The farmer and mechanic. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 18??-19??, 1907-11-12

Al the memorial meeting held al
Wake Forest College In - John
Charles Mcneil. an u that
institution. prof sIedd spoke some
phat as follows
1T was in autumn ~ 1888, II / re-
men Der Alright. that John Charles Nc
Neil matrtcuiated in nay freshman
English class recall no. | opened
my eyes in xonder oyer his first COM
position Here was that indescribaole
something which we call style-real.
genuine styIe. the writing q one who
handles his pen as 10 the manner born
Now style In a fresnEaans composition
IS almost as rare a. speech among the
birds SO / thought IL well 10 ask Nj
Mcneil whence he had derived his IN
spiration But when the tall. dark
haired. dark-eyed boy came UP t. ms
desk. rhe question was never asked
him. His very presence had spoken
for him. the man and the style were
one. Men of genius have ever possess
ed striking personalities. and Mcneil
certainly bore outWardly the marks
Of genius. An assistant w8s needed at
the time in the English department
and freshman though he was. Mcneil
was at once chosen for the place. And
his was the beginning OF a friendship
which will ever be among the treas
ured memories of my life. Many a
night. the piles of compositions We're
forgotten as we talked the hours away
over the poets Even then MCNEIL
was writing verses, some OF which
may be found in the numbers OF the
Wake Forest Student The least ma
ture OF them Will be found 10 possess
a certain nameless charm which dis
tinguishes them from the mere verse
of college magazines.
Last night went over McNeilrs lit
tie volume once more-for the third
time. on finishing il. | felt that the
poet had rightly named It Songs
Like his own ~favorite poet, Burns. Nc
Neill was the born singer. Nowhere
does he attempt the lofty theme or the
lofty utterance. His poems are always
brief swallow-fights of song that dip
their wings in the mingled shadow and
sunshine OF everyday life and skim
away. The Scotch poets, from the
old balladists down to Stevenson. have
ever been q race of singers and Nc
NeilI was Scotch to his finger tips.
on opening the little volume, one is
at once struck with the absolute flaw
~lessness of the workmanship. The
severest critic would search in vain
for ill-digested thoughts, extravagant
figures, far-fetched conceits, hating
metres, and bad rhymes. Even the
least successful of the verses contains
hat Matthew Arnold calls the poets
fluidity of utterance. Let me quote a
single short poem:
The following poetic ributes to the
late ohn Charles Mcneil were read:
Shutdown.
Hills, wrapped in gray, standing
along the west;
Clouds. dimly lighted, gathered
slowly;
The star of peace at watch above the
Oh, holy, holy, holy!
1--WE know, o Lord. 50 little what is
Wingless, we move SO lowly;
But in thy calm acknowledge let US
On, holy, holy, holy"
we rather regret the alb
sence of those very eXtravagances and
youthful imperfections that constitute
the chief charm of a poets valume. If
we taxi the early works of the great
masters of sOng,-of Keats, Of Shelley.
Of Tennyson,-We stand bewildered as
in a jungle, but the very jungle pro-
claims the fertility Of the soil. 1 have
always feared that Mcneil attained
his first success too easily, too readliy;
that he found his way too quickly into
the magazines and newspapers. If
there is anything that a put the
leaden cope on the poets FANCY, II IS
to be compelled to write to the dead,
uniform level of the American maya
fines.
Another excellence Of McNeilPs
noetry-and it is his chief claim to
ereatness-is it's haunting quality.
There are phrases, lines, and measures
that stick in the recurring to
us over and over again. Take the FOL
lowing: !
Dawn.
The hills again reach skyward with a
smile.
Again, with waking life along its
way,
The Landscape marches westward mile
on mile,
And Time throbs white into another
day.