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THE SOUTHERN WORLD, NOVEMBER 15,1882.
not a little to the attractive looks of a Florida
home.
The mulberry is another rapidly growing
shade tree. Two or three of these set on the
south side of a house, will, in a few years,
give as dense a shade as one need desire, but
these trees have the disadvantage of being,
at a certain season, almost stripped of their
leaves by an ugly worm that takes possession
of them, and well nigh skeletonizes them.
In winter also they are apt to lose their
leaves just as they do at the North.
Where porches cannot be afforded, and
trees are being waited for, an excellent plan
is to put up an arbor, such as is commonly
used for grape vines. Let it be parallel with
the house, on the soutli or west, since these
are the points where the summers sun rests
all the day long, and about eight to feet from
it, make a slatted roof, sloping from the
wall, and then plant rapid growing vines of
all kinds and train them up the arbor. It is
really wonderful how quickly an efficient
shade can be obtained in this simple way,
and the effect is charming; the various
shades of green, dotted all over with the buff,
orange and white of the thunbergias, the
light yellow of the jessamine, and the vivid
scarlet of the cypress, one or two of the swift
growing wild grape vines, will help greatly
to make the green back-ground for the vivid
flowers, and by-and-by these grape vines may
be left in undisputed possession of the arbor,
furnishing not only a leafy screen, but an
abundance of grapes that make an excellent
jelly.
While the vines are growing up the sides
of the arbor, how about its roof? We want
shade under that too, want it atonce to keep
the sun when high' in the heavens from peep
ing down inside our green wall, and heating
the wooden walls of our house.
An awning stretched over the slatted roof
is just the thing, not a water-proof one eith
er, but one which will ward ofl the fierce
rays of the sun, while allowing the rain to
pass through it, because you want a flower
bed undet your window and flowers need
rain.
Under such an awning as we linve in our
mind, and we may add, shading our studv,
wall plants will grow that could not be
raised in Florida without some such shelter
here, under the reflected sunlight that sifts
down to the ground, hyacinths, violets, fnsch-
sias, geraniums, wax exceedingly beautiful
and grow apace unde' the sheltering care of
bagging stuff; yes, just those coarse bags
in which oats, coffee, corn are sold; rip
them open, sew them together, nail them on
your slatted roof and the work is done.
Red Hunk Cotton Hill),
Editor Southern World.—Very recently
I called on John Green, the boss of lied Bank
Cotton Manufactory, Lexington county, 8.
C. To my surprise this factory excels any
thing in that line I ever saw. I am not
qualified to give a description of its move
ments, being too deficient as a machinist.
It is a one hundred and fifty horse-power,
having the most regular momentum I ever
saw. Every thing was smooth and perfect
in all parts. Its masterly arrangement
eclipsed my comprehension. Its productions
are superior in quantity and quality to any
thing of the same dimensions in this coun
try. Its operatives were the most orderly
and mannerly I ever met in a factory—mor
ally as well as mechanically trained. I was
politely received in every department.
Mr. Green is one of the most masterly ma
chinists I ever saw. Had I not seen him at
his work,.I could not have believed wo had
such a one in South Carolina. He is entire
ly unassuming; watchful almost to a fault,
night andday, cleanly in all the departments
of the building—one of the safest men ever
put in such a factory. Mr. Green can inter
est his guests with his occupation as few men
can. He is not monotonous, but that jocu
lar quick way of relating the incidents of
his operations, successful or failures will
always keep your attention, and he delights
in proficiency in his employment.
I spent a day and night with Mr. Green
and his good wife. Their liberality cannot
be excelled. His wife in her sphere, is his
equal. Though a stranger to her, her kind
ness made an everlasting Impression on my
mind, her music on my soul. In this she
may be equaled but not excelled. She has
an easy way of controlling all things in her
domestic sphere, and by it Mr. Green seems
to be blest with great enjoyment in the fam
ily circle with his many visitors and kins
men, where I met many from Columbia, all
exhibiting no ordinary refinement.
Mr. Hooker, an assistant, I found quite
gentlemanly. He seems much interested
in behalf of the dependent operatives.
8. M. Simons.
THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.
“ Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith—a mighty man Is he,
With huge and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of bis brawny arms
Are strong as Iron bands.
His hair Is crisp, and black and long;
His face is like the tan;
His brow la wet, with honest sweat—
He earns what 'as he can!
And looks the whole world In the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week In,week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing bis heavy sledge.
With measured beat and slow,—
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun Is low."
And children, coming home from school,
Look In at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch tbe burning sparks, that fly
Like chair from the threshing floor.
Tolling, relolclng, sorrowing,
On through life be goes.
Each morning sees some task begun,
Each evening sees Its close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought.
Thus on Its sounding anvil shaped | 3 ~ r. at
Each burning deed ntid thought I
Written specially for the Southern World.
