The Poets and Poetry of Cecil County, Maryland Part 30

'Tis long since the fragrant lilac Flourished and drooped at thy side, While many a frail young flow'ret since Hath quietly blossomed and died.

And for days the pale, proud lily In regal beauty hath shown, Catching the sun's warm glances Ere the young roses had blown.

But perfumed breezes are whispering: "To-day the roses have come,"

And the cottage will rival the palace, Decked in thy radiant bloom.

MUSIC.

The spirit is often enraptured With sweet tokens of love divine, But seldom in language so plain As spoken through music, to mine.

Then my soul flings wide her portals, And visions of Paradise throng, While I bow, in silent devotion, To the Author of genius and song.

The pleasures of earth are but few, And scarce for our sorrows repay, But we catch, in sweet moments like this, A glimpse of the perfect day.

When I reach the Celestial City And gaze from her golden tower, Methinks my freed spirit would turn Far back, to this rapturous hour.

And as angels are harping their songs-- Sweet songs of a heavenly birth-- I'll listen to hear the same touch That played us this prelude on earth.

LINES

ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.

We loved thee--yes, we loved thee, But the angels loved thee too; And so thou now art sleeping 'Neath the sky so bright and blue.

Sleeping now thy last long slumber, In the low and quiet tomb, Where life's ills can ne'er disturb thee-- Where sorrow ne'er can come.

What tho' our hearts are bleeding, And our lonely spirits mourn, That thou with Spring's sweet flow'rets Wilt never more return,

We would not call thee back, dear friend, To life's dull path again; Where thorns amid the flowers, Would often give thee pain;

But sweetly rest thee, dear one, In thy long and dreamless sleep, Nor heed the sighs above thee, And the blinding tears we weep.

MRS. MARY ELIZA IRELAND.

Mrs. Mary Eliza Ireland, the daughter of Joseph Haines and Harriet (Kirk) Haines, was born in the village of Brick Meeting House, now called Calvert, January 9, 1834. In early life she married John M.

Ireland, son of Colonel Joseph Ireland, of Kent county, Md. They are the parents of three children, one of whom died in infancy. They now reside in Baltimore, where Mr. Ireland holds the position of United States storekeeper in the Internal Revenue Department.

Until the past few years Mrs. Ireland has always lived in the old homestead where she was born and married, and from whence her parents were removed by death.

Her first literary effort was a short story written when quite a young girl, ent.i.tled "Ellen Linwood," and published in the _Cecil Whig_, then edited by the late Palmer C. Ricketts, under the _nom de plume_ of "Marie Norman." For several years after the publication of "Ellen Linwood" Mrs. Ireland occasionally contributed to the _Cecil Whig_ and Oxford _Press_.

Some years ago she wrote a story for _Arthur's Magazine_, and being in Philadelphia soon after it was written, she took it to the publishing house, and there met for the first time T.S. Arthur, whom she had known from childhood through his books. He received her kindly, promised to read her story, and to let her know his decision the next day. That decision was, that though entertaining and well written, it was scarcely suited to his magazine. He suggested another periodical where it would likely meet with favor. He also asked for another story, and presented her with a set of the magazines that she might see the style of writing that he desired.

Her next story for _Arthur's_ was a success, and from that time until his death he remained the candid critic of all she sent him for publication, as well as of some stories published elsewhere, and the kind literary adviser and friend. She retained her first story (which he had declined) for three years, made some changes in it, and he accepted and published it.

Since then she has been an acceptable contributor to _Cottage Hearth_, _Household_, and other domestic magazines, besides the _Literary World_, _Ladies' Cabinet_, _Woman's Journal_, and several church papers; and has written two prize stories, which took first prizes.

In 1882 her short stories were collected and connected into a continued story, which was accepted and published by J.B. Lippincott & Co., under the t.i.tle of "Timothy; His Neighbors and His Friends."

Many letters of appreciation from distant parts of the Union testified to the merit of the book, and she was encouraged to accede to the request of the Presbyterian Observer Company of Baltimore to write a serial for their paper. It was ent.i.tled "Ivandale," and was warmly commended by judges of literary work.

Wishing to read German literature in the original, she undertook the study of German, and as she had no time which she was willing to devote to regular lessons, she obtained a German p.r.o.nouncing reader, and without instruction from any one she succeeded in learning to read and translate, p.r.o.nouncing correctly enough to be understood by any German.

This knowledge of the language has been a well-spring of pleasure to her, and well repays her for the few moments' attention she daily bestowed upon it. She has translated several books, two of which were published as serials in the _Oxford Press_, and the Lutheran Board of Publication have published one of her translations, ent.i.tled "Betty's Decision." Many beautiful short stories have found their way into our language and periodicals through the medium of her pen.

Her time is well filled with her household duties, her missionary and church work, and in reviewing new books for the press. She has no specified time for writing, nor does she neglect her household or social duties for the sake of it, always having looked upon her literary work as a recreation. She leads a busy life, yet is rarely hurried; and, although she enjoys the companionship of many people noted in literature, it is powerless to weaken her attachment for friends who have no inclination in that way. All have a warm place in her heart, and a cordial welcome to her cheerful and happy home.

Mrs. Ireland, contrary to the experience of most writers, never wrote any poetry until she had attained distinction as a writer of prose.

AT THE PARTY.

I gave her a rose, so sweet, so fair; She picked it to pieces while standing there.

I praised the deep blue of her starry eyes; She turned them upon me in cold surprise.

Her white hand I kissed in a transport of love; My kiss she effaced with her snowy glove.

I touched a soft ringlet of golden brown; She rebuked my daring with a haughty frown.

I asked her to dance in most penitent tone; On the arm of a rival she left me alone.

This gave me a hint; I veered from my track, And waltzed with an heiress, to win my love back.

I carried her fan, and indulged in a sigh, And whispered sweet nothings when my loved one was nigh.

It worked like a charm; oh, joy of my life!

This stratagem wins me a sweet little wife.

MOTHER AND SON.

Postman, good postman, halt I pray, And leave a letter for me to-day; If it's only a line from over the sea To say that my Sandy remembers me.

I have waited and hoped by day and by night; I'll watch--if spared--till my locks grow white; Have prayed--yet repent that my faith waxed dim, When pa.s.sing, you left no message from him.