Dr. James M. Young
The Courant American
May 19, 1892, page 1
Death of Dr. Young.
Dr. James M. Young, one of our best known physicians and citizens, died at his home in this city, on Saturday morning last at 6:30 o’clock, from softening of the brain.
Dr. Young was about sixty-three years old at his death; and has enjoyed apparent good health up to his attack of the formidable malady that caused his demise after a very short while. He was one of Cartersville’s best citizens, honest and upright, loyal to his friends and possessing a kind nature that made itself felt all around him.
In the late war he was surgeon of the 45th Georgia, entering the service with its organization and following the fortunes of the regiment to the surrender.
After the war Dr. Young went from Canton, Ga., to Mississippi, and after a few years residence there, moved back to his native state and settled in Cartersville.
He was a member of the Presbyterian church, to the interests of which he was zealously devoted, and was also a Free Mason.
He leaves behind him to mourn his loss a wife and one married and two single daughters.
The funeral of Dr. Young was preached at the Presbyterian church on Sunday morning by Rev. C. E. W. Dobbs, and the church was crowded and many were turned away for want of room. The remains were interred in Oak Hill cemetery Sunday afternoon, and were followed by a large concourse of people.
Dr. James M. Young had been long a resident of our community—long enough to be known of all men, fully, thoroughly.
And being so known the esteem in which he was held by all is a true index of what his life was and his heart.
In most men’s lives there are shadows falling across that leave gloom upon the countenance or bitterness in the heart.
Not so with him. That he felt trouble, that sorrow and grief were not strangers to him, who that has lived can doubt; and yet he was as unvariable in his gladness to others as if he knew nought else but joy.
He had a kind word and a smile for every brother and a warm hand clasp, and what is better, a warm heart throb of brotherly love. No matter what he felt, gloom was never pictured on his face—no matter what he suffered, bitterness was ever a stranger to his heart.
And so he walked through life a happy man, making others happier that he crossed their paths. With a heart so full of kindness, it was not strange that from his hands daily and nightly fell deeds of charity like heavenly dews.
Though poor himself he was the friend of the poor, and many, very many have been bereft since death has cased his heart and gloved his hand in rest.
Since 53 he wore the badge of masonry. The Plumb, the Square, the Compass, were not idle symbols to this man—by them he walked, he acted, he lived.
On his quiet breast is the apron of purity,
At his stiffened hand the glove of fellowship,
At his resting head the acacia sprig.
Peace! Lets murmur not—God knoweth best.
His heart will beat again in love—his hand clasp ours yet—What more?
Resolved, That we lament while bowing to God’s providence, That to his family we tender our earnest sympathy. That this faint shadow of our unspoken love be filed among our archives.
T. W. Milner
J. Harris, Jr.
A. W. Fite
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Last modified: June 6, 2006