Part 23 (1/2)

If not, good G.o.d! The temple shakes; It totters! What am I?

A wreck of hope!--An aimless thing!

A helmless s.h.i.+p at sea To whose last spar love still must cling, And sigh:--Alas!--for thee.

MRS. ANNIE McCARER DARLINGTON.

Annie McCarer Darlington, the daughter of Charles Biles and Catharine Ross Biles, was born July 20th, 1836, at Willow Grove, in Cecil county, about four miles east of the village of Brick Meeting House, and near the old Blue Ball Tavern. She is a cousin of Mrs. Ida McCormick, whose poetry may be found in this book, their mothers being sisters. Miss Biles was married November 20th, 1860, to Francis James Darlington, of West Chester, Pa., and spent the next five years of her life on a farm near Unionville, formerly the property of the sculptor, Marshall Swayne.

The family then removed to their present residence near Westtown Friends' Boarding School, where they spend the Summer season. The Winters are spent with their seven children, in a quiet little home in the town of Melrose, on the banks of the beautiful Lake Santa Fe, in Florida. Miss Biles began to write poetry when about eighteen years of age, and for the ensuing five years was a frequent contributor to _The Cecil Democrat_, under the _nom de plume_ of ”Gertrude St. Orme.”

A BIRTHDAY GREETING

TO MY LITTLE NEPHEW.

[JULY 4TH, 1886.]

I know a happy little boy, They call him Charlie Gray, Whose face is bright, because you know, He's six years old to-day.

I scarce can think six years have pa.s.sed Since Charlie really came, I well remember long ago, We never heard his name.

But here he is, almost a man, With knickerbockers on, And baby dresses packed away, You'll find them, every one.

And every year as time rolls on, And Charlie's birthdays come, The world goes out to celebrate With banner, fife, and drum.

At sunrise on those happy days The cannon's deaf'ning roar, Reminded us that Charlie Gray Was two, or three, or four.

But now those landmarks all are pa.s.sed, He's getting fast away, The boy's a man, no baby now, He's six years old to-day.

Just think of it, ye many friends Who wish him worlds of joy, That Charlie Gray is six to-day, A patriotic boy.

And if he sometimes noisy grows, What matter, if he's right?

Give me the boys that make a noise And play with all their might.

I know 'tis whispered far and near, That Charlie loves his way, But I can tell of grown up men, Who do the same to-day.

Who never yield or quit the field, Can you blame Charlie then?

For most small boys will imitate What's seen in grown up men.

And now good friends, I give you leave To find him if you can, Another boy, more glad with joy, Than this brave little man.

Heigh ho! I still am in a maze, To think he's six to-day, Some other time I'll tell you more, If--Charlie says I may.

MURMURINGS.

Falling, falling--gently falling, Pattering on the window pane, Like a weird spirit calling Come the heavy drops of rain.