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_From the “Union News.”_
HON. HENRY W. GRADY, of the _Constitution_, died at his home in Atlanta
this morning at 3:40.
This cruel blow shivers every heart with agony, even as the thunderbolt
of heaven rends the mighty monarch of the forest.
His death is a loss to Georgia. Every man feels it as a personal
bereavement. He has done more for the material development of the State
than any other one man in it. He was an enthusiast in the cause of
education, an upholder of the church, an advocate of industrial
training, a promoter of every enterprise calculated to benefit Georgia
and her people. He was a friend to humanity, true to himself, to his
country and to his God.
The most brilliant light in Southern journalism is veiled in darkness—a
manly heart has ceased to beat; the tongue that has electrified
thousands with magic eloquence is silent forever; the fingers that
wielded the pen of genius and never traced a line in bitterness or
malice, but was always uplifted in behalf of charity, love and good
will, in behalf of progress, industry and enterprise, in behalf of the
South and her institutions, his State and her people, are cold in death;
the once warm hand of benevolence and fraternal greeting is chilled
forever; a golden life is ended, but his works live after him, as a
priceless heritage to his State, a boon to his people. The influence of
his example pervades the State as a delightful aroma.
The dispensations of Providence are mysterious. It is strange fate, past
all human understanding, why so excellent a spirit, a man of so much
influence, should be cut down in the glory of his life, in the richest
prime of his royal manhood.
Only a few days ago he stood in a blaze of glory in a Northern city and
electrified thousands by his matchless oratory, in the presentation of a
question that did the South great good and justice, and did much to
soften the animosities of the North toward the South, and establish more
fraternal relations between the two sections. But even while the
plaudits of the admiring multitude were ringing in his ears, and the
press of the country was singing his praises, the fatal hand of disease
was laid upon him, and he was brought back to his own sunny and beloved
Southland to die.
Mr. Grady was a popular idol. He was destined to reap the highest
political honors in the State. His name was being prominently mentioned
in connection with the Governorship and Senatorship of Georgia.
Democratic leaders sought his favor. His influence was felt throughout
the entire State. His support was an omen of success.
Ben Hill died, and his place has never been supplied in Georgia. Mr.
Grady approached nearer to it than any other man. Now Mr. Grady is gone,
and his duplicate cannot be found in the State. No man in recent years
could so attract the eye and fasten the attention of the North. The
death of no other Georgian at this time would have been so calamitous.
The star was rapidly hastening to the zenith of its brilliancy and
greatest magnitude when suddenly it went out in darkness, but across the
industrial and political firmament of the country it has left an
effulgent track whose reflection illumines the world.
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