Chapter I: Front Matter

HENRY W. GRADY

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ENGRAVED FROM PHOTOGRAPH BY C. W. MOTES.
H. W. Grady.
]

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JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS’

LIFE OF

HENRY W. GRADY

INCLUDING HIS

WRITINGS AND SPEECHES.

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A Memorial Volume

COMPILED BY MR. HENRY W. GRADY’S CO-WORKERS ON

“_THE CONSTITUTION_,”

AND EDITED BY

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS

(_UNCLE REMUS_).

THIS MEMORIAL VOLUME IS SOLD ONLY BY SUBSCRIPTION, AND IN THE INTERESTS
OF THE FAMILY AND MOTHER OF MR. GRADY.

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NEW YORK:

CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY,

104 & 106 FOURTH AVENUE.

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COPYRIGHT,
1890,
By MRS. HENRY W. GRADY.

_All rights reserved_.

Press W. L. Mershon & Co.,
Rahway, N. J.

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LOOKING FORWARD TO THE REALIZATION OF THE LOFTY PURPOSE THAT GUIDED OUR

_MESSENGER OF PEACE_,

AND TO THE SPLENDID CLIMAX OF HIS HOPES AND ASPIRATIONS,

THIS MEMORIAL VOLUME

OF THE LIFE AND SERVICES OF

=Henry Woodfin Grady,=

IS DEDICATED TO THE

PEACE, UNITY AND FRATERNITY

OF THE

NORTH AND SOUTH, AND TO THE PROGRESS AND PROSPERITY OF

_A RE-UNITED COUNTRY WITH ONE FLAG AND ONE DESTINY_.

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CONTENTS.

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PAGE

IN MEMORIAM—_Henry Watterson_, 5

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH—_Joel Chandler 9
Harris_,

MEMORIAL SKETCH—_Marion Verdery_, 69

SPEECHES.

THE NEW SOUTH—Delivered at the Banquet 83
of the New England Club, New York,
December 21, 1886,

THE SOUTH AND HER PROBLEM—At the Dallas, 94
Texas, State Fair, October 26, 1887,

AT THE AUGUSTA EXPOSITION—In November, 121
1887,

AGAINST CENTRALIZATION—Before the 142
Society of the University of Virginia,
June 25, 1889,

THE FARMER AND THE CITIES—At Elberton, 158
Georgia, in June, 1889,

AT THE BOSTON BANQUET—Before the 180
Merchants’ Association, in December,
1889,

BEFORE THE BAY STATE CLUB—1889, 199

WRITINGS.

“SMALL JANE”—The Story of a Little 211
Heroine,

DOBBS—A Thumb-nail Sketch of a Martyr—A 220
Blaze of Honesty—The Father of
Incongruity—Five Dollars a Week—A
Conscientious Debtor,

A CORNER LOT, 227

THE ATHEISTIC TIDE SWEEPING OVER THE 230
CONTINENT—The threatened Destruction
of the Simple Faith of the Fathers by
the Vain Deceits of Modern
Philosophers,

ON THE OCEAN WAVE—An Amateur’s 238
Experience on a Steamship—How
Sea-Sickness Works—The Sights of the
Sea—The Lovers and the Pilot—Some
Conclusions not Jumped at

TWO MEN WHO HAVE THRILLED THE STATE—An 245
Accidental Meeting on the Street, in
which Two Great Men are Recognized as
the Types of Two Clashing
Theories—Toombs’s Successes—Brown’s
Judgment,

“BOB.” HOW AN OLD MAN “COME HOME”—A 252
Story Without a Moral, Picked out of a
Busy Life,

COTTON AND ITS KINGDOM, 272

IN PLAIN BLACK AND WHITE—A Reply to Mr. 285
Cable,

THE LITTLE BOY IN THE BALCONY, 308

POEMS BY VARIOUS HANDS.

GRADY—_F. L. Stanton_, 313

ATLANTA—_Josephine Pollard_, 316

HENRY W. GRADY—_James Whitcombe Riley_, 317

A REQUIEM IN MEMORY OF “HIM THAT’S 318
AWA’”—_Montgomery M. Folsom_,

HENRY WOODFIN GRADY—_Henry O’Meara_, 320

HENRY W. GRADY—_Henry Jerome Stockard_, 322

WHO WOULD CALL HIM BACK?—_Belle Eyre_, 323

HENRY W. GRADY—_G. W. Lyon_, 324

WHAT THE MASTER MADE—_Mel. R. Colquitt_, 326

IN ATLANTA, CHRISTMAS, 1889—_Henry Clay 327
Lukens_,

IN MEMORY OF HENRY WOODFIN GRADY—_Lee 328
Fairchild_,

A SOUTHERN CHRISTMAS DAY—_N.C. 329
Thompson_,

IN MEMORY OF HENRY W. GRADY—_Elizabeth 331
J. Hereford_,

HENRY W. GRADY—_Mary E. Bryan_, 333

THE OLD AND THE NEW—_J. M. Gibson_, 334

HENRY W. GRADY—_E. A. B., from the 336
Boston Globe_,

AT GRADY’S GRAVE—_Charles W. Hubner_, 338

MEMORIAL MEETINGS.