PAUL HAMILTON IIAYNE.
BY W. P. WOOLLEY.
It is a simple little cottage perched on a
hill-top, surrounded by pine barrens. One
would never think that under its humble
roof resides a genius, a poetic genius who
can to-day lay greater claims on the South
ern heart than any living writer in the South!
also most noteworthy. They rescue a phase
of Southern life among tbe negroes almost if
not entirely extinct. Yes, I met Mr.
Charles Hubner once, and have the greatest
respect for him as a gentleman, the highest
appreciation as a poet of merit.” I cannot
recall the entire conversation, but it was
one long to be remembered by your corres
pondent.
Faul Hamilton Hayne is of noble birth
on tbe maternal and paternal side. He is
tbe nephew of the distinguished Governor,
Robert Y. Hayne, of South Carolina, who
was, on the testimony of Edward Everett,
"generally considered to be, in 1836, tbe
foremost Southerner in Congressional de
bates, with tbe single exception of John C.
Calhoun.” It was a speech of this uncle's
that evoked the famous reply of Daniel Web
ster. The poet received a thorough educa
tion at tiie college of Charleston, and, at an
early age, began his literary career. He has
a devoted wife and an only son who inherits
much of his parent’s good character and
keen intellect. His efforts in literature thus
far give promise of something worthy of the
father. We have arranged the following con
cise chronological table of the principal
events of the poet's life:
1831.—Jan. 1st, born in Charleston, S. C.,
Mr. Hayne’s father, a lieutenant, in the navy
died of yellow fever, on the ship Vincennet,
in his 29th year of age.
1839.—Gov. Robert Y. Hayne died at the
age of 48.
1847.—Paul Hayne entered the “ College of
Charleston."
1850.—Graduated at the College of Char
leston, soon afterwards studied law and was
admitted to the bar, though he never prac
ticed.
.1852.—May 20, married to Mary Middleton
Michel, only daughter of Dr. Wrn. Michel,
But a cosy home it is; a happy home I feel
sure. Human hearts can be as warm in a
shanty, with leaking roof and slmtterles8<
windows, as in the palaces of tbe Doges,”
once he wrote and true the saying. Certain
we are that naught but truth inspired the
verses:
“Fields, lonely paths, the one small glimmering rill
That twinkles like a wood-fay's mirthful eye
Under moist bay leaves, clouds fantastical
That float and change at the light breezes will—
To me, thus lapped In sylvan luxury,
Are more than death of kings, or empires fall."
A few days ago I first met him, descending
from "Copse Hill.” He was seated on his
faithful horse, a broad-brimmed white straw
bat shading hlfi face, and an umbrella tbrow-
ingofffrom hisbody tbe beat of a warm day’s
sun. Cordial was the greeting, more than
cordial the pleasant interview I soon after
wards had. Not the broad, stoop-shouldered,
heavy gray-bearded, Bryant-like man,
imagination bad pictured him, but tbe
slender, graceful-formcd, well-chiseled fea
tured, brilliant-eyed Paul Hayne he really is.
Mr. Hayne is a brilliant conversationalist.
Being well posted on all literary topics of the
day, as well as the yesterday, in vivid, preg
nant and salient phrases be flits from the
one to the other, now showing us a living
beauty here, then a patent defect there.
"Yes, I have the liveliest hopes for the
future of Southern literature,” be said. “ In
Mrs. Bui nett we possess the worthiest dia
lectic novelist in America, while “Christian
Reid ” as a society novelist has few equals.
I rank Mra. Bryan high, both as a novelist
and poet. By-the-way I know nothing of
its kind superior to 'Betsey Hamilton’s’
letters. If republished in book form they
will, doubtless, have a large sale. The
‘Uncle Remus’ stories of Mr. Harris are
of Charleston. “ Her own descent is worthy
of remembrance, her father having been,
when but 18 years of age, a surgeon in tbe
army of Napoleon Bonaparte. Dr. Miehel
was wounded at tbe battle of Leipsic, and
received a gold medal at the hands of the
late Emperor, Napoleon the Third.” Began
to edit Southern Literary Gazette, a weekly
paper published in Charleston.
1853. —Occupied the editorial chair of the
Weekly Newt.
1854. —Visited the North. Contributed to
tbe Southern Literary Mettenger, and the daily
papers of Charleston.
1855. —First volume of poems published by
Ticknor & Fields.
1857.—Second volume, “Sonnets and other
Poems,” published by Harper & Calvo, of
Charleston. Editor of Ruttell't Magazine.
1859.—Third volume, of poems, "Avolio
a legend of the Island of Cos; with Poems)
Lyrical, Miscellaneous and Dramatical,” by
Ticknor & Fields.
1861.—In the Confederate army on the
staff of Governor Pickens, of 8. C.
1866.—Won prize for the best poem con
nected with the late war offered by Southern
Opinion, of Richmond, Va. Subject, "Con
federates in the field.”
