rcling around the remote edges of his imagination,
entered the office of his friend, Judge Petigru. The "irrepressible
conflict" between Law and Poesy that has been waged through the
generations broke forth anew, and Timrod made the opposite choice from
that reached by Blackstone. Judging from the character of the rhythmic
composition in which the great expounder of English law took leave of
the Lyric Muse, his decision was a judicious one. Doubtless that of
our poet was equally discreet. When the Club used to gather in
Russell's book-shop on King Street, Judge Petigru and his recalcitrant
protege had many pleasant meetings, unmarred by differences as to the
relative importance of the Rule in Shelley's Case and the flight of
Shelley's Lark.

Henry Timrod was thrust into the literary life of Charleston at a time
when that life was most full of impelling force. It was a Charleston
filled with memories quite remote from the poetry and imaginative
literature which represented life to the youthful writers. It was a
Charleston with an imposing background of history and oratory,
forensic and legislative, against which the poetry and imagination of
the new-comers glittered capriciously, like the glimmering of
fireflies against the background of night, with swift, uncertain
vividness that suggested the early extinguishing of those quivering
lamps. But the heart of Charleston was kindled with a new ambition,
and the new men brought promise of its fulfilment.

Others have given us a view of the literary life of Charleston, of her
social position, of her place in the long procession of history. To
Timrod it was left to give us martial Charleston, "girt without and
garrisoned at home," looking "from roof and spire and dome across her
tranquil bay." With him, we see her while

Calm as that second summer which precedes
The first fall of the snow,
In the broad sunlight of heroic deeds
The City bides the foe.

Through his eyes we look seaward to where

Dark Sumter, like a battlemented cloud,
Looms o'er the solemn deep.

We behold the Queen City of the Sea standing majestically on the
sands, the storm-clouds lowering darkly over her, the distant thunders
of war threatening her, and the pale lightnings of the coming tempest
flashing nearer,

And down the dunes a thousand guns lie couched,
Unseen, beside the flood--
Like tigers in some Orient jungle crouched
That wait and watch