THE ATLANTA MEMORIAL MEETING, 345
The Chi Phi Memorial, 347
Address of Hon. Patrick Walsh, 350
Address of Hon. B. H. Hill, 353
Address of Julius L. Brown, 356
Address of Hon. Albert Cox, 362
Address of Walter B. Hill, 365
Address of Judge Howard Van Epps, 369
Address of Prof. H. C. White, 373
Address of Hon. John Temple Graves, 378
Address of Governor Gordon, 382
MEMORIAL MEETING AT MACON, GA., 385
Resolutions, 387
Alumni Resolutions, 389
Address of Mr. Richardson, 385
Address of Mr. Boifeuillet, 391
Address of Major Hanson, 396
Address of Judge Speer, 398
Address of Mr. Washington, 406
Address of Mr. Patterson, 409

PERSONAL TRIBUTES.

THOUGHTS ON H. W. GRADY—By _B. H. 417
Samett_,

SARGENT S. PRENTISS AND HENRY W. GRADY. 421
Similarity of Genius and Patriotism—By
_Joseph F. Pon_,

SERMON—By _Dr. T. DeWitt Talmage_, 428

TRIBUTES OF THE NORTHERN PRESS.

He was the Embodiment of the Spirit of 443
the New South—_From the “New York
World,”_

A Thoroughly American Journalist—_From 444
the “New York Herald,”_

A Loss to the Whole Country—_From the 445
“New York Tribune,”_

What Henry W. Grady Represented—_From 446
the “New York Commercial Advertiser,”_

A Far-sighted Statesman—_From the “New 448
York Star,”_

An Apostle of the New Faith—_From the 448
“New York Times,”_

The Foremost Leader—_From the “New York 449
Christian Union,”_

A Glorious Mission—_From the “Albany, 450
N.Y., Argus,”_

His Lofty Ideal—_From the “Philadelphia 452
Press,”_

His Patriotism—_From the “Philadelphia 454
Ledger,”_

Oratory and the Press—_From the “Boston 457
Advertiser,”_

The Lesson of Mr. Grady’s Life—_From the 458
“Philadelphia Times,”_

His Loss a General Calamity—_From the 459
“St. Louis Globe-Democrat,”_

Saddest of Sequels—_From the 461
“Manchester, N.H., Union,”_

A Life of Promise—_From the “Chicago 462
Inter-Ocean,”_

Electrified the Whole Country—_From the 464
“Pittsburg Dispatch,”_

A Large Brain and a Large Heart—_From 465
the “Elmira, N.Y., Advertiser,”_

The Model Citizen—_From the “Boston 467
Globe,”_

A Loyal Unionist—_From the “Chicago 468
Times,”_

His Work was Not in Vain—_From the 468
“Cleveland, O., Plaindealer,”_

The Best Representative of the New 469
South—_From the “Albany, N.Y.,
Journal,”_

A Lamentable Loss to the Country—_From 470
the “Cincinnati Commercial Gazette,”_

A Sad Loss—_From the “Buffalo, N.Y., 471
Express,”_

Words of Virgin Gold—_From the “Oswego, 473
N.Y., Palladium,”_

Sad News—_From the “Boston Advertiser,”_ 475

A Leader of Leaders—_From the 477
“Philadelphia Times,”_

A Forceful Advocate—_From the 479
“Springfield, Mass., Republican,”_

His Great Work—_From the “Boston Post,”_ 480

New England’s Sorrow—_From the “Boston 482
Herald,”_

A Noble Life Ended—_From the 484
“Philadelphia Telegraph,”_

A Typical Southerner—_From the “Chicago 486
Tribune,”_

His Name a Household Possession—_From 487
the “Independence, Mo., Sentinel,”_

Editor, Orator, Statesman, Patriot—_From 488
the “Kansas City Globe,”_

A Southern Bereavement—_From the 490
“Cincinnati Times-Star,”_

A Man Who will be Missed, 491

At the Beginning of a Great Career—_From 493
the “Pittsburg Post,”_

The Peace-Makers—_From the “New York 494
Churchman,”_

One of the Brightest—_From the “Seattle 495
Press,”_

The South’s Noble Son—_From the 496
“Rockland, Me., Opinion,”_

Brilliant and Gifted—_Dr. H. M. Field in 497
“New York Evangelist,”_

The Death of Henry W. Grady—_John Boyle 499
O’Reilly in the “Boston Pilot,”_

TRIBUTES OF THE SOUTHERN PRESS.

