Mr. McKinsey received his education at the primary school of Miss Tabitha Jones, on Main street, in Elkton, where he was sent when seven years of age.  Except an attendance of eight months at the public school of Elkton, he never attended any other schools.  In early childhood he showed a great desire to read, and is indebted to his relative, William J. Jones, and to L. Marshall Haines and E.E.  Ewing for the means of gratifying his early thirst for information.  Shortly after removing to Philadelphia Mr. McKinsey entered a mercantile establishment as clerk, but soon afterwards accepted a position in the office of a publishing house, and subsequently entered the office of the Philadelphia and Reading railroad company as clerk in the record department.  While in the office of the railroad company he wrote and published his first poem.  It is called “Satana Victo” and is written in blank verse.  Since that time he has been a prolific writer of both poetry and prose, much of which has been published.

In October, 1884, Mr. McKinsey accepted the position of editor of the Shore Gazette, a weekly journal published at Ocean Beach, N.J., which he continued to fill for some months, when he returned to Philadelphia and accepted a position as special writer on a prominent daily journal of that city.  In October, 1885, Mr. McKinsey accepted the position of associate editor of the Cecil Whig, which he continued to fill until the following March when he became editor of the Daily and Weekly News, of Frederick City, Maryland.  During the time he was connected with the Whig he began the publication of a journal in Darby, called the Delaware County Independent.

In January, 1886, Mr. McKinsey married Miss Fannie Holenrake Dungan, an estimable young English lady of Camden, N.J.  Mr. McKinsey is a great admirer of Joaquin Miller and Walt Whitman, and a warm personal friend of the latter.

Though young in years he writes with as much fluency and ease as if he had been writing poetry for half an ordinary lifetime, and gives promise of a brilliant career that will be creditable to his native town, and beneficial to the human race.

WAITING THEIR CROWNS.

They wait, the forest monarchs tall,
  In naked beauty on the hills,
Until the snows of Winter fall,
  And icy arms embrace the rills.

The golden glory of the days,
  When Indian Summer fills the land,
Descends in gleams and dreamful haze,
  Like blessings from the Lord’s right hand.

No matin call of tardy bird,
  Long stayed by sunshine in the north,
Above the fluttering clouds is heard. 
  A moment’s pause, then bursting forth

In all the glorious sweets of song
  That thrill from soul to soul aflame,
And die the barren hills among
  From whence the summer carols came.

All day the leafless monarchs wave
  Their hoary branches high in air,
And white-winged spirits guard the grave
  Where late they laid the Autumn fair.