A Tribute
To Mr. S. Thompson McGinnis, Who Died Last Month.

On Friday, September thirteenth, Mr. S. Thompson McGinnis died at his home in this county.  During the tender years of early childhood he moved to Bartow county from Gwinnett, where he was born, so that it may be said his life, from the time he looked with wonders wide and staring eyes at the common things of life and days were spent through periods of joy and times of sorrow upon the sun kissed hills of balmy Bartow.

Growing into manhood estate, he selected, as his life’s companion, a fair daughter of one of the foremost families of his section and amidst the rapture of high resolve and with rare colored visions of the future they set out for the eventful journey across the tempestuous sea of life.

When thunders of secessions began to mutter, Georgia joined the ranks of the Confederacy and like a noble man which he was he bade goodbye to his wife and child and, with musket in hand he hastened to the cause espoused and never did man serve more loyally whether storming the national capital or tramping hunger chased through the wilderness of Virginia or in that hand to hand struggle, where American blood sought American blood at Gettysburg, the climax of the battles of the Civil war, he was equally valiant.

After the affectionate parting of Lee and Grant he returned to his native Georgia to find his prospects vanished, but his family restored to him.  With resolute courage he began anew the battles of life which he fought so bravely.  He was a man whom the world not only respected, but loved.  His was a magnificent personality.  His soul a magnanimous one.  His optimism even among adverse conditions of life was an inspiration.

For us who loved him his death came far too soon, but the uprightness of his character, the nobility and rectitude of his conduct should ever inspire us to say with Bryant,

“So live that when thy summons, come to join
The innumerable caravan that moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent hall of death,
Thou go, not like quarry slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.”

Hugh McCormick.