A Noble Death—_From the “Jacksonville, 505
Fla., Times-Union,”_

There Was None Greater—_From the 507
“Birmingham, Mo., Chronicle,”_

A Great Leader Has Fallen—_From the 509
“Raleigh, N.C., State Chronicle,”_

N.H._From the “New Orleans 514
Times-Democrat,”_

Second to None—_From the “Louisville 517
Courier-Journal,”_

A Loss to the South—_From the 519
“Louisville Post,”_

The Death of Henry W. Grady, 520

Universal Sorrow—_From the “Nashville 522
American,”_

The Highest Place—_From the “Charleston 524
News and Courier,”_

A Brilliant Career—_From the “Baltimore 526
Sun,”_

A Public Calamity—_From the “Selma Times 528
and Mail,”_

Grief Tempers To-day’s Joy—_From the 530
“Austin, Tex., Statesman,”_

Henry Grady’s Death—_From the 532
“Charleston Evening Sun,”_

Two Dead Men—_From the “Greenville, 533
N.C., News,”_

Grady’s Renown—_From the “Birmingham 535
News,”_

Henry W. Grady—_From the “Augusta 537
Chronicle,”_

True and Loyal—_From the “Athens 543
Banner,”_

Mr. Grady’s Death—_From the “Savannah 544
Times,”_

A Great Loss to Georgia—_From the 545
“Columbia Enquirer-Sun,”_

The Man Eloquent—_From the “Rome 547
Tribune,”_

Death of Henry W. Grady—_From the 549
“Savannah News,”_

Henry W. Grady Dead—_From the “Albany 551
News and Advertiser,”_

Stilled is the Eloquent Tongue—_From the 553
“Brunswick Times,”_

A Shining Career—_From the “Macon 554
Telegraph,”_

The Greatest Calamity—_From the “Augusta 557
News,”_

No Ordinary Grief—_From the “Columbus 559
Ledger,”_

A Place Hard to Fill—_From the “Griffin 559
News,”_

“Just Human”—_From the “Thomasville 560
Enterprise,”_

Georgia Weeps—_From the “Union News,”_ 561

A Grand Mission—_From the “West Point 563
Press,”_

The South Loved Him—_From the “Darien 564
Timber Gazette,”_

No Sadder News—_From the “Marietta 565
Journal,”_

Georgia’s Noble Son—_From the “Madison 566
Advertiser,”_

The Death of Henry Grady—_From the 569
“Hawkinsville Dispatch,”_

A Measureless Sorrow—_From the “Lagrange 572
Reporter,”_

Grady’s Death—_From the “Oglethorpe 573
Echo,”_

He Loved his Country—_From the “Cuthbert 574
Liberal,”_

A Resplendent Record—_From the “Madison 575
Madisonian,”_

Dedicated to Humanity—_From the 576
“Sandersville Herald and Georgian,”_

The South Laments—_From the “Middle 578
Georgia Progress,”_

His Career—_From the “Dalton Citizen,”_ 579

Our Fallen Hero—_From the “Hartwell 581
Sun,”_

A Deathless Name—_From the “Gainesville 582
Eagle,”_

A Great Soul—_From the “Baxley Banner,”_ 583

In Memoriam—_From the “Henry Co. 585
Times,”_

A People Mourn—_From the “Warrenton 587
Clipper,”_

Henry W. Grady is No More—_From the 589
“Valdosta Times,”_

“Maybe his Work is Finished”—_From the 590
“Dalton Argus,”_

He Never Offended—_From the “Washington 592
Chronicle,”_

The South in Mourning—_From the 593
“Elberton Star,”_

Stricken at its Zenith—_From the 594
“Greenesboro Herald and Journal,”_

The Southland Mourns—_From the “Griffin 596
Morning Call,”_

THE “CONSTITUTION” AND ITS WORK, 601

LETTERS AND TELEGRAMS FROM DISTINGUISHED PERSONS.

Hon. Chauncey M. Depew, 623
Ex-President Cleveland, 624
Hon. A. S. Colyar, 625
Hon. Murat Halstead, 626
Hon. Samuel J. Randall, 627
Mr. Andrew Carnegie, 627
Hon. Edward S. Bradford, 628
Mr. J. H. Parker, 628
Hon. Alonzo B. Cornell, 628
Mr. Ballard Smith, 628

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IN MEMORIAM.

