San Marcos free press. [volume] (San Marcos, Tex.) 1877-1892, 1889-06-20
HORACE GREELEY'S GRIEF.
How the Great Editor SOrrOwed Over
the Death OF His Only Son.

Perhaps the most pathetic chapter
in Mr.. Greeley's life was the death OF
his idolized boy "Pick.' His grief
was almost beyond control. Mar
garet Fuller, writing from Rome soon
after the failure of the revolution OF
40 to her mother, says:
Receiving, a few days since, a
packet of letters from America, l
opened them with moro feeling of
hope and good cheer than for long
time past The first words that met
my eye were these, in the hand OF
Mr.. Greeley. '.Ah, Margaret! The
world grows dark with us! You
grieve, for Rome is fallen; 1 mourn,
for Pickle is dead!'
81 have shed rivers of tears over
the expressibly affecting letter thus
begun. One would think I might
have become familiar enough with
images of death and destruction; yet,
somehow, the image of Picks little
dancing figure lying stiff and stark,
between his parents, has made me
weep, more than all else. There was
little hope that he could do justice
to himself, or lead happy life, in so
perplexed o world; but mover WIS
character OF richer capacitY-never
moro charming child. To me he
was most dear, and would al
ways have been so. Had he become
stained with earthly faults, I could
never have forgotten what he was to
me when my soul pined for spm-
pathy, pure and unalloyed. The
three children I have seen who were
fairest in my eyes, and gave most
promise in the future, were Waldo
(Emerson), Pickle, Hermann Clark
all nipped in the blood. Endless
thought has this given me, and q re-
solve to seek the realization of all
hopes and plans elsewhere; which re,
solve will weigh with me as much as
it can weigh before the silver cord
is finally closed. Till then, earth,
our mother, always finds strange un-
expected ways to draw us back to her
bosom-to make us seek anew q nu
triment which has never failed to
cause US frequent sickness"
Mr.. Greeley himself, in his Recol-
lections, says:
81 looked in vain through italian
galleries, two years after he was
taken from us, for any parallel to his
dazzling beauty beauty not phys
ical merely, but visibly radiating
from the soul. His hair was of the
finest and richest gold: "the sunshine
of picture never glorifed its equal
and the delicacy of his complexion
ct once fixed the attention of obser'
vers like the late Mp illis,who had
traversed both hemispheres without
having his gaze arrested by any child
who could bear comparison witt
this one. When at length
the struggle ended with his las
breath, and even his mother wa
con, inced that his eyes would never
again open on the scenes of thi
world, knew that the summer of m.
life was over, that the chill breatl
of its autumn was at hand, and tina
my future course must be along tin
downhill of life"
The following letter, which is I'm
dated, was evidently written in repl,
to one of coincidence:
''Your letter, dear R., was writer
in your noblest spirit. 1 thank yor
warmly for your sympathy. What b
was to me, even you can hardl
dream; You that have two sons, il
which the natural thirst Of the hear
was earlier satisfied, can hardly kno,
what my one eve lamb was to me
That he might live, that l NIGH
grow daily better for his sake, that
might not spoil him by overweeninl
love, wore ever recurring thoughts
God be merciful to me a sinner. =
New York Tribune.