Chapter 23

In 1860, Timrod removed to Columbia, published a volume of poems which were well received North and South, and undertook editorial work. Life seemed fair before him. But ill-health and the war which destroyed his property and blighted his career, soon darkened all his prospects, and after a brave struggle with poverty and sickness, he died of pneumonia.

His poems are singularly free from sadness and bitterness. They have been collected and published with a sketch of his life by his friend, Paul Hamilton Hayne.

WORKS.

Poems.[27] Prose Articles in the "South Carolinian."

Of all our poets none stands higher than Henry Timrod. His singing is true and musical, and his thoughts are pure and noble. A tardy recognition seems at last coming to bless his memory, and his poems are in demand. One copy of his little volume recently commanded the price of ten dollars.

SONNET.

Life ever seems as from its present site It aimed to lure us. Mountains of the past It melts, with all their crags and caverns vast, Into a purple cloud! Across the night Which hides what is to be, it shoots a light All rosy with the yet unrisen dawn. Not the near daisies, but yon distant height Attracts us, lying on this emerald lawn. And always, be the landscape what it may-- Blue, misty hill, or sweep of glimmering plain-- It is the eye's endeavor still to gain The fine, faint limit of the bounding day. God, haply, in this mystic mode, would fain Hint of a happier home, far, far away!

ENGLISH KATIE.

(_From Katie._)

It may be through some foreign grace, And unfamiliar charm of face; It may be that across the foam Which bore her from her childhood's home By some strange spell, my Katie brought, Along with English creeds and thought-- Entangled in her golden hair-- Some English sunshine, warmth, and air! I cannot tell,--but here to-day, A thousand billowy leagues away From that green isle whose twilight skies No darker are than Katie's eyes, She seems to me, go where she will, An English girl in England still!

I meet her on the dusty street, And daisies spring about her feet; Or, touched to life beneath her tread, An English cowslip lifts its head; And, as to do her grace, rise up The primrose and the buttercup! I roam with her through fields of cane, And seem to stroll an English lane, Which, white with blossoms of the May, Spreads its green carpet in her way! As fancy wills, the path beneath Is golden gorse, or purple heath: And now we hear in woodlands dim Their unarticulated hymn, Now walk through rippling waves of wheat, Now sink in mats of clover sweet, Or see before us from the lawn The lark go up to greet the dawn! All birds that love the English sky Throng round my path when she is by: The blackbird from a neighboring thorn With music brims the cup of morn, And in a thick, melodious rain The mavis pours her mellow strain! But only when my Katie's voice Makes all the listening woods rejoice, I hear--with cheeks that flush and pale-- The passion of the nightingale!

HYMN SUNG AT THE CONSECRATION OF MAGNOLIA CEMETERY, CHARLESTON, S. C.

Whose was the hand that painted thee, O Death! In the false aspect of a ruthless foe, Despair and sorrow waiting on thy breath,-- O gentle Power! who could have wronged thee so?

Thou rather should'st be crowned with fadeless flowers, Of lasting fragrance and celestial hue; Or be thy couch amid funereal bowers, But let the stars and sunlight sparkle through.

So, with these thoughts before us, we have fixed And beautified, O Death! thy mansion here, Where gloom and gladness--grave and garden--mixed, Make it a place to love, and not to fear.

Heaven! shed thy most propitious dews around! Ye holy stars! look down with tender eyes, And gild and guard and consecrate the ground Where we may rest, and whence we pray to rise.

FOOTNOTE:

[27] The following extracts are made by permission of Mr. E. J. Hale, formerly of E. J. Hale & Son.

PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE.

~1830=1886.~

PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE has been justly called the "Laureate of the South." He was born at Charleston, and being left an orphan by the death of his father, Lieutenant Hayne of the Navy, he was reared and educated by his uncle, Robert Young Hayne. His fortune was ample, but he studied law although he never practised. He became editor of "Russell's Magazine" and a contributor to the "Southern Literary Messenger." His genius and lovely nature made him a favorite with all of his companions, among whom were notably William Gilmore Simms and Henry Timrod.

