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 DEATH OF HENRY W. GRADY.

From the “Savannah News.”

Georgia mourns for one of her most distinguished sons. Henry W.
Grady, who, a week ago last Thursday, held entranced, and at times
moved to enthusiastic applause, by his eloquence, an audience
composed of Boston’s prominent citizens, and whose name on the
following day was on the lips of millions of people, is cold in death in
his Atlanta home. He died before he had reached the meridian of life
or the zenith of his fame. His mind was steadily broadening, and he
was constantly giving evidence of the possession of still greater
ability than he had yet displayed. In his Boston speech he handled
the race question in a way that showed that he was not a mere
rhetorician, but a genuine orator, who could direct the minds of men
as well as touch their hearts and dazzle their imaginations. Had he
lived, he would have won a name that would have had a permanent
place in the history of his country. As it is, he will be remembered as
a brilliant young man whom death claimed before he had time to
show that he was fully capable of meeting the expectations which
were entertained with regard to him.
Mr. Grady was full of resources and a tireless worker. He entered
the profession of journalism very early in life, and such was the
energy and intensity with which he devoted himself to it, that even if
he had not possessed extraordinary talents, he could hardly have
failed to succeed; but, having a special fitness for his work and ability
of a very high order, it was not strange that he quickly made a
reputation that was not confined by the lines of his State.
Mr. Grady was never satisfied with what he had accomplished. He
felt that he was capable of still better things, and he strove constantly
to reach a higher mark of excellence. No sooner was he done with
one undertaking than his busy brain was engaged with another; and
it can be said of him that his aims were not selfish ones. No doubt he
had the ambitions which every man of marked ability has, but the
good of others entered largely into his thoughts and plans. Atlanta
owes to his memory a debt she can never repay. During all the time
he was a resident within her limits he kept her interests steadily in
view. He contributed to her prosperity in a hundred ways, and when
her people were lukewarm in enterprises which he or others
suggested, he pointed out to them their duty, and urged them to
perform it so eloquently and strongly that they fell into line and won
success when many thought success was impossible.
Mr. Grady was not apparently anxious to accumulate wealth.
Money did not remain with him long. His purse was always open to
his friends, and those who had claims never had to ask him twice for
assistance when he was able to render it. Doubtless there are
hundreds in Atlanta who are able to speak from personal knowledge
of his free-handed liberality.
Mr. Grady never held public office. Had he lived, however, it is
probable that he would have entered the political arena. He was
gradually being drawn in that direction, and during the last two or
three years his name was frequently mentioned in connection with
the offices of Senator and Governor. His triumphs were won as a
journalist and an orator. In the latter character he first achieved a
national reputation at the dinner of the New England Society in 1886.
Georgians loved Mr. Grady and were proud of him. The death of
very few other men could have so filled their hearts with sorrow.
 HENRY W. GRADY DEAD.

From the “Albany News and Advertiser.”

