Mrs. Mary Ivory


Submitted by Carol Williams



Tabor Beacon
13 Feb 1913

Volume XXXI—No 36

Mrs. Mary Ivory died Thursday evening, February 6, just six days after being injured in a fall at her home in North Tabor. During this time she was conscious only at intervals. Funeral services were held at the home Saturday at 2:30, conducted by Rev. C.F. Fisher of the Congregational church and attended by many friends of the deceased and her family. Rev. Mr. Fisher read the following brief history of the life of Mrs. Ivory: In the little village of Heuvelton, New York, lying nestled in the picturesque hills between the Adirondacks and the St. Lawrence river, Mary Smirl was born March 3, 1838. She was of Scottish parentage, and as was customary in the settlements of such rugged country and early times the family were brought up to have habits of industry and economy. Until young womanhood her life was spent among the scenes and friends surrounding her in her native state. During the civil war she came to Wisconsin to live and help care for the family of a brother, who entered the army. In the spring of 1869 she came to Tabor with relatives. November 30, 1869, she was married to H.R. Ivory. His death on August 3, 1900, left her alone to keep a home for her children, numbering three daughters and one son—Mrs. Nellie Baker, Mrs. Cora Hall, Miss Anna Ivory, and Charles Ivory who died April 15, 1906. With a woman’s love and a woman’s faith she nerved herself for the work left for her to do, and through her life she showed that remarkable strength of purpose to accomplish whatever she undertook. For years a member of the Congregational church, she was faithful in attendance, and as long as she was able was a willing helper. Nor did her Christian duty end here. Her neighbors and friends found in her a ready sympathizer. An evening at her fireside seemed like home and mother. One always wanted to go back again. February 1st while busy with her after dinner work, she had a fall, fatally injuring herself. After six days of intense suffering she quietly breathed her last and was at rest.

It is the vesper hour; the sun has just gone down behind the western hills, her golden beams melting away in the blue of the sky above. One lone twinkling star looks down on earth where shadows tell of dying day, the old clock strikes the hour that marks half way from midday to midnight. Silently and unseen from out its earthly casket, a soul goes back to its giver.

Fading, yes, fading away from out sight, Those dear ones who wander from earth evermore. Sad heart, take courage, those faces so bright Wait us on heaven’s sunlighted shore.”