Simms, requesting him to write a notice of Timrod's work, not that he
(Timrod) deserved it of Simms, but that he (Hayne) asked it of him. It
may be that Timrod's recognition of the fact that he could write
poetry and that Simms could only try to write it led to a degree of
youthful assumption which clashed with the dignity of the older man.
The Nestor of Southern literature seems not to have cherished
animosity, for he not only noticed Timrod favorably, but in after
years, when the poet's misfortunes pressed most heavily upon him, made
every possible exertion to give him practical and much needed
assistance.

Upon his return from college, Timrod, with some dim fancies concerning
a forensic career circling 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
protégé 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,