The flash that announced over the wires the death of Henry W.
Grady shocked the country, for it was a national calamity.
It is seldom that a people are called upon in so short a space of
time to mourn the loss of two such men as Jefferson Davis and
Henry W. Grady. The first was a blow for which we were prepared,
for like ripened grain, Mr. Davis fell, full of years and honor, before
the scythe of the reaper; but the death of Mr. Grady comes to us as a
sorrow with all the force of a painful surprise. He was cut down in the
bloom of a robust physical manhood, in the full enjoyment of his
magnificent mental powers by which he had just ascended to the
very pinnacle of fame. The eyes of the country were fixed upon him,
the son of the South, whose transcendent genius inspired the hope
of the blessed realization of promises with which his brief but brilliant
career was so full. But in the death of this illustrious journalist and
matchless orator the lesson is enforced that “The path of glory leads
but to the grave.”
Mr. Grady grew up in the refined atmosphere of cultured Athens,
and his mental nature treasured the classic light of that seat of
learning, and it glowed with attractive radiance in all of his editorial
work. In his death the press of the country loses its brightest
ornament, and the South loses a champion without compare, whose
pen was a trenchant blade in fighting her battles, and a shield when
used to defend her from the hurtling arrows of envy and malice. His
luminous pen made the path of the South’s progress glow, as with
unflagging zeal he devoted his best endeavors to the amelioration of
her war-ruined condition.
Mr. Grady, as the representative of what people are pleased to call
the “New South,” but which is the “Old South” rehabilitated, was, in
the providence of God, calculated to do for his country what Hill,
Gordon and other brilliant lights of the old régime could never have
compassed. As David, “the man of war,” was not permitted to build
the temple, but that glory was reserved for Solomon, so Grady, the
exponent of present principles, was permitted to gather the
fragments and broken columns of the South’s ruined fortunes and
begin the erection of a temple of prosperity so grand in proportion,
so symmetrical in outline, as to attract, in its incomplete state, the
admiration of the world.
In the extremity of our grief we are apt to magnify our loss, but
this, indeed, seems irreparable, and we can take no comfort in the
assurance of the philosopher who codified the experience of the past
into the assurance that great ability is always found equal to the
demand. On whom will Grady’s mantle fall? There really seems to be
none worthy to wear what he so easily graced. And every Southern
heart weighed down with a sense of its woe cannot but ask,

O death, why arm with cruelty thy power

To spare the idle weed yet lop the flower?
 STILLED IS THE ELOQUENT TONGUE.

From the “Brunswick Times.”

Henry W. Grady is dead!
Hushed forever is the voice of the South’s most wonderful orator!
With the laurel upon his brow, with the plaudits of a nation ringing
in his ears, with the love of his people freshly spoken, with a crown
of glory about him, the matchless defender of the South has passed
from earth, and beyond the silence of the stars his soul dwells in the
companionship of the great who have gone before.
With his sorrow fresh upon the South, this death and loss following
so closely upon that other in New Orleans but a few days ago, the
heart is not in keeping with the brain, and not now can the pen
dipped only in tears write.
Henry Grady had not reached the zenith of his fame, for the circle
was widening for him and there were still brighter flowers for him to
pluck, and in her hand Honor held out still richer prizes. But the
mystery of death is upon him, and from his hand has dropped the
forceful, graceful pen, and in silence and peace he sleeps for the
grave.
With a superb intellect, with an eloquence rivalling the golden-
tonged Chrysostom, with a love almost unapproached by any other
for the South and her people, he stood peerless and matchless as
his land’s defender and leader in all that made for her peace,
prosperity and happiness.
But his sun has set. It matters not that in all brightness it went
down; it matters not that he died full of honors; about that grave a
people will gather with tears fast flowing and hearts crushed and
bleeding. It is hard to give up one so grand of mind, so wonderful of
tongue, so magnetic of personality, so richly endowed in all that
equips the great leader.
And such was Henry W. Grady.
 Atlanta will mourn him, Georgia will weep for him, and the South
will sorrow indeed.
Upon his bier the Times lays this tribute and stands reverent and
uncovered by the grave of Georgia’s most brilliant son.
 A SHINING CAREER.

From the “Macon Telegraph.”

