cept 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 burst