During the Civil War, he served in the Confederate Army; his entire property, the inheritance of several generations, was destroyed in the bombardment of Charleston. From 1865 till his death he resided at "Copse Hill," a small cottage home in the pine hills near Augusta, Georgia, "keeping the wolf from the door only by the point of his pen," dearly honored and loved by all who knew him or his poems.

His son, William H. Hayne, is also a poet of much ability, and has published a volume of "Sylvan Lyrics."

WORKS.

Poems containing Sonnets Avolio Lyrics Mountain of the Lovers. Preceded by a Sketch of the Poet by Mrs. M. J. Preston (1882). Life of Robert Young Hayne (1878). Life of Hugh Swinton Legaré (1878).

"There is no poet in America who has written more lovingly or discriminatingly about nature in her ever varying aspects. We are sure that in his loyal allegiance to her, he is not a whit behind Wordsworth, and we do not hesitate to say that he has often a grace that the old Lake-poet lacks."--Mrs. Preston.

"Hayne has the lyric gift, and his shorter poems have a ring and richness that recall the glories of the Elizabethan period; . . . each shows the same careful and artistic workmanship."--Collier.

THE MOCKING-BIRD.

(_At Night._)

(_From Poems, 1882._[28])

A golden pallor of voluptuous light Filled the warm southern night; The moon, clear orbed, above the sylvan scene Moved like a stately Queen, So rife with conscious beauty all the while, What could she do but smile At her own perfect loveliness below, Glassed in the tranquil flow Of crystal fountains and unruffled streams? Half lost in waking dreams, As down the loneliest forest dell I strayed, Lo! from a neighboring glade, Flashed through the drifts of moonshine, swiftly came A fairy shape of flame. It rose in dazzling spirals overhead, Whence, to wild sweetness wed, Poured marvellous melodies, silvery trill on trill; The very leaves grew still On the charmed trees to hearken; while, for me, Heart-thrilled to ecstasy, I followed--followed the bright shape that flew, Still circling up the blue, Till, as a fountain that has reached its height Falls back in sprays of light Slowly dissolved, so that enrapturing lay, Divinely melts away Through tremulous spaces to a music-mist, Soon by the fitful breeze How gently kissed Into remote and tender silences.

SONNET.--OCTOBER.

The passionate summer's dead! the sky's aglow With roseate flushes of matured desire, The winds at eve are musical and low, As sweeping chords of a lamenting lyre, Far up among the pillared clouds of fire, Whose pomp of strange procession upward rolls, With gorgeous blazonry of pictured scrolls, To celebrate the summer's past renown; Ah, me! how regally the heavens look down, O'ershadowing beautiful autumnal woods And harvest fields with hoarded increase brown, And deep-toned majesty of golden floods, That raise their solemn dirges to the sky, To swell the purple pomp that floateth by.

A DREAM OF THE SOUTH WIND.

O fresh, how fresh and fair Through the crystal gulfs of air, The fairy South Wind floateth on her subtle wings of balm! And the green earth lapped in bliss, To the magic of her kiss Seems yearning upward fondly through the golden-crested calm.

From the distant Tropic strand Where the billows, bright and bland, Go creeping, curling round the palms with sweet, faint undertune; From its fields of purpling flowers Still wet with fragrant showers, The happy South Wind lingering sweeps the royal blooms of June.

All heavenly fancies rise On the perfume of her sighs, Which steep the inmost spirit in a languor rare and fine, And a peace more pure than sleep's Unto dim half-conscious deeps, Transports me, lulled and dreaming, on its twilight tides divine.

Those dreams! ah, me! the splendor, So mystical and tender, Wherewith like soft heat lightnings they gird their meaning round, And those waters, calling, calling, With a nameless charm enthralling, Like the ghost of music melting on a rainbow spray of sound!

Touch, touch me not, nor wake me, Lest grosser thoughts o'ertake me; From earth receding faintly with her dreary din and jars-- What viewless arms caress me? What whispered voices bless me, With welcomes dropping dew-like from the weird and wondrous stars?

Alas! dim, dim, and dimmer Grows the preternatural glimmer Of that trance the South Wind brought me on her subtle wings of balm, For behold! its spirit flieth, And its fairy murmur dieth, And the silence closing round me is a dull and soulless calm!

