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!