was a large platform, and a great number of gentlemen were upon it.
Governor Johnson was the president, assisted by lots of
vice-presidents. When I entered, a tall old gentleman, with rather high
cheek bones, and a voice somewhat tremulous and nasal, was speaking. He
descanted, in a second or third rate style, on the horrors of famine in
Ireland,--its horrors especially as seen in the family. Coming to a
period, he said, "It is under these circumstances that I want you to
put your hands into your pockets, and pull out something, and throw it
into the lap of starving Ireland!" This caused the most tremendous
cheering I ever heard,--"bravo--bravo--bravo,--whoo--hoo--whoo!" The
last sound was to me altogether new. Not having learned phonography, I
can give you no adequate notion of it; but it was a combination of the
owl's screech and the pig's scream. The favoured orator continued his
speech a little longer, and at the close there was a storm of applause
ten times more terrific than the former. And who was the speaker? It
was none other, as I subsequently ascertained, than the celebrated
Henry Clay! In departing from the tone of eulogy in which it is