1867-8.—Editor of Southern Opinion. Con
tributor to Banner of the South, Augusta, Ga.
1872.—Fourth edition of poems, “Legends
and Lyrics."
1873—Collected,and edited with a memoir,
the poems of “ Henry Timrod."
1876.—Fifth edition of poems. “ The
Mountain of the Lovers and other poems.”
He has since written frequently forthe press
both North and South, and is soon to issue a
collected volume of his poems, which will,
doubtless, receive a warm reception.
Personally, Mr. Hayne is magnetic, a
Chesterfield in manners. He is a man with
a heart, sympathetic and benevolent. He is
greatly beloved by his neighbors It was a
cripple who directed me to the poet’s home.
A portion of this unfortunate’s conversation
will illustrate the unostentatious benevo
lence of Mr. Hayne:
“Yes, me and Mr. Hayne is good friends.
I’m nothin’ but a poor, ignorant railroad
hand. Sometime ago when carryin’ cross
ties I fell and received an Injury which,
came nigh killin' me. I had no money and
the railroad refused to continue my wages.
Mr. Hayne heered of my condishun and
come and helped me, feeding me until he
got up a petishun signed by leadin’ men in
Augusta, askin’ the railroad to continue my
wages until I was able to go to work. So I’m
now drawin my money every month, all by
means of that good man, Mr. Hayne."
It seems to me that I would rather have
the devoted love of that poor cripple than,
all the wealth of prince or potentate I
Were I to say the South had produced but
one great poet, and that poet was Edgar Al
lan Poe, I would utter a mere truism. But
should I say she has produced only one (rue
poet the statement might well be doubted.
Few there are who con lay claim to the
former pre-eminence, many to the latter
rank. He the great, who, adhering not to
conventionalities, moves out of the old rut
and harnesses new thoughts to new vehicles;
he the true who expresses new thoughts in
old forms, or rather touches new notes on
the same strings. He the great, he the true
who possesses a life-giving power. But he
the great who manifests that power in tbe
presentation of the emotions of man; he the
true who “ fancifully gives life to a thous
and inanimate things.” As Peter Bayne
says, “Where there is the life of fancy there
is true poetry ; where there is the life of
imagination there is great poetry.”
Mr. Paul H. Hayne ranks among the true
poets of the South. If lie has made no new
metrical construction of our language, he
has at least deftly used the old forms.
Though he works more in the world of na
ture than in the world of inner man, he is
not a mere warbler as bis many worthy son
nets testify. Yet we plainly see he takes
more pleasure in the personification of in
animate things than in the interpretation of
those finer qualities that lie hidden in the
hearts of men. To him "the frolit sea-
waves near ” seems to dance along
"-like bappy maidens playing
When bllth love goes 'a-Maying,'
And wreaking on tho shore tbelr panting bliss
In coy. Impulsive kisses."
He looks upon twilight as a maiden who
“—on her virginal throat.
Wears (or a gem tbe tremulous Vesper star.”
While the pines are “Dreamy Titans
roused from sleep.”
He loves to stand on azure mountain tops
and paint a gorgeous sunset, or silver lined
clouds of fantastic forms. There “rests the
mute rapture of deep-hearted peace” on
each “tinted copse and shimmering dell."
To him in fact “all nature speaks a varied
language." Yet it must not be thought that
these nature-poems are all moral-less. Many
of them doubtless are, many not. Many
seem but " weird pictures fancy gendered,"
others from nature draw deep moral lessons.
The first are the products of his youthfui
days, the latter of his mature powers.
Mr. Hayne has given us but few poems that
touch our emotional nature. Yet these few
are worthy of the poet as well as the man,
and to us are an index of great undeveloped
power in that direction. The must of these
are addressed to his devoted family and
friends. Witness, “The Bonny Brown Hand,"
“An Anniversary," “Not Dead,” "To My
Mother,” “To My Father," “Will," “To My
Daughter,” “Under the Pine.”
Mr. Hayne has attained more than a mod
erate degree of success with that difficult
verse, the sonnet. In fact he has by some one
been called “the sonnet writer of the South ”
While we justly consider Mrs. Browning the
best sonnet writer who has entered that field
of poetry we think Mr. Hayne has written
several that would even do honor to her.
Notably among these are, “Death,” "Illegiti*-
mate,” and one beginning, “The glorious star
of morning,” etc.
LIS,
of
are written in a natural, easy style, and well
sustained to the end. At points they even
rise to a somewhat dramatic interest.
His songs are few, and while in Instances
commendable, do not compare with his other
poems.
His “Ode to Sleep” is doubtless the poet’s
best effort. .We know of few poems in the
I'wuio tucau will
with the best any Southern poet has
“The Wife of Brittany,” “The Mount*
the Lovers,” and especially Daphne. 1