The Poets and Poetry of Cecil County, Maryland Part 33

His sermon, as you see, was queer, And muchly out of joint;-- And 'cause the preacher took no text, He failed to make his point.

And soon his hearers all grew tired, And mortified and vex'd, Because he chose to play the fool, And preach without a text.

And so they left him there alone-- And this is what befel-- He grew so mad it broke his heart, And almost burst his sh.e.l.l.

MORAL.

If you successfully would preach, Be sure a text to take, And stick unto it like a leech Until your point you make.

SKYE.

THE DOG WITH THE BEAUTIFUL EYE.

Someone has written a song about "Tray,"

But no one has courage to write about Skye; So methinks I will rhyme, in my own rugged way, Of the queer little dog with the beautiful eye.

The land that he came from is said to be cold, And nature has dress'd him its storms to defy-- In the ugliest coat that ever was seen-- But giv'n him a charming and beautiful eye.

His coat is so ugly it makes him look old And scrawny and poor and most ready to die; But you'd change your opinion, I think, if you saw The life and the beauty that beams from his eye.

'Twere hard to conceive of an uglier thing Than this queer little dog from the island of Skye-- Grotesque and uncouth, and ugly as sin-- Yet bless'd with a mild and a beautiful eye.

Among dogs, like the heathen Chinee among men, His civilization is not very high; But then his dark ways we can always excuse On account of his lovely and charming bright eye.

He is sad and forlorn, yet so gentle and kind, You could not but love him I'm sure it you'd try-- This dog so demure and so kindly inclined-- This dog with the mild and the beautiful eye.

Sometimes he will follow his master to church; Tho' his piety's weak, I must say with a sigh, Perhaps he's as good as some other ones there Whose piety seems to be all in their eye.

He's full of strange antics--most little dogs are-- And tho' he's forlorn, he can mischief descry; Indeed--I'm strongly impress'd with the fact-- It eternally lurks in his beautiful eye.

His hair is the queerest that dog ever wore; Tho' kind to his master, of strangers he's shy; He is wise in his way; deeply learned in dog lore; Intelligence beams from his beautiful eye.

He's patient and faithful, affectionate too; My love for his virtues time's lapse will defy; I'm sure, if you knew him, you'd love him, like me, This dog with the mild and the beautiful eye.

IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE IT, TRY IT.

'Tis better far to wear away In honest strong endeavor, Than idly rust in slow decay And work and labor never; By honest toil to earn your bread, Or wherewithal to buy it; 'Tis very well, and truly said-- If you don't believe it, try it.

Ye idle loafers in the streets, The honest workman spurning, Know this--a living to be sweet Is better for the earning.

To loaf and lounge and lie about, On others' toil to riot, Is only practiced by a lout; No honest man will try it.

Oh! him that earns his daily bread!

Despise and spurn him never, A thousand blessings on his head 'Tis he that feeds you ever.

Should others work no more than you Quite spare would be your diet, Your gills would turn a livid hue If they would stop and try it.

Then go to work with hands or head, You'll surely profit by it; And strive to earn some honest bread-- You can, if you will try it.

Ye sweeter ones of gentler s.e.x, Who tread the pavement hourly, I do not wish your hearts to vex, Then pray don't take it sourly-- Methinks sometimes 'tis no disgrace Tho' seldom you are nigh it, To be at home, your proper place,-- If you don't believe it, try it.

Are there no duties there to do?

If so "be up and doing!"

No clothes to mend, that you could sew, No beer that's worth the brewing?

Then stay at home, sometimes, at least, My counsel, don't defy it, A little rest's as good's a feast, If you don't believe it, try it.

'Tis easy quite to do the right, And in it there is beauty, What e'er you do, do with your might, But always do your duty.

Be true unto yourself, and then-- Wise counsel--don't decry it, You can't be false to other men-- If you don't believe it, try it.

BYE AND BYE.

Shadowy, dreamy phantoms ever rising Up before wild Fancy's eyes, With their untold and beauteous splendor, Make us present things despise.

And procrastination whispers softly, Wait a little longer yet; Rashness will defeat your purpose, mortal, And be cause of deep regret.

Wait with patience just a moment longer, Then with safety clutch them fast-- Thus the spirit of delay beguiles us, Till the lucky time is past.

Moments freighted deep with joy ecstatic All unheeded pa.s.s away; While we musing scan the misty future, Hoping they will ever stay.

Bye and bye! may gaily point us forward, Unto scenes with joy o'ercast-- Only mirage of Life's barren desert, They are found to be at last.

Bye and bye! with all its artful scheming, Though it may seem most sublime, Wisdom horror-stricken spurneth from her, Knowing only present time.

Reason tells us now's the time for action, And this truth will ever last, Written as it is throughout all nature, On the pages of the Past.

WILLIAM JAMES JONES.

William James Jones was born in Elkton, August 25, 1829, and received his education at the common school and Academy in that town. His youth and early manhood was spent in mechanical pursuits and in the improvement of his mind by a desultory course of reading, and in perfecting himself in the knowledge of the Latin language.

In 1852, Mr. Jones purchased a half interest in the _Cecil Whig_ and became the editor of that journal for a short time, and until its founder P.C. Ricketts, who was then editing the _Daily News_, of Baltimore, returned from that city and resumed the duties of editor of the _Whig_.

In 1853, Mr. Jones commenced the study of the law in the office of John C. Groome, Esq., in Elkton and was admitted to the Bar, September 21, 1855.

In politics Mr. Jones was a Whig, but allied himself with the American party when it was in course of formation and continued to be an active member as long as the party lasted. In 1857 he was appointed State's Attorney for Cecil county, to fill a vacancy, and in 1859 was elected to the same office for the term of four years. At the outbreak of the war of the rebellion Mr. Jones allied himself with the Union cause and was elected to the House of Delegates by the Union party in 1863, and was appointed two years afterwards, United States' District Attorney for the district of Maryland, and held the office for about a year, and until he was removed by President Andrew Johnson for opposing his policy of reconstruction. In 1858 he married Miss Mary Jane Smith, of Connecticut.

They are the parents of one son and two daughters, the eldest of whom is the wife of Rev. Walter E. Avery, of the Wilmington Conference.

Mr. Jones is one of the most earnest and successful members of the Elkton Bar, and though not a voluminous writer, in early life contributed poetry to the columns of the _Cecil Whig_, of which the following poems are specimens.