FOOTNOTE:

[28] By permission of the Lothrop Publishing Co., Boston; as also the others following.

JOHN ESTEN COOKE.

~1830=1886.~

JOHN ESTEN COOKE was born at Winchester, Virginia, a younger brother of Philip Pendleton Cooke and son of the eminent jurist, John Rogers Cooke, under whom he made his law studies. He seemed, however, to prefer literature to law, and when he was twenty-four he had already published several works. Among them was "Virginia Comedians," a novel of great interest and greater promise.

In 1861 he entered the Confederate service as one of General T. J. Jackson's staff, was transferred to that of General J. E. B. Stuart at the death of Jackson in 1863; and after Stuart's death, he was Inspector-General of the horse artillery of the Army of Northern Virginia till the close of the war.

His novels deal with the life and history of Virginia, the best known of them being "Surry of Eagle's Nest," which is said to be partly autobiographical. They hold well the popular favor. His "Stories of the Old Dominion" are specially interesting to Virginians.

WORKS.

Leather Stocking and Silk. Virginia Comedians. Last of the Foresters. Life of Stonewall Jackson. Surry of Eagle's Nest. Mohun, or the Last Days of Lee and his Paladins. Out of the Foam. Heir of Gaymount. Dr. Vandyke. Pretty Mrs. Gaston, and other Stories. Professor Pressensee. Virginia Bohemians. Virginia: a History of the People. Maurice Mystery. Youth of Jefferson. Ellie. Henry St. John, Gentleman, sequel to Virginia Comedians. Wearing of the Gray. Fairfax, or Greenway Court. Hilt to Hilt. Hammer and Rapier [Grant and Lee]. Life of R. E. Lee. Her Majesty the Queen. Canolles. Mr. Grantley's Idea. Stories of the Old Dominion. My Lady Pokahontas.

THE RACES IN VIRGINIA, 1765.

(_From Virginia Comedians._[29])

The races!

That word always produces a strong effect upon men in the South; and when the day fixed upon for the Jamestown races comes, the country is alive for miles around with persons of all classes and descriptions.

As the hour of noon approaches, the ground swarms with every species of the genus _homo_; Williamsburg and the sea-faring village of Jamestown turn out _en masse_, and leave all occupations for the exciting turf.

As the day draws on the crowd becomes more dense. The splendid chariots of the gentry roll up to the stand, and group themselves around it, in a position to overlook the race-course, and through the wide windows are seen the sparkling eyes and powdered locks, and diamonds and gay silk and velvet dresses of those fair dames who lent such richness and picturesque beauty to the old days dead now so long ago in the far past. The fine-looking old planters too are decked in their holiday suits, their powdered hair is tied into queues behind with neat black ribbon, and they descend and mingle with their neighbors, and discuss the coming festival.

Gay youths, in rich brilliant dresses, caracole up to the carriages on fiery steeds, to display their horsemanship, and exchange compliments with their friends, and make pretty speeches, which are received by the bright-eyed damsels with little ogles, and flirts of their variegated fans, and rapturous delight.

Meanwhile the crowd grows each moment, as the flood pours in from the north, the south, the east, the west--from every point of the compass, and in every species of vehicle. There are gay parties of the yeomen and their wives and daughters, in carryalls and wagons filled with straw, upon which chairs are placed: there are rollicking fast men--if we may use a word becoming customary in our own day--who whirl in, in their curricles: there are barouches and chairs, spring wagons and carts, all full, approaching in every way from a sober walk to a furious headlong dash, all "going to the races." There are horsemen who lean forward, horsemen who lean back; furious, excited horsemen urging their steeds with whip and spur; cool, quiet horsemen, who ride erect and slowly; there are, besides, pedestrians of every class and appearance, old and young, male and female, black and white--all going to the races.

