The Newberry herald. [volume] (Newberry, S.C.) 1865-1884, 1875-10-27
FOE THE HERALD.
The Walk, and Other Poems.
rY J. A. MERCATOR.

BY J. A. MERCATOR.
1t is most refreshing, in this day of
eccentricity and scepticism, to meet
man who indulges in warm, natural
sentiments. and who is not afraid to
avow his faith in an ancient. orthodox
religion. And it is still more delight
ful to encounter book of such charac-
ter: for while the man affords us greater
pleasure, for the time, by his impulsive
and unstuded utterances, than the book
with its more careful and artistic ex-
pressions, the man passes away into
silence, while the book remains, an en-
during comfort and encouragement for
all time
Such a pleasure is about to be fur
nished us in the little volume whose
title appears at the head of this notice.
In it one of our own people-who was
reared under our traditions. who has
enjoyed the blessings of our climate, our
society and our religious advantages,
and who has shared with us the suffer-
ings of the past ten years-sings to u.s.
in his own artless yet earnest fashion,
of the charms of nature, the joys OF
friendship, the ecstacy of love, the COM
forts of religion, and shows us how
much there is to be enjoyed by US here'
how immeasurably much there is to be
hoped for hereafter.
The principal poem Of the volume
consists of description Of three days
walk by the author and his friend, from
their home at Newberry, across the
Saluda, into Edgefeld, and back again.
We are furnished with views of the
scenery on the way, with the customs
and conversations Of the people, with
"reminiscences of persons who formerly
lived along the route, with dreams and
reflections, with love stories and la
ments, and finally with an account of
the Quaker settlement, the Quaker peo-
pie and the last Quaker meeting. The
style changes with the various subjects
of the poem-being plain, Or strong, or
tender, or devout, according to theme;
but in all we hear one of our own peo-
pie, laboring man and man Of feel
ing, singing an apparently unpremedi-
tated, certainly an unartifcial strain,
fresh from his own heart.
The opening lines sound the hearty
keynote Of the song
"Fair was the morn, one bright October day,
''The calm, sweet winds did whispering seem
to say,
cup, siuggards, up, fare forth upon your
way"
And so the strain goes on, carrying
US with the singer over hill and dale,
past fields of corn and cotton, through
sunshide and through shade, among the
greater and the commoner of men,
lodging us by cozy fresldes, feeding US
at hospitable boards, bringing US beneath
the yew tree and beside graves, calling
up to us the long dead, and opening to
US the visions and hopes and religious
sentiments of the poet-and all this by
means of artless rhymes which carry
us by the sheer force of his own ear
nestness.
For special instances of this character
we have not space for quotation, but
would indicate the descriptions on the
opening page, on page 21, page 49,
page "A, page Al, page AZ, page 4S,
page Is, and pages IS and 66.
The dreams, to be found on pages "A,
26, 81 and 40, while they are by no
means equal to many other portions of
the poem, are so very earnest aud natu-
raj, that they lead US to exclain, in the
poets language:-
eAnd is it not the best,
To dream and dream;-dr cams give to life
new zest;
All objects, in the robes of fancy drest,
Have added charms to those they first pos
sesSed.'
A living, practical spirit Of religion
breathes through the whole poem. 1t
would be useless to select passages.
God, in view of the poet, is the very
aninaa neaadi, pervading all nature,
and providing with unwearying solici-
tude for mans happiness. And thus
he is always visible, always enjoyable,
always to be thanked and wo1shipped.
We dislike to point to particular lines
as fixing the merit of poem of this
length, because an occasional good line
or couplet may be found in the poorest
efusions, and because there is scarcely
room, in the most extended review, to
quote any great number of fine pas
sages. But we cannot forbear to quote
one passage of which we think even
Wordsworth might have been proud:
"Where are the humming birds? see them
not,
Though many times, upon this very spot,
I've seen them poised upon viewless wing,
Right still, or moving as the flower bells
swing,
Famed by a passing breath, the fragant
breath Of spring.
Where are these lovely creatures? Do they 60
Afar down southwark, where the bright
flowers blow
And bloom forever, where no winters snow
Or driving sleet comes on the northern blast?
Or do thew sleen till winters overcast?