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IT is within the bounds of entire accuracy to say that the death of no man ever created a deeper and more universal sorrow than that which responded to the announcement that HENRY WOODFIN GRADY had paid his final debt of nature, and was gone to his last account. The sense of grief and regret attained the dignity of a national bereavement, and was at one and the same time both public and personal. The young and gifted Georgian had made a great impression upon his country and his time; blending an individuality, picturesque, strong and attractive, and an eloquence as rarely solid as it was rhetorically fine, into a character of the first order of eminence and brilliancy. In every section of the Union, the people felt that a noble nature and a splendid intellect had been subtracted from the nation’s stock of wisdom and virtue. This feeling was intensified the nearer it approached the region where he was best known and honored: but it reached the farthest limits of the land, and was expressed by all classes and parties with an homage equally ungrudging and sincere.

In Georgia, and throughout the Southern States, it rose to a lamentation. He was, indeed, the hope and expectancy of the young South, the one publicist of the New South, who, inheriting the spirit of the old, yet had realized the present, and looked into the future, with the eyes of a statesman and the heart of a patriot. His own future was fully assured. He had made his place; had won his spurs; and he possessed the qualities, not merely to hold them, but greatly to magnify their importance. That he should be cut down upon the threshold of a career, for whose magnificent development and broad usefulness all was prepared, seemed a cruel dispensation of Providence and aroused a heart-breaking sentiment far beyond the bounds compassed by Mr. Grady’s personality.

Of the details of his life, and of his life-work, others have spoken in the amplest terms. I shall, in this place, content myself with placing on the record my own remembrance and estimate of the man as he was known to me. Mr. Grady became a writer for the press when but little more than a boy, and during the darkest days of the Reconstruction period. There was in those days but a single political issue for the South. Our hand was in the lion’s mouth, and we could do nothing, hope for nothing, until we got it out. The young Georgian was ardent, impetuous, the son of a father slain in battle, the offspring of a section, the child of a province; yet he rose to the situation with uncommon faculties of courage and perception; caught the spirit of the struggle against reaction with perfect reach; and threw himself into the liberal and progressive movements of the time with the genius of a man born for both oratory and affairs. At first, his sphere of work was confined to the newspapers of the South. But, not unreasonably or unnaturally, he wished a wider field of duty, and went East, carrying letters in which he was commended in terms which might have seemed extravagant then, but which he more than vindicated. His final settlement in the capital of his native State, and in a position where he could speak directly and responsibly, gave him the opportunity he had sought to make a name and fame for himself, and an audience of his own. Here he carried the policy with which he had early identified himself to its finest conclusions; coming at once to the front as a champion of a free South and a united country, second to none in efficiency, equaled by none in eloquence.

He was eager and aspiring, and, in the heedlessness of youth, with its aggressive ambitions, may not have been at all times discriminating and considerate in the objects of his attacks; but he was generous to a fault, and, as he advanced upon the highway, he broadened with it and to it, and, if he had lived, would have realized the fullest measure of his own promise and the hopes of his friends. The scales of error, when error he felt he had committed, were fast falling from his eyes, and he was frank to own his changed, or changing, view. The vista of the way ahead was opening before him with its far perspective clear to his mental sight. He had just delivered an utterance of exceeding weight and value, winning universal applause, and was coming home to be welcomed by his people with open arms, when the Messenger of Death summoned him to his God. The tidings of the fatal termination of his disorder, so startling in their suddenness and unexpectedness, added to the last scene of all a feature of dramatic interest.

For my own part, I can truly say that I was from the first and always proud of him, hailed him as a young disciple who had surpassed his elders in learning and power, recognized in him a master voice and soul, followed his career with admiring interest, and recorded his triumphs with ever-increasing sympathy and appreciation. We had broken a lance or two between us; but there had been no lick below the belt, and no hurt which was other than skin-deep, and during considerably more than a year before his death a most cordial and unreserved correspondence had passed between us. The telegram which brought the fatal news was a grievous shock to me, for it told me that I had lost a good friend, and the cause of truth a great advocate. It is with a melancholy satisfaction that I indite these lines, thankful for the opportunity afforded me to do so by the kindness of his associates and family. Such spirits are not of a generation, but of an epoch; and it will be long before the South will find one to take the place made conspicuously vacant by his absence.

HENRY WATTERSON.

LOUISVILLE, _February 9, 1890_.

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THE HOME OF GRADY’S BOYHOOD, ATHENS.
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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH
OF
HENRY W. GRADY.

