you more and more of the riches of his mind-something rare-a "fresh dish," as he said to his friends, "they must have something new." But one of the proudest days of his life was in 1844, when he addressed a Whig Mass Meeting of over forty thousand people, at Nashville, Tennessee. What made this day a greater one, he was the orator selected for this grand occasion by five hundred of Tennessee's fairest daughters, of which fact he was informed by their addressing him a beautiful letter of invitation. As he ascended the platform and saw the mighty concourse before him, and one, too, that had recently been charmed by the eloquent "Harry of the West," he felt the need of all the magic powers of his oratory. While in the midst of his speech, the greatness of the occasion impressing him, he soared in all the glory of his eloquence -swaying the immense crowd with its charmed power; but he had exerted himself too much-he fainted, and fell back into the arms of Governor Jones, who exclaimed, as he received his eloquent and cherished friend-" Die! Prentiss, die! you will never find a more glorious opportunity." The mighty throng were touched with deep sympathy for their idol orator, and cried out,-"Let him rest! bring cordials and restore him! we'll wait!" As he began again, Governor Jones cautioned him to speak with less effort, but it was like restraining the flight of the eagle, he soon become as eloquent as before, and finished this most celebrated speech with a grandeur worthy of the occasion, and worthy of the man. In his speech at Natches, also, in 1844, he gave that enlightened audience who cherished him as their eloquent Bayard, and who, when they heard the "clump" of his cane on the stage, welcomed him with shouts of applausesplendid eulogy of Henry Clay, extolling him as one of the great ones of the world. He had a lisp in his speech, which, when he become sarcastic, changed into a "serpent hiss." After he had given this splendid portraiture of Clay, he turned round and asked-" Who was James K. Polk?" A breathless pause for an answer-and he replied in his hissing accent-" A blighted burr that has fallen from the mane of the war-horse of the Hermitage." A by-stander says,-" Old Democrats forgot themselves and joined in the general shout, for the plaudits were terrible-out-voicing the deep toned sea." He said in the same speech, refering to the wide difference between Walker's two Texas letters, grasping and dashing them under his feet-"I wonder, that like the acid and the alkali, they do not effervesce as they touch each other!" Here is a beautiful passage from one of his last speeches, and we give it as not only one of his last, but as most beautifully applying to the close of his own life. It was delivered to a large gathering of his friends. He was standing between two trees, on a platform at the close of the day. Taking into consideration every thing connected with the close of this speech-the last noble aspirations of a loving spirit, which it breathes - the self-devotion to every noble cause in which he engaged, the admiration which followed, and the charm in the presence of this brilliant orator, and the approach of a near grave glimmering sadly through the whole, there is perhaps no simile in English composition considering the circumstances and feelings under which it was expressed that casts so touching an interest. "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 our days in the same splendor, and that when the evening of life comes, we may sink to rest with the clouds that close in our departure, gold-tipped with the effulgence of a wellspent life." We have not spoken of his faults, his vices, he had them; but as one of the fairest daughters of the South, speaking to us of them, remarked, his genius and that noble heart of his, would excuse them all. A fine writer, and one of his eulogists, says of him :— "At this day it is difficult for any one to appreciate the enthusiasm . which greeted this gifted man, the admiration which was felt for him, and the affection which followed him. He was to Mississippi, in her youth, what Jenny Lind is to the musical world, or what Charles Fox, whom he resembled in many things, was to the Whig party of England in his day. Why he was so it is not difficult to see. He was a type of his times, a representative of the qualities of the people, or rather of the better qualities of the wilder and more impetuous part of them. The proportion of young men, as in all new countries, was great, and the proportion of wild young men, was, unfortunately, still greater. "He had all those qualities which make us charitable to the character of Prince Hal, as it is painted by Shakspeare, even when our approval is not bestowed. Generous as a price of the royal blood, brave and chivalrous as a knight-templar, of a spirit that scorned every thing mean, underhanded or servile, he was prodigal to improvidence, instant in resentment, and bitter in his animosities; yet magnanimous to forgive when reparation had been made, or misconstruction explained away. There was no littleness about him. Even towards an avowed enemy, he was open and manly, and bore himself with a sort of antique courtesy and knightly hostility, in which self-respect was mingled with respect for his foe, except when contempt was mixed with hatred; then no words can convey any sense of the intensity of his scorn-the depth of his loathing. When he thus out-lawed a man from courtesy and respect, language could scarcely supply words to express his disgust and detestation. "Even in the vices of Prentiss, there were magnificence and brilliancy imposing in a high degree. When he treated, it was a mass entertainment. On one occasion, he chartered the theatre for the special gratification of himself and friends-the public generally. He bet thousands on the turn of a card, and would witness the success or failure of the wager with the nonchalance of a Mexican monte-player, or, as was most usual, with the light humor of a Spanish muleteer. He broke a faro-bank by the nerve with which he laid his large bets, and by exciting the passion of the veteran dealer, or awed him into honesty by the glance of his strong and steady eye. He never seemed to despond for a moment; the cares and anxieties of life were mere bagatelles to him. Sent to jail for an affray in the court-house he made the walls of the prison resound with the unaccustomed shouts of merriment and revelry. Starting to fight a duel, he laid down his hand at poker, to resume it, he said with a smile, when he returned; and went on the field laughing with his friends as to a pic-nic. Yet no one knew better the proprieties of life than himself—when to put off levity, and to treat grave subjects and persons with proper respect; and no one could assume and preserve more gracefully a dignified and sober demeanor." For the last four years of his life, practice becoming less remunerative in Mississippi, and having mastered the intricate "Justinian code" of Louisiana, he practiced in his profession at the New Orleans bar. He died in 1850, at the residence of his wife's father, near Natches. We have thus given you what we have gathered from the life and speeches, and from those who knew and have seen and heard this eminent orator. "He had," says a friend of his, "the noblest intellect, and the most chivalrous character that the Almighty ever bestowed upon the human form." This is S. S. Prentiss, the "limping boy" of Maine, who became the Bayard of Southern chivalry, whose eloquence, like the Mississippi-strong and impressiveflowing amid a region attractive with beauty-grand with picturesque views, and rich with genial and gorgeous scenery, so charmed the sunny South. But he has gone. He lies buried near that noble river, which first, when he was a mere Yankee boy, "caught his poetic eye, and stirred by its aspects of grandeur, his sublime imagination; upon whose shores first fell his burning and impassioned words as they aroused the rapturous applause of his astonished auditors. And long will that noble river roll out its tide into the gulf, ere the roar of its current shall mingle with the tones of such eloquence again-eloquence as full and majestic, as resistless and sublime, and as wild in its sweep as its own sea-like flood: 'The mightiest river Rolls mingling with his fame forever.' "The tidings of his death, came like wailing over the State, and we all heard them as the toll of the bell for a brother's funeral. The chivalrous felt, when they heard that 'young Harry Percy's spur was cold,' that the world had grown common-place; and the men of wit and genius, or those who could appreciate such qualities in others, looking over the surviving bar, exclaimed with a sigh: 6 The flash of wit, the bright intelligence The gleam of mirth-the blaze of eloquence And this beautiful allusion from Wordsworth was made to him by a loving brother, but which all felt to be as true as beautiful: "The rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the rose; The moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night are beautiful and fair; But yet I know where'er I go, That there has passed a glory from the earth.” COLONEL MCCLUNG. "And, Douglas, I tell thee here, And lay your hand upon your sword,) |