bow before Peace came, as a mourning dove with shadowy
wings hovering over a Nation's grave.

In May, 1864, Simms went to Columbia and was there when the town was
destroyed by fire, the house in which he was staying being saved by
his presence therein. "You belong to the whole Union," said an
officer, placing a guard around the dwelling to protect the sturdy
writer who counted his friends all over the Nation. He said to friends
who sympathized with him over his losses, "Talk not to me about my
losses when the State is lost."

Simms describes the streets of Columbia as "wide and greatly protected
by umbrageous trees set in regular order, which during the vernal
season confer upon the city one of its most beautiful features."

The _Daily South Carolinian_ was sent to Charleston to save it from
destruction. Its editors, Julian Selby and Henry Timrod, remained in
the office on the south side of Washington Street near Main, where
they prepared and sent out a daily bulletin while bomb-shells fell
around them, until their labors were ended by the burning of the
building.

From the ashes of the _Carolinian_ arose the _Phoenix_ and Simms was
its editor through its somewhat brief existence. Selby relates that
Simms offended General Hartwell and was summoned to trial at the
General's headquarters on the corner of Bull and Gervais Streets. The
result of the trial was an invitation for the defendant to a sumptuous
luncheon and a ride home in the General's carriage accompanied by a
basket of champagne and other good things. The next day the General
told a friend that if Mr. Simms was a specimen of a South Carolina
gentleman he would not again enter into a tilt with one. "He outtalked
me, out-drank me, and very clearly and politely showed me that I
lacked proper respect for the aged."

The _Phoenix_ promptly sank back into its ashes and Simms returned to
Charleston to a life of toil and struggle, not only for his own
livelihood but to help others bear the burden of existence that was
very heavy in Charleston immediately succeeding the war. Timrod wrote
to him, "Somehow or other, you always magnetize me on to a little
strength."

In 1866 Simms visited Paul Hayne at Copse Hill, the shrine to which
many footsteps were turned in the days when the poet and his little
family made life beautiful on that pine-clad summit. Hayne welcomed
his guest with joy and with sorrow--joy to behold again the face of
his old friend; sorrow to see i