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BY JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS.

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ORDINARILY, it is not a difficult matter to write a biographical sketch. Here are the dates, one in faded ink in an old Bible, the other glistening under the morning sun, or the evening stars, on the cold gravestone. Here is the business, the occupation, the profession, success or failure—a little scrap of paper here and there, and beyond and above everything, the fact of death; of death that, in a pitiful way, becomes as perfunctory as any other fact or event. Ordinarily, there is no difficulty in grouping these things, throwing in a word of eulogy here and there, and sympathizing in a formal way with the friends and relatives and the community in general.

But to give adequate shape to even the slightest sketch of the unique personality and the phenomenal career of Henry Woodfin Grady, who died, as it were, but yesterday, is well-nigh impossible; for here was a life that has no parallel in our history, productive as our institutions have been of individuality. A great many Americans have achieved fame in their chosen professions,—have won distinction and commanded the popular approval, but here is a career which is so unusual as to have no precedent. In recalling to mind the names of those who have been most conspicuously successful in touching the popular heart, one fact invariably presents itself—the fact of office. It is not, perhaps, an American fact peculiarly, but it seems to be so, since the proud and the humble, the great and the small, all seem willing to surrender to its influence. It is the natural order of things that an American who is ambitious—who is willing, as the phrase goes, to serve the people (and it is a pretty as well as a popular phrase)—should have an eye on some official position, more or less important, which he would be willing to accept even at a sacrifice if necessary. This is the American plan, and it has been so sanctified by history and custom that the modern reformers, who propose to apply a test of fitness to the office-seekers, are hooted at as Pharisees. After our long and promiscuous career of office-seeking and office-holding, a test of fitness seems to be a monarchical invention which has for its purpose the destruction of our republican institutions.

It is true that some of the purest and best men in our history have held office, and have sought it, and this fact gives additional emphasis to one feature of Henry Grady’s career. He never sought office, and he was prompt to refuse it whenever it was brought within his reach. On one occasion a tremendous effort was made to induce him to become a candidate for Congress in the Atlanta district. The most prominent people in the district urged him, his friends implored him, and a petition largely signed was presented to him. Never before in Georgia has a citizen been formally petitioned by so large a number of his fellow-citizens to accept so important an office. Mr. Grady regarded the petition with great curiosity. He turned it over in his mind and played with it in a certain boyish and impulsive way that belonged to everything he did and that was one of the most charming elements of his character. His response to the petition is worth giving here. He was, as he said, strongly tempted to improve a most flattering opportunity. He then goes on to read a lesson to the young men of the South that is still timely, though it was written in 1882. He says:

When I was eighteen years of age, I adopted journalism as my
profession. After thirteen years of service, in which I have had
various fortunes, I can say that I have never seen a day when I
regretted my choice. On the contrary, I have seen the field of
journalism so enlarged, its possibilities so widened, and its
influence so extended, that I have come to believe earnestly
that no man, no matter what his calling, his elevation, or his
opportunity, can equal in dignity, honor and usefulness the
journalist who comprehends his position, fairly measures his
duties, and gives himself entirely and unselfishly to his work.
But journalism is a jealous profession, and demands the fullest
allegiance of those who seek its honors or emoluments. Least of
all things can it be made the aid of the demagogue, or the
handmaid of the politician. The man who uses his journal to
subserve his political ambition, or writes with a sinister or
personal purpose, soon loses his power, and had best abandon a
profession he has betrayed. Within my memory there are frequent
and striking examples of men who have sacrificed the one
profession, only to be sacrificed in the other. History has not
recorded the name of a single man who has been great enough to
succeed in both. Therefore, devoted as I am to my profession,
believing as I do that there is more of honor and usefulness for
me along its way than in another path, and that my duty is clear
and unmistakable, I am constrained to reaffirm in my own mind
and to declare to you the resolution I made when I entered
journalism, namely, that as long as I remain in its ranks I will
never become a candidate for any political office, or draw a
dollar from any public treasury. This rule I have never broken,
and I hope I never shall. As a matter of course, every young man
of health and spirit must have ambition, I think it has been the
curse of the South that our young men have considered little
else than political preferment worthy of an ambitious thought.
There is a fascination about the applause of the hustings that
is hard to withstand. Really, there is no career that brings so
much of unhappiness and discontent—so much of subservience,
sacrifice, and uncertainty as that of the politician. Never did
the South offer so little to her young men in the direction of
politics as she does at present. Never did she offer so much in
other directions. As for me, my ambition is a simple one. I
shall be satisfied with the labors of my life if, when those
labors are over, my son, looking abroad upon a better and
grander Georgia—a Georgia that has filled the destiny God
intended her for—when her towns and cities are hives of
industry, and her country-side the exhaustless fields from which
their stores are drawn—when every stream dances on its way to
the music of spindles, and every forest echoes back the roar of
the passing train—when her valleys smile with abundant harvests,
and from her hillsides come the tinkling of bells as her herds
and flocks go forth from their folds—when more than two million
people proclaim her perfect independence, and bless her with
their love—I shall be more than content, I say, if my son,
looking upon such scenes as these, can stand up and say:

“My father bore a part in this work, and his name lives in the
memory of this people.”

