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him, return the same to him, that he may have as rich a blessing in you as you have in him.
Mr. Turell will direct you in renewing your espousals to
Christ at his table.
Delay not this duty, but join yourself to that church and people of God who (you say) are so full of good — will and love to you. Give yourself first to the
Lord, and then unto them by the will of God.
It was her custom, after her marriage, to study and write.
She made poetry her recreation.
Her husband says of her,--
What greatly contributed to increase her knowledge in divinity, history, physic, controversy, as well as poetry, was her attentive hearing most that I read upon those heads through the long evenings of the winters as we sat together.
Her letters to her father were full of that sweet, filial reverence which ancient manners promoted more than modern.
She sends him a pressing invitation, in verse, to visit her in the happy manse at
Medford.
Her residence then was on the spot now occupied by the house of Misses Elizabeth and Lucy Ann Brooks,--the spot on which this history has been written.
In imitation of Horace, she recounts the reasons for his coming.
The poem is too long to be extracted here; so we give only a part:--
From the soft shades and from the balmy sweets
Of Medford's flowery vales and green retreats,
Your absent Delia to her father sends,
And prays to see him ere the summer ends.
Now, while the earth's with beauteous verdure dyed,
And Flora paints the meads in all her pride;
While laden trees Pomonia's bounty own,
And Ceres' treasures do the fields adorn;
From the thick smokes and noisy town, oh, come,
And in these plains a while forget your home.
But though rich dainties never spread my board,
Nor my cool vaults Calabrian wines afford;
Yet what is neat and wholesome I can spread,--
My good, fat bacon, and our homely bread,
With which my healthful family is fed;
Milk from the cow, and butter newly churned;
And new, fresh cheese, with curds and cream just turned.
For a dessert, upon my table's seen
The golden apple and the melon green:
The blushing peach and glossy plum 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.
No stately beds my humble roof adorn,
Of costly purple, by carved panthers borne;
Nor can I boast Arabia's rich perfumes,
Diffusing odors through our stately rooms.
