The Evansville journal. [volume] (Evansville, Ind.) 1866-1870, 1870-01-26


Gated boys usually 1eaa, and could
write such q hand as uneducatod boys
usually write, but this was all that
could be said of him. To him or
biography was one Of the occult
sciences, and Of punctuation he had
never heard. But Mr. Prentice,
knowing that the young man did the
best he knew how. bore with his lack
of knowledge and ~inefhciency with
the kindness OF a Christian and the
patience of a philosopher, and not
only dictated every punctuation mark,
but spelled more than half the words
as he pronounced them. he said the
young man seemed anxious to dis
charge his duties aeceptably, and he
wished to encourage him in all he
could, and in order to do so, he put
himself to a h~undred-fold more tr0u-
BILE than he would have had to do IN
debating to one who understood his
business.
1t was mor than twenty years ago
that Mr.. Prentice lost, to some ex-
tent, the use of his hands for the or
binary purpose Of his profession.
When his right hand became almost
useless In writing, he speedily learned
to write with his left, and it is a little
singular that his chirography was al
ways very nearly the same in appear
ance, no matter with which hand 1T
was written. lie wrote a little better,
however, with his left hand than
with his right. lit was a source of
great and constant annoyance to him
that he could not use his hands we'll
In writing, and has been heard TO de-
clare that if he could do so he could
very easily write editorial matter
enough every day for two or three pa
pers, as he had never known what it
was to want for a subject upon which
to write. He said that he had often
written with one end of the pencil
between his teeth, guiding it with his
hand-he never used a pen except in
letter-writing-and that he had seri-
oUsly thought at time, %oflearning
TO write with his toes, but the idea
seemed so ludicrous that he ADAM
doned it at once. Besides. he feared,
as he said, that his toes would become
as unreliable as his fingers. He very
often, Ia the absence of his amanuen-
sis, wrote long articles, and although
he accomplished the task In a com
paratively short space of time, it was
because he worked steadily and per-
sistently in spite Of the heIvy disad-
vantage under which lie labored. His
letters to some of the friends whom
he esteemed most highly he wrote
with his own hand.
When DR.. Benson reached Mr..
Prentice's bedside evening before last
he found that his patient was rapidly
sinking. He was yet conscious, and
remained SO up to the moment of his
death. One Of Mr.. Prentice's earliest
literary productions was a story call
ed, We believe, The Maniac of the
Lake." an extract from which has
been making the annual rounds of the
press for the last thirty years. A few
days ago, Mrs. DR.. Benson, who took
a deep interest In the spiritual welfare
of MIR. Prentice, clipped the extract
from q newspaper, and requested her
husband to ask Mr.. Prentice to read
it. The following is the extract:
1t can not be that this earth is
mans only abiding place. 1t eau not
be that our life is O bubble cast up
by eternity to float a moment upon its
waves, and sink In n0thingness. Else
why is it the high and glorious aspi-
rations which leap like angels from
the temple of hearts are forever
wandering unsatisfed? Why is it
that the rainbow and the clouds come
over US with q beauty that is not of
earth, and then pass off and leave us
to muse on their loneliness? Why is
it that the stars which hold their fes-
tival around the midnight throne are
set above the grasp of our limited
faculties, forever hooking US with
their unapproachable glory? And.
finally, why is it that bright forms of
human beauty are presented to u
views and taken from US, leaving q
thousand streams Of our affections to
flow back In an Alpine torrent upon
our hearts? We are born for a
higher destiny than that of earth.
There is q realm where the rainbow
never fades; where the stars are
spread out before US like islands chat
slumber on the ocean, and where the
beautiful beings which pass before us
like shadows, will stay forever in our
presence"
During the night the Doctor asked
ulIs IGuLICS IL uB WUUlU ICAQ Inc
extract. He replied that he was no
longer able to read. shall I read it
for your" asked the Doctor. Yes,
yes" was the reply. The beautiful
words were read, but their dying
author was too near the other world
to appreciate fully their. significance.
He muttered a few sentences, with his
failing eyes turned heavenward, but
the sounds were too indistinct to be
Ineligible. In the meantime, two of
Mr.. Prentice's best and most beloved
friends, Mr.. and Mrs. q. w. Griffin,
had reached his bedside. To Mrs.
Griffin, the poetess of this city, the
last poem he ever wrote was ad-
dressed. She was much devoted to
him, and he ever spoke of her in the
most affectionate terms, always call
ing her Alice" She approached,
and leaning over his pillow, a short
time before he breatned his last.
asked him, do you know me?"
Yes" said he, 1T is Josephine"
mo" said Mrs. Griffin, ut is Alice"
Yes, yes, | know you now" said he,
after which he spoke a few Ineligible
words. For the last hour he made no
effort to converse with those arodnd
him. To the questions that were ad-
dressed to him he merely answered
yes or no. His last Ineligible words,
uttered some two hours before his
death, were, Il would like to know"