From Boston Mr. Grady came home to die. It was known that he was
critically ill, but his own life had been so hopeful and so bright, that
when the announcement of his death was made the people of Atlanta were
paralyzed, and the whole country shocked. It was a catastrophe so sudden
and so far-reaching that even sorrow stood dumb for a while. The effects
of such a calamity were greater than sorrow could conceive or affection
contemplate. Men who had only a passing acquaintance with him wept when
they heard of his death. Laboring men spoke of him with trembling lips
and tearful eyes, and working-women went to their tasks in the morning
crying bitterly. Never again will there come to Atlanta a calamity that
shall so profoundly touch the hearts of the people—that shall so
encompass the town with the spirit of mourning.
I feel that I have been unable, in this hastily written sketch, to do
justice to the memory of this remarkable man. I have found it impossible
to describe his marvelous gifts, his wonderful versatility, or the
genius that set him apart from other men. The new generations that arise
will bring with them men who will be fitted to meet the emergencies that
may arise, men fitted to rule and capable of touching the popular heart;
but no generation will ever produce a genius so versatile, a nature so
rare and so sweet, a character so perfect and beautiful, a heart so
unselfish, and a mind of such power and vigor, as those that combined to
form the unique personality of Henry W. Grady. Never again, it is to be
feared, will the South have such a wise and devoted leader, or sectional
unity so brilliant a champion, or the country so ardent a lover, or
humanity so unselfish a friend, or the cause of the people so eloquent
an advocate.
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