Henry Grady is dead. This announcement carried sorrow all over
Georgia yesterday, for there were few men in whom the people of
this State felt so much interest or for whom they cherished such a
warm affection as they did for this gifted and lovable man. He had
not attained his thirty-ninth year when “God’s finger touched him”
and closed his remarkable career, but his name was familiar from
one limit of this Union to the other. Georgia had no more famous
citizen, and perhaps there never was a man in this State in private
station who was so widely known or so much admired. Mr. Grady
never held a public office, and yet he was a recognized force in
Georgia politics almost before he had reached the years of statutory
manhood. He devoted his life to journalism, and in his chosen field
achieved a national fame. He began his career as a boy editor in
Rome, and at an age when most men are merely selecting their
standards and shaping themselves for the real work of life, he
became a prominent and influential figure, a leader of thought, and a
promoter of public enterprises. Eighteen years ago he moved to
Atlanta to pursue his profession in a broader field, and immediately
made himself felt as a positive force in the community. The debt
which Atlanta owes him is great indeed. No man did more to inspire
the pride of community, to set on foot and carry to success great
enterprises for the welfare and progress of the city, to rally its people
to an enthusiastic unanimity on all questions affecting local
prosperity than did Henry W. Grady. These public services would
have endeared him to the people of his adopted city, but they were
not so admirable as his private benefactions. He was first and
foremost in many good works, the fame of which never went beyond
the homes of the poor and unfortunate who were relieved by his
ministrations. His hand was open always to the stricken and needy.
He gave to the afflicted with a generosity which was oblivious to his
own circumstances. Of his influence in promoting public enterprises
there are enduring monuments. By his eloquence of tongue and pen
he raised in less than two weeks $85,000 for the erection of the
beautiful Young Men’s Christian Association building which now
adorns one of the principal streets of Atlanta. He was the moving
spirit in the building of the Chamber of Commerce and the
enlargement of its membership until it reached proportions that made
it a power not only in matters of business but in all the public
concerns of the city. The Confederate Soldiers’ Home of Georgia is a
monument to him, for he seized mere suggestions and made them
the text of an appeal which stirred the hearts of the people of
Georgia and evoked a long delayed tribute of gratitude to the broken
veterans of the lost cause. The Cotton Exposition of 1880 and the
Piedmont Expositions of 1887 and 1889, from which Atlanta reaped
immense benefits, were largely due to his persistent labors.
While Mr. Grady became prominent in Atlanta, and justly
esteemed by his fellow-citizens on account of works and triumphs
like these, he rose into national prominence by reason of other
evidences of his genius. His address to the New England Society in
New York in December, 1886, was one of the most famous
occasional speeches ever delivered in this country. The morning
after its delivery he literally awoke to find himself famous throughout
the country. Since that time he made various public addresses which
commanded the attention of the United States and became subjects
of common conversation among the people. His speech at the Dallas
Exposition last year and his address to the legislatures of Georgia
and South Carolina at the Augusta Exposition a few weeks later,
were themes of the public press of the entire country. But the best
and ablest public speech of his life was his last. It was that which he
delivered two weeks ago at Boston in the performance of a mission
which proved fatal to him. In this, as in all his famous public
addresses, he seemed to strive with a passionate ardor and a most
persuasive eloquence to bring the North and the South to a better
understanding of each other, to foster the spirit of mutual respect and
mutual forbearance, to inculcate the great idea that this is a re-united
country and that the duty of every good citizen in its every section is
to strive for its domestic peace, for its moral, social and material
progress, and for its glory among the nations of the earth. He
handled these great themes with a master hand and invested his
exposition of them with a most fascinating eloquence. Few men in
Georgia ever accomplished so much in so few years. Few men in
Georgia were even the object of such affection at home and such
admiration beyond the bounds of the State. The career which has
been so suddenly cut off was shining with golden promise. The
future seemed to be full of honors and there was everything
surrounding the present that could make life sweet. But the end has
come. The most eloquent tongue in Georgia has been smitten into
everlasting silence in this world. A great, generous heart has been
stilled.
A useful citizen, after a brief but busy and momentous life, which
was productive of many enterprises of public importance and
beneficent tendency, has folded his hands in the eternal rest. God’s
peace be with him!
 THE GREATEST CALAMITY.

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!
 NO ORDINARY GRIEF.

From the “Columbus Ledger.”

