It is for such friends that this book is published.
ArmisteadC. Gordon.
Staunton, Virginia.
October, 1904.
Henry C. Tinsley was born April 7, 1834, in Richmond,
Virginia, and lived on the corner of Franklin and
Governor streets, in his father’s residence,
which was opposite the old whig office. His
father was a native of Ireland and died at the early
age of 28, the day after the birth of his only daughter,
Ella, who was educated at the Virginia Female Institute
in Staunton, while presided over by the Rev. Dr. Phillips.
She and his mother have since died, and it is not believed
that he has at this time any living relative.
Mr. Tinsley’s education was obtained at the
old Richmond Academy of that city, a classical school.
In his 18th year he began his journalistic career
as a reporter for the Richmond Dispatch, in which
profession of his choice he soon attracted attention.
The war coming on, he enlisted in the Richmond Howitzers
and served during the whole war as a faithful and
brave soldier.
After the war he returned to the Richmond Dispatch
and soon became one of the most valued men upon its
working corps.
Early in the ’70’s he became by purchase,
half owner and editor of the Staunton vindicator,
being associated with the late W. H. H. Lynn until
1876 when Mr. Lynn sold his interest to Capt T. C.
Morton. The paper was then for eight years conducted
under the style of Tinsley & Morton. After this
Capt. Morton retired from the paper and his eldest
son, A. S. Morton, became in turn half owner, the
firm continuing as before until 1895 when it was dissolved,
Mr. R. S. Turk purchasing the office and good will
of the vindicator and consolidating it with the
spectator, since which time it has been known
as the Staunton spectator and vindicator,
Mr. Tinsley retiring from the paper of which he had
been chief editor for twenty-four years.
Mr. Tinsley died in Staunton, after a long and painful
illness, August 21, 1902.
I saw the Sweet Harbinger of Spring last week.
A violet? No. A swallow? No. A
bud? No. Ah! no; put up your encyclopedia
of Spring information and I’ll tell you.
It was the annual boy with his shoes off for the first
time since the warm weather. He stepped gingerly;
he stood still longer than usual; he hoisted the bottom
of his foot for inspection often; he let a cat go
by, though a rock lay in a yard of him; he picked
out a velvety place on the tan-bark sidewalk before
he put his feet firmly down and squared himself on
them to give the two-finger whistle for his chum,
which is the terror to the nervous. Much of the
boy had gone out of him. He moved with the motion
and sloth of decrepit age. Next week you will
