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_From the “Hartwell Sun.”_
WE little thought in our last issue for the old year, when we penned a
brief paragraph to the effect that Mr. Grady had returned from his
brilliant triumph in Boston to his home in Atlanta sick with a cold,
that in a few hours afterward his grand spirit should have winged its
flight to the home beyond, and that upon the Christmas day, when the
glad bells should ring out their joyous message of “Peace on earth—good
will to men” in the great city so much of his own making, that instead
they should toll the sad requiem of “Dust to dust,” and that every heart
from the ragged newsboy to the chief magistrate should be bursting with
anguish as the noble form of their idolized leader was consigned to the
cold, silent grave.
The blow came so suddenly and was so totally unexpected, that it spread
consternation—not only in his own beloved State and Southland—but over
the entire country. Was there ever a man so universally loved with so
brief a career! Was there ever a man so sincerely and widely mourned!
Was there ever a man so grandly, so eloquently eulogized! Never have we
seen anything like it—never have we heard of anything like it; nor do we
believe there was ever a parallel.
But all the panegyrics by passionate lips uttered, nor all the burning
words of eulogy by eloquent pens written, have yet expressed the
tremendous weight of sorrow that oppresses the hearts of the people who
loved him so well. This was indeed a time when strong men of mighty mind
and fluent tongue felt the utter poverty of expression and the
inadequacy of words.
It did appear as if he was just entering upon his glorious career,—as if
his life’s work yet lay out before him. And yet what a glorious, what a
grand work he had done! And may not his death have emphasized his
glowing appeals for a broader charity; for an unquestioning confidence;
for fraternal love and justice; for a re-united country. In our very
heart we believe so. If not—God help our country!
We will not attempt to eulogize Henry Grady—to speak of his brilliant
intellect; of his matchless eloquence; of his spotless character; of his
great, warm, unselfish heart—that has already been done by those better
fitted for the loving task; but the hot tears blind our eyes as we think
of the handsome, boyish form of the peerless Grady lying cold in the
remorseless embrace of death. Peace be to his precious ashes!—Eternal
joy to his immortal spirit!
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