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 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 on our departure, gold-tipped with the glorious effulgence of a well-spent life!" In conclusion, I would ask, will some historian, who can sympathize with the noble dead, gather up the now fleeting memorials that still live in memory, and combine them together, that future generations may know something of the mighty mind of Prentiss.