While I am forced, therefore, to decline to allow the use of my
name as you request, I cannot dismiss your testimonial,
unprecedented, I believe, in its character and compass, without
renewing my thanks for the generous motives that inspired it.
Life can bring me no sweeter satisfaction than comes from this
expression of confidence and esteem from the people with whom I
live, and among whom I expect to die. You have been pleased to
commend the work I may have done for the old State we love so
well. Rest assured that you have to-day repaid me amply for the
past, and have strengthened me for whatever duty may lie ahead.

Brief as it is, this is a complete summary of Mr. Grady’s purpose so far as politics were concerned. It is the key-note of his career. He was ambitious—he was fired with that “noble discontent,” born of genius, that spurs men to action, but he lacked the selfishness that leads to office-seeking. It is not to be supposed, however, that he scorned politics. He had unbounded faith in the end and aim of certain principles of government, and he had unlimited confidence in the honesty and justice of the people and in the destiny of the American Union—in the future of the Republic.

What was the secret of his popularity? By what methods did he win the affections of people who never saw his face or heard his voice? His aversion to office was not generally known—indeed, men who regarded him in the light of rivalry, and who had access to publications neither friendly nor appreciative, had advertised to the contrary. By them it was hinted that he was continually seeking office and employing for that purpose all the secret arts of the demagogue. Yet, in the face of these sinister intimations, he died the best beloved and the most deeply lamented man that Georgia has ever produced, and, to crown it all, he died a private citizen, sacrificing his life in behalf of a purpose that was neither personal nor sectional, but grandly national in its aims.

In the last intimate conversation he had with the writer of this, Mr. Grady regretted that there were people in Georgia who misunderstood his motives and intentions. We were on the train going from Macon to Eatonton, where he was to speak.

“I am going to Eatonton solely because you seem to have your heart set on it,” he said. “There are people who will say that I am making a campaign in my own behalf, and you will hear it hinted that I am going about the State drumming up popularity for the purpose of running for some office.”

The idea seemed to oppress him, and though he never bore malice against a human being, he was keenly hurt at any interpretation of his motives that included selfishness or self-seeking among them. In this way, he was often deeply wounded by men who ought to have held up his hands.

When he died, those who had wronged him, perhaps unintentionally, by attributing to him a selfish ambition that he never had, were among the first to do justice to his motives. Their haste in this matter (there are two instances in my mind) has led me to believe that their instinct at the last was superior to their judgment. I have recently read again nearly all the political editorials contributed to the _Constitution_ by Mr. Grady during the last half-dozen years. Taken together, they make a remarkable showing. They manifest an extraordinary growth, not in style or expression—for all the graces of composition were fully developed in Mr. Grady’s earliest writings—but in lofty aim, in the high and patriotic purpose that is to be found at its culmination in his Boston speech. I mention the Boston speech because it is the last serious effort he made. Reference might just as well have been made to the New England speech, or to the Elberton speech, or to the little speech he delivered at Eatonton, and which was never reported. In each and all of these there is to be found the qualities that are greater than literary nimbleness or rhetorical fluency—the qualities that kindle the fires of patriotism and revive and restore the love of country.

In his Eatonton speech, Mr. Grady was particularly happy in his references to a restored Union and a common country, and his earnestness and his eloquence were as conscientious there as if he were speaking to the largest and most distinguished audience in the world, and as if his address were to be printed in all the newspapers of the land. I am dwelling on these things in order to show that there was nothing affected or perfunctory in Mr. Grady’s attitude. He had political enemies in the State—men who, at some turn in their career, had felt the touch and influence of his hand, or thought they did—and these men were always ready, through their small organs and mouthpieces, to belittle his efforts and to dash their stale small beer across the path of this prophet of the New South, who strove to impress his people with his own brightness and to lead them into the sunshine that warmed his own life and made it beautiful. Perhaps these things should not be mentioned in a sketch that can only be general in its nature; and yet they afford a key to Mr. Grady’s character; they supply the means of getting an intimate glimpse of his motives. That the thoughtless and ill-tempered criticisms of his contemporaries wounded him is beyond question. They troubled him greatly, and he used to talk about them to his co-workers with the utmost freedom. But they never made him malicious. He always had some excuse to offer for those who misinterpreted him, and no attack, however bitter, was ever made on his motives, that he could not find a reasonable excuse for in some genial and graceful way.

