In her humble home in the former town her children were born, and it was while caring for her own little family of four, and a sick sister, that the incident occurred (August 1818), which called forth her tender hymn. She was a devout Christian, and in pleasant weather, whenever she could find the leisure, she would "steal away" at sunset from her burdens a little while, to rest and commune with God. Her favorite place was a wealthy neighbor's large and beautiful flower garden. A servant reported her visits there to the mistress of the house, who called the "intruder" to account. "If you want anything, why don't you come in?" was the rude question, followed by a plain hint that no stealthy person was welcome. Wounded by the ill-natured rebuff, the sensitive woman sat down the next evening with her baby in her lap, and half-blinded by her tears, wrote "An Apology for my Twilight Rambles," in the verses that have made her celebrated. She sent the manuscript (nine stanzas) to her captious neighbor--with what result has never been told. Crude and simple as the little rhyme was, it contained a germ of lyric beauty and life. The Rev. Dr. Charles Hyde of Ellington, who was a neighbor of Mrs. Brown, procured a copy. He was assisting Dr. Nettleton to compile the _Village Hymns_, and the humble bit of devotional verse was at once judged worthy of a place in the new book. Dr. Hyde and his daughter Emeline giving it some kind touches of rhythmic amendment, I love to steal awhile away From little ones and care, --became,-- I love to steal awhile away From _every cumb'ring_ care. In the last line of this stanza-- In gratitude and prayer --was changed to-- In humble, grateful prayer, --and the few other defects in syllabic smoothness or literary grace were affectionately repaired, but the slight furbishing it received did not alter the individuality of Mrs. Brown's work. It remained _hers_--and took its place among the immortals of its kind, another illustration of how little poetry it takes to make a good hymn. Only five stanzas were printed, the others being voted redundant by both author and editor. The second and third, as now sung, are-- I love in solitude to shed The penitential tear, And all His promises to plead Where none but God can hear. I love to think on mercies past And future good implore, And all my cares and sorrows cast On Him whom I adore. Phebe Brown died at Henry, Ill., in 1861; but she had made the church and the world her debtor not only for her little lyric of pious trust, but by rearing a son, the Rev. Samuel Brown, D.D., who became the pioneer American missionary to Japan--to which Christian calling two of her grandchildren also consecrated themselves. _THE TUNE._