Washington Telegraph

A Prince in Florida—Among the prominent citizens of Florida we find a live prince; the son of Murat, king of Naples. Prince Achille Murat is a singular genius. Inheriting all his father's courage, but little of his chivalric love of glory, he has settled down on a plantation the quiet citizen and spectator of the affairs of the world. Various anecdotes are related of him.—

The prince once fought a duel. He came to the ground with his surgeon and took his station, smoking a cigar. He quietly puffed his meerschaum, and when the word was given he fired. The unfortunate Floridian, his antagonist, was shot and fell. Murat's surgeon seeing his employer bolt upright, ran to assist the fallen. The prince who had a little finger nearly cut off by the other's ball, called to his surgeon—“What for you go there? See vou doctair,” holding up his finger dangling by a bit of skin; “I want you cut my finger off. Let him, poor devil, go. He got what he come for. I pay you von hundred dollair to come here to cut bullet out of my body if that tam rascal shoot him in. Let him pay for his own carving—if he not entisfied, I gise him another ball just so soon as you can cut off my finger.” But as one ball did satisfy his antagonist, they retired.

The prince is fond of hunting, and he goes in for the profits of the field and moor. Nothing that swims the water, flies the air, crawls or walks the ground, but he has served up on his table. Alligator steak, frog's shins, boiled owls and roasted crows are found palatable, but there is one animal the prince don't like. The buzzard is one too many for him. “I try him tried; I try him roasted; I try him stewed, and I make soup of him, but the Buzzard is not goute. I have no prejudice against him, but I cook him every way, and then I no like him.” Buzzard's soup! think of that! It takes a Frenchman to develop the resources of a new country.