rguments against his
quitting the country. I had already said and written all that I had to
say on that subject . . . . .

Besides, our minds were in such a confused state, we scarcely knew
what any of us had to expect from the victorious party, or what would
become of our whole people. So that in urging him not to leave
Louisiana, I argued more from instinct, which revolted at anything
like an abandonment of a post of duty, and from a temperament which
always sought rather to advance to meet and defy danger, than to turn
and avoid it, than from any well-grounded assurance or hope of
security for him, or any one else. I felt more anxiety for his
reputation, for his fame, than for his life and freedom. His natural
instincts would have induced similar views; but his judgment and
feelings were overpowered by the reasonings and entreaties of his
friends.

FOOTNOTE:

[26] By permission of J. A. Gresham, New Orleans.

HENRY TIMROD.

~1829=1867.~

[Illustration: ~University of State of Missouri, Columbia, Mo.~]

HENRY TIMROD was born in Charleston, the son of William Henry Timrod,
who was himself a poet, and who in his youth voluntarily apprenticed
himself to a book-binder in order to have plenty of books to read. His
son Henry, the "blue-eyed Harry" of the father's poem studied law
with the distinguished James Louis Petigru, but never practiced and
soon gave it up to prepare himself for a teacher. He spent ten years
as private tutor in families, writing at the same time. Some of his
poems are found in the "Southern Literary Messenger" with the
signature "Aglaues."

His vacations were spent in Charleston, where he was one of the
coterie of young writers whom William Gilmore Simms, like a literary
Nestor, gathered about him in his hospitable home. His schoolmate,
Paul Hamilton Hayne, was one of these, and their early friendship grew
stronger with the passing years.

In 1860, Timrod removed to Columbia, published a volume of poems which
were well received North and South, and undertook editorial work. Life
seemed fair before him. But ill-health and the war which destroyed his
property and blighted his career, soon darkened all his prospects, and
after a brave struggle with poverty and sickness, he died of
pneumonia.

His poems are singularly free from sadness and bitterness. They have
been collected and published with a sketch of his life by his friend,
Paul Hamilton Hayne.

WORKS.

Poems.[27]