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_From the “Augusta News.”_
CAN it be possible? Can it be that the brightest star in the galaxy of
our great luminaries is blotted out and stricken from its orbit just as
it was rising in full career to the zenith of usefulness, influence and
splendor? Can it be that the most brilliant meteor which has flashed
across our sky for a generation has fallen to earth literally burned to
ashes by its own fiery contact with the grosser air and elements of the
natural world? Can it be that the light has gone out of the most
magnetic mind and the spirit gone from the most resistless personality
in this sovereign State? Can it be that the South has lost the man who
has been first and foremost in representing its real and progressive
needs and issues, and who has done more for this section than all the
young men of his day combined? Can it be that the kindly heart has
ceased to beat which throbbed in love first for a devoted family, and
next and always for his native State?
Even so, for while still the shadows of the night hung in mournful pall
about his home and dawn lingered as if loth to look upon the lifeless
form of one whom all his people loved, his spirit soared away to greet
the dawning of an eternal day and the mortal part of Henry Woodfin Grady
lay cold in death.
Dead, did we say? Was ever the coming of Death’s angel more untimely? So
it seems to us, with our poor mortal vision, but there is an eye above,
all-seeing; a Providence, all-timely; a Power, almighty; and to His will
we bow this day. In His sight the stricken star is not blotted out but
borne aloft to a brighter realm. In His providence the brilliant meteor
of a day is not fallen, but simply shorn of all its dross and burnished
in beauty and splendor for its flight through all the ages. In His power
the spark which no longer animates the mortal man glows again in glory
and sends a ray of loving light from Heaven to cheer and console the
broken hearts on earth, and remind us that his influence and work are
not lost, but will live and bear blessed fruit for generations yet to
come.
Henry Grady has gone from earth ere yet the dew of youth has been drunk
up by the midday sun of maturity, but in the brief span of life allotted
to him what a world of work he has done, and what a name he made for
himself! Not two-score years had passed over his head, and yet he had
attained all the substantial success and honor which mortal man might
wish. He was not only loved all over Georgia, but he was famous all over
the country, and no public occasion of national import was deemed
complete without his presence and his eloquent voice. He was a magician
in his mastery of men, and the witchery of his voice was enchantment to
any audience in any section. He was coming to be regarded as the
representative of the whole South in the editor’s chair and on the
rostrum, and it is truly said of him that he has done more for the
material advancement of this section than any other man for the past
fifteen years. His death is the greatest calamity which has befallen the
South since the late war, and Israel may indeed mourn this day as for
her first-born.
The name of Henry W. Grady will not be forgotten, for it will live in
the affectionate regard of Georgians and grow greater in the good
results which will follow his life-work. The fact that he literally died
in the service of the South, as a result of cold contracted just after
the impassioned delivery of his recent grand oration in Boston, will
bind his name and memory nearer and dearer to Southern hearts; for to
warrior or hero was never given a better time or a nobler way to die
than to the man who gave his voice, his heart, his reputation and his
life to healing the wounds of a fratricidal war, and to the harmonious
building up of his own beloved South as the fairest and richest domain
of our common country.
God bless his name and his memory, and be a strong and abiding support
to his broken-hearted widow and household this day!
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