The great point about this man was that he never bore malice. His heart was too tender and his nature too generous. The small jealousies, and rivalries, and envies that appertain to life, and, indeed, are a definite part of it, never touched him in the slightest degree. He was conscious of the growth of his powers, and he watched their development with the curiosity and enthusiasm of a boy, but the egotism that is based on arrogance or self-esteem he had no knowledge of. The consciousness of the purity of his motives gave him strength and power in a direction where most other public men are weak. This same consciousness gave a breadth, an ardor, and an impulsiveness to his actions and utterances that seem to be wholly lacking in the lives of other public men who have won the applause of the public. The secret of this it would be difficult to define. When his companions in the office insisted that it was his duty to prepare at least an outline of his speeches so that the newspapers could have the benefit of such a basis, the suggestion fretted him. His speech at the annual banquet of the New England Society, which created such a tremendous sensation, was an impromptu effort from beginning to end. It was the creature of the occasion. Fortunately, a reporter of the New York _Tribune_ was present, and he has preserved for us something of the flavor and finish of the words which the young Southerner uttered on his first introduction to a Northern audience. The tremendous impression that he made, however, has never been recorded. There was a faint echo of it in the newspapers, a buzz and a stir in the hotel lobbies, but all that was said was inadequate to explain why these sons of New England, accustomed as they were to eloquence of the rarer kind, as the volumes of their proceedings show, rose to their feet and shouted themselves hoarse over the simple and impromptu effort of this young Georgian.

Mr. Grady attended the New England banquet for the purpose of making a mere formal response to the toast of “The South,” but, as he said afterwards, there was something in the scene that was inspiring. Near him sat General Tecumseh Sherman, who marched through Georgia with fire and sword, and all around him were the fat and jocund sons of New England who had prospered by the results of the war while his own people had had the direst poverty for their portion. “When I found myself on my feet,” he said, describing the scene on his return, “every nerve in my body was strung as tight as a fiddle-string, and all tingling. I knew then that I had a message for that assemblage, and as soon as I opened my mouth it came rushing out.”

That speech, as we all know, was an achievement in its way. It stirred the whole country from one end to the other, and made Mr. Grady famous. Invitations to speak poured in upon him from all quarters, and he at last decided to deliver an address at Dallas, Texas. His friends advised him to prepare the speech in advance, especially as many of the newspapers of the country would be glad to have proofs of it to be used when it was delivered. He saw how essential this would be, but the preparation of a speech in cold blood (as he phrased it) was irksome to him, and failed to meet the approval of his methods, which were as responsive to the occasion as the report of the thunder-clap is to the lightning’s flash. He knew that he could depend on these methods in all emergencies and under all circumstances, and he felt that only by depending on them could he do himself justice before an audience. The one characteristic of all his speeches, as natural to his mind as it was surprising to the minds of others, was the ease and felicity with which he seized on suggestions born of the moment and growing out of his immediate surroundings. It might be some incident occurring to the audience, some failure in the programme, some remark of the speaker introducing him, or some unlooked-for event; but, whatever it was, he seized it and compelled it to do duty in pointing a beautiful moral, or he made it the basis of that swift and genial humor that was a feature not only of his speeches, but of his daily life.

He was prevailed on, however, to prepare his Dallas speech in advance. It was put in type in the _Constitution_ office, carefully revised, and proof slips sent out to a number of newspapers. Mr. Grady’s journey from Atlanta to Dallas, which was undertaken in a special car, was in the nature of an ovation. He was met at every station by large crowds, and his appearance created an enthusiasm that is indescribable. No such tribute as this has ever before been paid, under any circumstances, to any private American citizen, and it is to be doubted whether even any public official, no matter how exalted his station, has ever been greeted with such hearty and spontaneous enthusiasm. His reception in Dallas was the culmination of the series of ovations through which he had passed. Some sort of programme had been arranged by a committee, but the crowds trampled on this, and the affair took the shape of an American hullaballoo, so to speak, and, as such, it was greatly enjoyed by Mr. Grady.

