yet makes a heaven of earth."

On sunny days he paced to and fro under the pines, the many windows of
his mind opened to the studies in light and shade and his soul attuned
to the music of the drifting winds and the whispering trees. When
Nature was in darkened mood and gave him no invitation to the open
court wherein she reigned, he walked up and down his library floor,
engrossed with some beautiful thought which, in harmonious garb of
words, would go forth and bless the world with its music.

The study, of which he wrote:

This is my world! within these narrow walls
I own a princely service

was perhaps as remarkable a room as any in which student ever spent
his working hours, the walls being papered wholly with cuts from
papers and periodicals. The furniture was decorated in the same way,
even to the writing desk, which was an old work bench left by some
carpenters. All had been done by the "bonny brown hands" that never
wearied in loving service.

Many of his friends made pilgrimages to the little cottage on the
hill, where they were cordially welcomed by the poet, who, happy in
his home with his wife and little son, lived among the flowers which
he tended with his own hands, surrounded by the majesty of the pines
whose

Passion and mystery murmur through the leaves,--
Passion and mystery touched by deathless pain,
Whose monotone of long, low anguish grieves
For something lost that shall not live again.

Hither came Henry Timrod, doomed to failure, loss, and early death,
but with soul eternally alive with the fires of genius. In the last
days of his sad and broken life William Gilmore Simms came to renew
old memories and recount the days when life in old Charleston was
iridescent as the waves that washed the feet of the Queen of the Sea.
Congenial spirits they were who met in that charming little study
where Paul Hayne walked "the fields of quiet Arcadies" and

... gleamings of the lost, heroic life
Flashed through the gorgeous vistas of romance.

Hayne had the subtle power of touching the friendliness in the hearts
of those who were far away, as well as of the comrades who had walked
with him along the road of life. Often letters came from friends in
other lands, known to him only by that wireless intuitional telegraphy
whereby kindred souls know each other, though hands have not met nor
eyes looked into eyes. Many might voice the thought expressed by one:
"I may