GEORGE DENISON PRENTICE. 1802-1870. GEORGE DENISON PRENTICE was born in Preston, Connecticut, and was a teacher and lawyer in early life. In 1830 he went to Kentucky, and a year afterward became editor of the Louisville "Journal," which position he held and made illustrious during the remainder of his life. His wit and humor gave him great influence, and his paper, afterwards consolidated with the "Courier" and known as the "Courier-Journal," became a power in politics, commerce, and society. A fine statue of him adorns the CourierJournal building in Louisville, and his fame is by no means forgotten. "Prenticeana" is a collection of his witty and pungent paragraphs. See Memorial address by his successor, Henry Watterson. Life of Henry Ciay. Poems, edited by John James Piatt. WORKS. Prenticeana, [with life-sketch.] Mr. Prentice's best known poem is the "Closing Year," which elocutionists have kept before the public and which has often inspired young poets to sad verses on the passing of time. THE CLOSING YEAR. (From Poems.)* 'Tis midnight's holy hour-and silence now Is brooding, like a gentle spirit, o'er The still and pulseless world. Hark! on the winds, * By permission of Robert Clarke & Co., Cincinnati, No funeral train Is sweeping past; yet on the stream and wood, Young Spring, bright Summer, Autumn's solemn form, In mournful cadences, that come abroad 'Tis a time For memory and for tears. Within the deep, And holy visions that have passed away And left no shadow of their loveliness On the dead waste of life. That spectre lifts The coffin lid of hope, and joy, and love, And, bending mournfully above the pale, Sweet forms that slumber there, scatters dead flowers O'er what has passed to nothingness. The year Has gone, and, with it, many a glorious throng Flashed in the light of midday—and the strength In the dim land of dreams. Remorseless Time! Fierce spirit of the glass and scythe! what power He presses and forever. The proud bird, Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or brave And bathe his plumage in the thunder's home, Spring, blazing, from the ocean, and go back Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his path, Upon the fearful ruin he has wrought. PARAGRAPHS. (From Prenticeana.) A pin has as much head as a good many authors, and a good deal more point. The Turkish men hold that women have no souls, and prove by their treatment of them that they have none themselves. A writer in the "American Agriculturist" insists that farmers ought to learn to make better fences. Why not establish a fencing-school for their benefit? The thumb is a useful member, but, because you have one, you needn't necessarily try to keep your neighbors under it. The greatest truths are the simplest; the greatest man and women are sometimes so, too. A New Orleans poet calls the Mississippi the most eloquent of rivers. It ought to be eloquent; it has a dozen. mouths. EDWARD COATE PINKNEY. 1802-1828. EDWARD COATE* PINKNEY was the son of the distinguished orator and statesman, William Pinkney, of Maryland, and was born in London while his father was minister to England. After attending the College of Baltimore, he entered the Navy at fourteen years of age and spent much of his time of service in the Mediterranean. On his father's death, 1822, he returned to Baltimore and engaged in the practice of law, at the same time making some reputation * Mr Charles Weathers Bump Ph. D. (Johns-Hopkins), says this name should be Coote, as it so stands in the register of Pinkney's baptism, which he has seen. by his poems. "A Health" and "Picture Song" are considered his best-their beauty makes us mourn his early death. At the time he was numbered one of the "five greatest poets of the country." On his return from a journey to Mexico, taken for his health, he was elected, in 1826, professor of Belles-lettres in the University of Maryland, formerly called the College of Baltimore. WORKS. Poems: Rodolph, a Fragment, and other Poems. A HEALTH. I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone; A woman of her gentle sex And kindly stars have given Her every tone is music's own, Affections are as thoughts to her, The image of themselves by turns,— |