The hour at last arrives, and a horn sounding from the judges' stand, the horses are led out in their blankets and head-coverings, and walked up and down before the crowd by their trainers, who are for the most part old gray-headed negroes, born and raised, to the best of their recollection, on the turf. The riders are noble scions of the same ancient stock, and average three feet and a half in height, and twenty pounds in weight. They are clad in ornamental garments; wear little close-fitting caps; and while they are waiting, sit huddled up in the grass, sucking their thumbs, and talking confidentially about "them there hosses."

Let us look at the objects of their attention; they are well worth it.

Mr. Howard enters the bay horse _Sir Archy_, out of Flying Dick, by Roderick.

Mr. James enters _Fair Anna_, a white mare, dam Virginia, sire Belgrave.

Captain Waters enters the Arabian horse _Selim_, descended in a direct line, he is informed, from Al-borak, who carried the prophet Mahomet up to heaven--though this pedigree is not vouched for. The said pedigree is open to the inspection of all comers. _Note_--That it is written in Arabic.

There are other entries, but not much attention is paid to them. The race will be between Sir Archy and Fair Anna, and perhaps the outlandish horse will not be "distanced."

"Prepare the horses!" comes from the judges' stand opposite.

Captain Ralph Waters leaves the ladies with a gallant bow, and pushes his way through the swaying and excited crowd, toward the spot where the animals are being saddled.

A tremendous hurly-burly reigns there; men of all classes, boys, negroes, gentlemen, indented servants,--all are betting with intense interest. The dignified grooms endeavor to keep back the crowd:--the owners of the horses give their orders to the microscopic monkeys who are to ride. . . . . . The riders are raised by one leg into the saddles; they gather up the reins; the drum taps; they are off like lightning.

The course is a mile in circumference, and they go round it before the excited crowd can look at them a dozen times. They whirl past the stand, and push on again.

Sir Archy leads; Fair Anna trails on a hard rein; the Arabian is two lengths behind; but he is not running.

They thunder up the quarter stretch: Sir Archy is bounding, like some diabolical monster, far before his companions, spite of his owner's cries; the Arabian has come up and locks the mare; they run neck and neck. Sir Archy whirls past the stand, and wins by a hundred yards. The immense crowd utters a shout that shakes the surrounding forest. . . . . . . .

The horses are again enveloped in their hoods and blankets. Captain Ralph returns to the Riverhead carriage, [that of the Lees, in which were Miss Henrietta Lee and her sister Clare.]

"Any more betting, sir?" says Miss Henrietta, satirically.

"Who, I?"

"Yes, sir."

"Assuredly!" says the Captain; "do not think, _chere ma'm'selle_, that I am very much cast down. I am so far from that, I assure you, that I am ready to take the field again."

"Well, sir."

"Then you will bet again, madam?"

"Yes, indeed."

"_Bien!_ I now stake all that is left me in the world--though not quite. I stake my horse, Selim, against the curl and the pair of gloves you wear, with the knot of ribbons at your girdle thrown in--all upon the final issue."

Henrietta blushes; for, however common such gallant proposals were at that day, she cannot misunderstand the meaning of the soldier's glance, and reddens beneath it.

"That would be unfair, sir."

"Not so, my dear madam, for are you not sure to lose?"

"To lose?"

"Yes, indeed."

"No, sir; I am sure to win."

"Bah! you ladies have such a delicious little confidence in the things you patronize, that it is really astonishing. You think Sir Archy will beat Selim? Pshaw! you know nothing about it."

This piques madam Henrietta, and she smiles satirically again as she says:

"Well, sir, I do not want your pretty horse--but if you insist, why, I cannot retreat. I shall, at least, have the pleasure of returning him to his master."

The Captain shakes his head.

"A bet upon such terms is no bet at all, my dearest madam," he says, "for, I assure you, if I win, you will return home curl-less, glove-less, and ribbon-less. All is fair in war--and love."

With which words, Captain Ralph darts a martial ogle at his companion. This piques her more than ever.

"Well, sir," she replies, "if you are determined, have your desire."

"Good!" cries the Captain, "we are just in time. There is the horse." . . . . . . And, with another gallant bow, the Captain rides away towards the horses. . . .

The boys are again instructed much after the same fashion: the signal is given in the midst of breathless suspense, and the horses dart from their places.

