From that day forward, Prentiss was the great man of the House and of the State.  A fire in a prairie never spread or ran faster than his fame; it was on every tongue, in every newspaper.  Such fame from one speech had never been won by any man in America, save Patrick Henry.  Single-speech Hamilton, of the British Parliament, astonished England; but he was never afterward heard of, and is known to this day as “single-speech Hamilton.”  As with Henry, this was but the beginning of a fame which was to grow and expand into giant proportions.  Prentiss was now a national man.  Soon after this, he visited Boston and New York during an exciting political campaign.  Throughout the North, wherever he appeared and spoke, he bore the palm from every rival.

The speech of Prentiss in Faneuil Hall will long be remembered as perhaps the finest specimen of oratory ever listened to in that venerable hall.  It was at the time said by the men of the North to surpass the best efforts of Fisher Ames.  Subsequently he spoke in New York, and for three hours held spell-bound an immense audience.

The writer was informed by a venerable judge, of New Jersey, that he had never believed any man possessed such powers of oratory as to interest him and chain his attention for that length of time.  Hearing this young man from the wilds of Mississippi could do so, he embraced the first opportunity of hearing him.  When he reached the place, he found the assemblage very great, and with difficulty he succeeded in reaching a point where he might hear well.  He was unable to procure a seat, and was compelled to stand, thoroughly jammed by the crowd.  He took out his watch to time him, as he commenced, and noting the minute, he essayed to replace his watch:  something said arrested his attention and his hands from their work of putting the watch in its fob.

“There was something, sir, in his eye,” said he, “which startled me, and then the words came bubbling up spontaneously as spring water, so full of power, so intensely brilliant, and his figures so bold, original, and illustrating, and the one following the other in such quick succession; the flights of imagination, so new, so eloquent, and so heart-searching—­that I found it impossible to take my eyes from his face, or my ears from drinking in every word.  At one time, so intense were my feelings under the effect of his words and the powerful impression they were making on my mind, that I thought I should faint.  I forgot the presence of the crowd, and, though seventy years of age, felt no fatigue from my standing position.  In truth, sir, I was unconscious of the time—­equally so of the presence of any one but the speaker.  I perceived that his physical man was failing under his effort, and so intense was my sympathy that I found myself breathing rapidly and painfully; and yet, when he exclaimed, ‘My powers fail!’ and sank into his seat completely exhausted, I regretted the necessity which compelled him to stop.  It