Born in Wigan, Lancashire, to Joseph Prince and his wife Nancy, JOHN CRITCHLEY PRINCE received some little formal education at a Baptist Sunday School. At nine years of age he began work with his father as a 'reed-maker', a 'reed' being a tool used by hand-loom weavers to separate threads. At eighteen, he married Ann Orme, a resident of Hyde near Manchester where Prince was to live for a number of years, and eventually to die. A family soon followed and by 1830 the pair had a son and two daughters.
Employment prospects being bleak, Prince sought work in France, but to no avail (see the tale, "Pauline Peronne"). After suffering much hardship during his return journey (related in "Sketch of the Author's Life"), he arrived home to find his family in the Wigan poorhouse. In later years Prince moved around Lancashire, mainly in Blackburn, Ashton and Hyde, searching for casual work. He supplemented his income by contributing poems to local periodicals and scrounging off acquaintances.
Prince published his first poetry collection, "Hours With the Muses", in 1841. It sold well, running to five editions and attracting attention in London. Other collections followed, some published and sold privately by the author; "Dreams and Realities" in 1847, "The Poetic Rosary" in 1850, "Autumn Leaves" in 1856 and "Miscellaneous Poems" in 1861. Included within these are several short prose pieces, such as "Passion and Penitence", "A Stray Leaf", "Random Thoughts," and "Changes for the Better", which demonstrate no mean talents as a story-teller and essayist. The record suggests that in his day Prince was considered an accomplished member of Manchester's community of poets and writers, being ranked among such local notables as Samuel Bamford, Elijah Ridings and John Bolton Rogerson.
The people of our Christian land
Have cause to bless the men who planned
That place of gentle power and rule,
The noble British Sunday School
...
To a region of song and of sunnier day,
The battle-host wended its wearisome way,
Through the terrible Splugen's tenebrious gloom,
That seemed to lead on to the portals of doom.
...
It is well that beauteous woman
Has the quickest sense of wrong;
That the tenderest traits of feeling
...
Once more to visit a distracted world,
The spirit of sweet Peace comes trembling down,
As war's ensanguined flag is newly furled
...
Oh! the Songs of the People are voices of power
That echo in many a land;
They lighten the heart in the sorrowful hour,
And quicken the labour of hand;
...