A great loss has befallen the South in the death of Henry W.
Grady, and deep sorrow rests upon the hearts of her people.
He was no ordinary man, and his death calls forth no ordinary
grief. Brilliant in intellect, strong in his convictions, untiring in his
efforts to promote the welfare of his country, genial, courteous, kind-
hearted, ever ready to help the unfortunate, the loss of such a man
cannot be estimated. When results were to be achieved, when
encouragement was needed, his eloquent tongue, his ready pen, his
helping hand were used with telling effect. His creed was to build up
and not to tear down; to encourage and not to discourage; to help
and not to hurt. His efforts were ever directed to the promotion of his
State and the South, and no other man has accomplished so much
for them as he. His last effort was for his country and his people, and
the good which will result from his eloquent speech at Boston, will be
a lasting monument. It would have been impossible for any man to
have attained to Mr. Grady’s position without coming into contact
with those who disagreed with him on many points, but even these
acknowledged his greatness. To read of him was to admire him; to
know him was to love him. In the midst of our sorrow let us thank
God that He lends to earth such men.
 A PLACE HARD TO FILL.

From the “Griffin News.”

Henry W. Grady died at his home in Atlanta late Sunday night of
pneumonia, contracted during his recent trip North. His illness was
very short and his untimely death is a shock not only to his many
friends and admirers, but to the whole State in which he was so well
known, and will be received with regret outside its borders. He was a
beautiful writer and a brilliant orator, as well as a prominent factor in
the development of Atlanta. He will be greatly missed in that city, and
his place in the Constitution, of which he was easily the head, will be
hard to fill. Peace to his ashes.
 “JUST HUMAN.”

From the “Thomasville Enterprise.”

Thackeray, the greatest of English novelists, in the concluding
words of Pendennis, says: “I have not painted a hero, only a man
and a brother.” When Henry W. Grady made his first appearance
before the public as a lecturer, his subject was the words that begin
this article—“Just Human.” This was years ago, when he was only
known to the world as a brilliant young journalist, and even then his
fame for quick perception, incisive utterance and felicitous manner,
was only begun. Later years added to that fame, and with each year,
there seemed to come to him a wider range of ideas, and a bolder
conception of the most effectual way to put those ideas into burning,
glowing language.
After he had made his memorable speech before the New
England Society in New York, each succeeding one only raised him
higher in public esteem as a matchless, a magnetic orator, who
could wield human hearts as he would. Through all these speeches,
and in all that he ever wrote, there lingers, like a sweet incense, this
thought, that he recognized that men were “Just Human,” and
entitled to all that charity could offer in extenuation of their faults.
There is not a heart in all the world that has received one pang
from aught that Henry Grady ever wrote or said; his utterances,
whether from the rostrum or through the columns of his paper,
always tended to make the world better, and his ambition seemed to
be to smooth away the differences that annoy, and the bitternesses
that gall. There is no man in all the country that can take up his work
where he left it.
Where can we find the same impassioned eloquence that swayed,
despite its force, as gently as the summer breezes that come across
fields of ripe grain?
 Where can we find the same acute feeling for the sorrows and
sufferings of men and women, “Just Human,” the same sweet
pleading for their extenuation or their amelioration?
When the epitaph over his grave comes to be written, no better
rendering of the true greatness of the departed could be made than
is contained in the suggestive name of his first lecture, “Just
Human,” for the noble instinct that taught him to plead so eloquently
for the failings of his fellow men, taught him to enter the Divine
presence, asking for himself that mercy he had asked for others.
 GEORGIA WEEPS.

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.
 A GRAND MISSION.

From the “West Point Press.”

