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18 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