They dart around, Sir Archy again leading: but this position he does not hold throughout the first mile: he gradually falls behind, and when they pass the winning-post he is fifty yards in the rear. His owner tears his hair, but the crowd do not see him--they flush and shout.

The second mile is between Fair Anna and the Arabian, and they lock in the middle of it; but the Arabian gradually takes the lead, and when they flash up to the stand he is ten yards ahead. Sir Archy is distanced and withdrawn.

It would be impossible to describe the excitement of the crowd:--the tremendous effect produced upon them by this reversal of all their hopes and expectations. They roll about like waves, they shout, they curse, they rumble and groan like a stormy sea.

The horses are the objects of every one's attention. Their condition will go far to indicate the final result--and Sir Archy being led away and withdrawn, the race now will be between Fair Anna and the Arabian.

Mr. James looks more solemn than ever, and all eyes are turned upon him. Captain Waters is not visible--he is yonder, conversing with the ladies.

But the horses! Fair Anna pants and breathes heavily: her coat is drenched more completely than before with perspiration; her mouth foams; she tosses her head; when the rake is applied to her back a shower falls.

The Arabian is wet all over too; but he breathes regularly; his eye is bright and his head calm. He has commenced running. The first intention of Mr. James is to give up the race, but his pride will not let him. He utters an oath, and gives renewed instructions to his rider. These instructions are to whip and spur--to take the lead and keep it, from the start.

The moment for the final struggle arrives, and Captain Ralph merely says, "Rein free!"

The boys mount--the crowd opens; the drum taps and the animals are off like lightning.

Fair Anna feels that all her previous reputation is at stake, and flies like a deer. She passes around the first mile like a flash of white light; but the Arabian is beside her. For a quarter of a mile thereafter they run neck and neck--the rider of fair Anna lashes and spurs desperately.

They come up to the quarter-stretch in the last mile at supernatural speed:--the spectators rise on their toes and shout:--two shadows pass them like the shadows of darting hawks:--the mare barely saves her distance and the Arabian has triumphed.

If we could not describe the excitement after the second heat, what possibility is there that we could convey an idea of the raging and surging pandemonium which the crowd now came to resemble? Furious cries--shouts--curses--applause--laughter--and the rattle of coin leaving unwilling hands are some of the sounds. But here we must give up:--as no mere pen can describe the raging of a great mass of water lashed by an angry wind into foam and whistling spray and muttering waves, which rise and fall and crash incessantly, so we cannot trace the outline of the wildly excited crowd.

[Afterwards come contests with the quarter-staff, a wrestling match, running matches, a contest of singing among "a dozen blushing maidens," and of fiddling among twenty bold musicians: and the day is wound up with a great banquet.]

FOOTNOTE:

[29] By permission of D. Appleton and Co., New York.

ZEBULON BAIRD VANCE.

~1830=1894.~

ZEBULON BAIRD VANCE was born in Buncombe County, North Carolina, and was educated at Washington College, Tennessee, and at the University of North Carolina. He studied law and began its practice in Asheville. He was soon elected to the State Legislature and to Congress; and from 1854 to his death was continuously in public life except just after the war. His wit and eloquence made him a great favorite both on the stump and in Congress, and the influence he wielded in his state was unbounded. He was opposed to secession, but joined his state in her decision and became colonel of the 26th North Carolina Regiment, one of the best of the army.

In 1862 he was elected governor of the State and was so active and enterprising in getting aid by sea for the cause that he was called the "War Governor of the South." He was in favor of considering the negotiations for peace in 1863, but he neglected no measures to insure the success of the Confederacy. In 1865 he was held a prisoner of war for a few weeks in Washington.

His political disabilities were not removed till 1872; in 1876 he was elected governor of North Carolina, and in 1879, United States Senator, having been elected and his seat refused him in 1870. His death occurred in Washington City, and he is buried in Asheville. His State is now preparing to erect a monument expressing her honor and devotion to her illustrious son.

WORKS.

Speeches: (in Congress and on Public Occasions.)

CHANGES WROUGHT BY THE WAR.

(_From All About it--an address before the young men of Raleigh, N. C.; published in "Land We Love" January, 1867._)