Medford Historical Society Papers, Volume 5.

[p. 10] For a Desert upon my Table's seen
The Golden Apple and the Melon green;
The blushing Peach and glossy Plumb there lies,
And with the Mandrake tempt your Hands and Eyes.
This I can give, and if you'll here repair,
To slake your Thirst a Cask of Autumn Beer,
Reserved on purpose for your drinking here.
Under the spreading Elms our Limbs we'll lay,
While fragrant Zephirs round our Temples play.
Retired from Courts, and Crowds, secure we'll set,
And freely feed upon our Country Treat.
No noisy Faction here shall dare intrude,
Or once disturb our peaceful Solitude.

Thoa I no Down or Tapestry can spread,
A clean soft Pillow shall support your Head,
Fill'd with the Wool from off my tender Sheep,
On which with Ease and Safety you may sleep.
The Nightingales shall lull you to your Rest,
And all be calm and still as is your Breast.

Mr. Turell declares that he ‘might add to these some Pieces of Wit and Humour, which if publish'd would give a brighter Idea of her to some sort of Readers; but as her Heart was set upon graver and better Subjects, and her Pen much oftener employed about them, so I chuse to omit them, thoa innocent enough, and to preserve the Memory of her Ingenuity by the foremention'd.’

The phrase ‘some sort of Readers’ is a trifle ambiguous, but I think we would willingly have classed ourselves with them in order to have obtained the ‘brighter Idea’ of Mrs. Turell's genius.

Far from that possibility, however we are now invited to consider ‘Things more serious and profitable, in Prose, thoa many of them very melancholy, being writ under the more immediate Cares and Distresses of her Mind about her Spiritual State.’ And melancholy indeed is the series of letters that follow, also the Diary in which she analyzes her various degress of depression and exaltation of mind, though of the latter there is very little account; as if fearful when in a peaceful frame of being led into deeper transgressions. It is pitiful to