Lancaster daily intelligencer. [volume] (Lancaster, Pa.) 1864-1928, 1890-05-24
HENRY w. GRADY'S NOVEL.
He Had It's First Chapter. Here Outlined,
Written When He Died.
Especial Correspondence

He Had It's First Chapter. Here Outlined
Written when He Died.
Especial Corresp9Rdencel
NEW YoRK, May %. - Henry w.
Grady's literary fame rests upon his
newspaper work. His journalistic
"knack" and tact were alike wonderful.
His instinct of timeliness and his sympa-
thetic intuition enabled him to seize
upon every popular topic Giving as it
rose" His picturesque, colorful style
gave grace to every subject.
'Why don't you write novelT' was
question he was often asked.
81 have one on the Stocks" he would
answer, laughing "Let me have little
bit of leisure--a June month In the coun-
try, thirty winter evenings by my ain
fireside and you'll see novel that will
astonish you"
The month of leisure seemed never to
come to him. The novel never got of
"the stocks" Once he sketched the out
line of it for me. Dickens was Mr..
Grady's first and last love, and his en-
bryo novel was Dickensesque in plot and
style, with Droodish mystery brooding
over it to the end.
The opening chapter showed a mana
SOLITARY horseman"-traveling a lonely
road through the night and storm. He
crossed roaring river, and saw by
fash of lightning large house, set lit
tie back from the road, with wind blown
trees about it. The blinds Of the house
were colored; no light issued from it, but
suddenly, as the traveller looked, there
came wilder gust of wind, the shutters
of one of the windows was blown vio-
lently back, and the traveller had q
glimpse of the lighted interior
That one glimpse was full Of horror.
It showed the climax of tragedy A
man stabbed to death by another man;
two women standing near, one still and
stern, the other stretching her arms i'm
ploringly and sending forth shrek that
sounded above the storm.
In another half minute the blind was
blown back to its place and all was dark
again. Before the stunned traveller could
recover himself fierce fash and peal of
thunder had startled his horse. 1t took
q few minutes to quiet him, then the
horseman dismounted, opened the great
gate of the yard and hurried to the
house. His knock on the door was an
swered almost at once by black serv-
ant, who showed him into room-the
very room in which he had just seen a
bloody murder committed. He looked
around in amazement. No sign Of mpr-
der or violence was here. No blood, no
body; no rage or terror in the faces that
turned upon him. He saw COY room,
cheerful fire, a family group; young
woman at the piano; young man stand
ing beside her; beautiful young mother
rocking her child in her arms; the father
reading in his armchair close by.
All turned and looked at the intruder
in polite surprise. He stammered out
his story, and was stared at suspiciously,
as If he was an escaped lunatic. 1t was
Indignantly denied that anything tragic
had taken place, He must have a brain
fever or be subject to horrible illusions.
He was made almost to doubt his ewes
and to apologize for his intrusion. He
was graciously asked to shelter himself
from the storm; and he staid and fell
under the spell of one of the beautiful
women, and but there ended this in.
itial chapter Of story that, like its
authors brilliant life, broke off abruptly,
leaving its sequel to be guessed.
MARY L. BRYAN