So much has been said about the lamented Grady that we may
not be able to offer anything new. But as we feel that his untimely
death is an irreparable loss we must offer our heartfelt tribute.
He was the most unselfish slave to friends, and to duty. As an
editor he was brilliant and at all times as fearless as a Spartan; as an
orator, age considered, he stood without a peer within the broad
realm of his native land, and although but in the full vigor of
manhood he has left upon record speeches that compare favorably
with the master efforts of Calhoun and Webster. As a companion he
was genial, jovial and untiring in his efforts to entertain; as a friend
there was no bound to his fidelity.
If you would know the beauty and grandeur of Henry Grady’s
character, go and learn it at the homes of poverty where he delighted
to turn in the light, by his many offices of love and charity. If you
would know the kindness of his generous heart go to those whom he
has lifted from the vale of poverty and given encouragement to look
up. Ask the army of newsboys for a chapter upon the life of Henry
Grady and you will hear words to convince you that a philanthropist
has been called hence. It seemed to us the other day while in
Atlanta, as they said “Paper, sir,” that there was a sadness in the
tone, and that a great sorrow was upon their hearts. Yes, those
newsboys miss Henry Grady, for he was their friend and protector.
Words of eulogy cannot restore those who cross the dark river; if
they could there has been enough said to recall Henry Grady to the
high position he honored by a life of unselfishness. His mission, only
begun, was a grand one, and we trust his mantle may fall upon some
one who will carry on his work.
 THE SOUTH LOVED HIM.

From the “Darien Timber Gazette.”

Seldom has the nation’s heart been so saddened as by the news
of Henry W. Grady’s death. Henry W. Grady, although comparatively
young, has conquered this vast continent—east and west, north and
south—and his many victories have been bloodless. He has truly
demonstrated that the pen is mightier than the sword. An intellect
exceptionally brilliant, an indomitable courage, a judgment keen,
clear and cool, a character unspotted and unassailable—these are
the weapons with which Henry W. Grady captured the nation.
The South loves him for his unflinching devotion to its interests;
the North admires him for the conservatism which always
characterized his political actions. The brilliancy of his intellect all
admit. We venture to say that there lives not a man in the United
States to-day whose death would be more sincerely or more
universally mourned.
That a career so unusually promising should have been so
suddenly cut off is sad indeed—sad especially for the South, whose
claims he so ably advocated and so successfully furthured. The
severing of the still more tender ties between wife and husband,
mother and son, while in the youth of his glory, adds another gloomy
chapter to the death of Southland’s most patriotic and brilliant son.
Millions will bow their heads in grief with the loving wife and devoted
mother.
We read and re-read the words of Henry W. Grady’s last speech
with a strange fascination. They are like the last notes of the dying
swan and will doubtless have much more weight under the sad
circumstances. He has literally laid down his life that the colored man
might enjoy his in peace and prosperity.
 NO SADDER NEWS.

From the “Marietta Journal.”

No sadder news ever fell upon the ears of this people than the
announcement that “Henry Grady is dead!” It staggered our people
like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky.
His death took place at the family residence in Atlanta at 3:40
o’clock Monday morning, December 22. While on a visit to Boston,
where he delivered the grandest speech of his life, he took cold, and
being ill before he left home, he was prostrated on his return home,
his sickness culminating in pneumonia and death. He was thirty-
eight years old at the time of his death, and no private citizen at that
age ever attained the renown that Grady had. As an orator and
journalist he was without a peer; gifted above his fellows to sway
men by his pen or his voice, he won the applause and admiration
and love of his countrymen wherever he came in contact with them.
His young life and genius had been devoted to deeds of kindness,
peace, unity and charity. Selfishness did not enter his heart, that
always beat in response to the woes and sufferings of his fellow
men.
There was a charm and sparkle about his writings that never failed
to captivate the senses, please and entertain. The South lost one of
her brightest minds and stanchest champions in the death of Henry
Grady. There is no man that can take his place in the rare gifts that
so befittingly endowed him in the grand work in which he was
engaged. His loss is an irreparable one. Sorrow and gloom pervade
the hearts of our people over this sad event. We may not understand
how one so superbly gifted, with capacities for the accomplishment
of so much good in the world, is taken, and many who cumber the
earth and are stumbling blocks, are left, but we know the hand of
Providence is behind it all, and He is too wise to err, too good to be
unkind.