Meanwhile, the programme that had been arranged for the speech-making was fully carried out. The young editor completely captured the vast crowd that had assembled to hear him. This information had been promptly carried to the _Constitution_ office by private telegrams, and everything was made ready for giving the speech to the public the next morning; but during the afternoon this telegram came:

“_Suppress speech: It has been entirely changed. Notify other
papers._”

At the last moment, his mind full of the suggestions of his surroundings, he felt that the prepared speech could not be depended on, and he threw it away. It was a great relief to him, he told me afterward, to be able to do this. Whatever in the prepared speech seemed to be timely he used, but he departed entirely from the line of it at every point, and the address that the Texans heard was mainly an impromptu one. It created immense enthusiasm, and confirmed the promise of the speech before the New England Society.

The speech before the University of Virginia was also prepared beforehand, but Mr. Grady made a plaything of the preparation before his audience. “I was never so thoroughly convinced of Mr. Grady’s power,” said the Hon. Guyton McLendon, of Thomasville, to the writer, “as when I heard him deliver this speech.” Mr. McLendon had accompanied him on his journey to Charlottesville. “We spent a day in Washington,” said Mr. McLendon, recalling the incidents of the trip. “The rest of the party rode around the capital looking at the sights, but Mr. Grady, myself, and one or two others remained in the car. While we were waiting there, Mr. Grady read me the printed slips of his speech, and I remember that it made a great impression on me. I thought it was good enough for any occasion, but Mr. Grady seemed to have his doubts about it. He examined it critically two or three times, and made some alterations. Finally he laid it away. When he did come to deliver the speech, I was perhaps the most astonished person you ever saw. I expected to hear again the speech that had been read to me in the Pullman coach, but I heard a vastly different and a vastly better one. He used the old speech only where it was most timely and most convenient. The incident of delivering the prize to a young student who had won it on a literary exercise of some sort, started Mr. Grady off in a new vein and on a new line, and after that he used the printed speech merely to fill out with here and there. It was wonderful how he could break away from it and come back to it, fitting the old with the new in a beautiful and harmonious mosaic. If anybody had told me that the human mind was capable of such a performance as this on the wing and in the air, so to speak, I shouldn’t have believed it. To me it was a wonderful manifestation of genius, and I knew then, for the first time, that there was no limit to Mr. Grady’s power and versatility as a speaker.”

In his speeches in the country towns of Georgia and before the farmers, Mr. Grady made no pretense of preparation. His private secretary, Mr. James R. Holliday, caught and wrote out the pregnant paragraphs that go to make up his Elberton speech, which was the skeleton and outline on which he based his speeches to the farmers. Each speech, as might be supposed, was a beautiful variation of this rural theme to which he was wedded, but the essential part of the Elberton speech was the bone and marrow of all. I think there is no passage in our modern literature equal in its effectiveness and pathos to his picture of a Southern farmer’s home. It was a matter on which his mind dwelt. There was that in his nature to which both sun and soil appealed. The rain falling on a fallow field, the sun shining on the bristling and waving corn, and the gentle winds of heaven blowing over all—he was never tired of talking of these, and his talk always took the shape of a series of picturesque descriptions. He appreciated their spiritual essence as well as their material meaning, and he surrendered himself entirely to all the wholesome suggestions that spring from the contemplation of rural scenes.

I suppose it is true that all men—except those who are brought in daily contact with the practical and prosy side of it—have a longing for a country life. Mr. Grady’s longing in that direction took the shape of a passion that was none the less serious and earnest because he knew it was altogether romantic. In the Spring of 1889, the matter engaged his attention to such an extent, that he commissioned a compositor in the _Constitution_ office to purchase a suburban farm. He planned it all out beforehand, and knew just where the profits were to come in. His descriptions of his imaginary farm were inimitable, and the details, as he gave them out, were marked by the rare humor with which he treated the most serious matters. There was to be an old-fashioned spring in a clump of large oak-trees on the place, meadows of orchard grass and clover, through which mild-eyed Jerseys were to wander at will, and in front of the house there was to be a barley patch gloriously green, and a colt frolicking and capering in it. The farm was of course a dream, but it was a very beautiful one while it lasted, and he dwelt on it with an earnestness that was quite engaging to those who enjoyed his companionship. The farm was a dream, but he no doubt got more enjoyment and profit out of it than a great many prosy people get out of the farms that are real. Insubstantial as it was, Mr. Grady’s farm served to relieve the tension of a mind that was always busy with the larger affairs of this busy and stirring age, and many a time when he grew tired of the incessant demands made on his time and patience he would close the door of his room with a bang and instruct the office-boy to tell all callers that he had “gone to his farm.” The fat cows that grazed there lowed their welcome, the chickens cackled to see him come, and the colt capered nimbly in the green expanse of barley—children of his dreams all, but all grateful and restful to a busy mind.