ers saw him and his steel clad
warriors threading the snows of Mount St. Bernard, and having gained
the dizzy height, Prentiss represented "the man of destiny" looking
down upon the sunny plains of Italy, and then with a mighty swoop,
descending from the clouds and making the grasp of Empire secondary to
that of Art.

I had the melancholy pleasure of hearing his last, and, it would seem
to me, his greatest speech. Toward the close of the last Presidential
campaign, I found him in the interior of the State, endeavoring
to recruit his declining health. He had been obliged to avoid all
public speaking, and had gone far into the country to get away from
excitement. But there was a "gathering" near by his temporary home,
and he consented to be present. It was late in the evening when
he ascended the "stand," which was supported by the trunks of two
magnificent forest trees, through which the setting sun poured with
picturesque effect. The ravages of ill health were apparent upon his
face, and his high massive forehead was paler, and seemingly more
transparent than usual. His audience, some three or four hundred, was
composed in a large degree of his old and early friends. He seemed to
feel deeply, and as there was nothing to oppose, he assumed the style
of the mild and beautiful--he casually alluded to the days of his
early coming among his Southern friends--of hours of pleasure he had
massed, and of the hopes of the future. In a few moments the bustle
and confusion natural to a fatiguing day of political wrangling
ceased--one straggler after another suspended his noisy demonstration,
and gathered near the speaker. Soon a mass of silent but heart-heaving
humanity was crowded compactly before him. Had Prentiss, on that
occasion, held the very heart-strings of his auditors in his hand, he
could not have had them more in his power. For an hour he continued,
rising from one important subject to another, until the breath was
fairly suspended in the excitement. An uninterested spectator would
have supposed that he had used sorcery in thus transfixing his
auditors. While all others forgot, he noticed the day was drawing to a
close, he turned and looked toward the setting sun, and apostrophized
its fading glory--then in his most touching voice and manner,
concluded as follows:--

"Friends--That glorious orb reminds me that the day is spent, and
that I too must close. Ere we part, let me hope that it may be our
good fortune to end