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 it lined with the pain and losses of the
years.

Of all their old circle, Simms was the one whose wreck was the most
disastrous. He had possessed so many of the things which make life
desirable that his loss had left him as the storm leaves the ruined
ship which, in the days of its magnificence, had ridden the waves with
the greatest pride. The fortnight in Copse Hill was the first relief
from toil that had come to him since death and fire and defeat had
done their worst upon him. His biographer says, "He was as eager as
ever to pass the night in profitless, though pleasant, discussions
when he should have been trying to regain his strength through sleep."
To a later visitor Paul Hayne showed a cherished pine log on which
were inscribed the names of Simms and Timrod.

Upon the return of Simms he wrote to his friend at Copse Hill that no
language could describe the suffering of Charleston. He said that the
picture of Irving, given him by Hayne, served a useful purpose in