utor to the "New York Independent," a religious new spaper of great reputation and large circulation throughout the country. In the year 1862 she began to write for its columns "The Pearl of Orr's Island," a pleasant story, whose scene is laid on the beautiful coast of Maine, at Harpswell, not far from Brunswick, where she formerly resided, and whose plan turns upon certain traditions of that seaside community. Summer tourists still visit Orr's Island, and inspect the shell of a house in which the pretty Pearl grew. For many years Mrs. Stowe has been one of the able corps of writers whose articles have enriched the columns of the "Atlantic Monthly," and no one of them has done more to give that maga. zine its large circulation and high reputation than she. "Little Foxes" and "Chimney Corner" papers were written for it, and both these series of piquant essays have had a large sale at home and abroad. The "Queer Little People," whom Mrs. Stowe described to the readers of "Our Young Folks," were people of so much interest that her papers concerning them were gathered into a volume and scattered through the land to the delight of thousands of people both big and little.

Throughout her literary career Mrs. Stowe has been known by her friends, and in later years has become known to the public, as a poet whose songs, in certain tender and plaintive keys, have a peculiar charm and power. Within a few years a goodly number and a judicious selection of her poems have been published. They are chiefly of a religious character, and are the rhythmical breathings of a deep and almost mystic piety. Their music is like the sounds that come up out of the heart of the sea in peaceful summer days when one is by himself on the shore, sadly sweet and sweetly sad. One of the most beautiful of all these poems is the following which has found a place in many of the hymnologies of our churches, and has gone out, indeed, through all the world :—

"When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean,
And billows wild contend with angry roar,
'Tis said, far down beneath its wild commotion,
That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore.

"Far, far beneath, the noise of tempests dieth,
And silver waves chime ever peacefully,
And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it flieth,
Disturbs the Sabbath of that deeper sea.

"So, to the heart that knows thy love, O Purest,
There is a temple, sacred evermore,

And all the babble of life's angry voices

Dies in hushed stillness at its peaceful door.

"Far, far away the roar of passion dieth,

And loving thoughts rise calm and peacefully,
And no rude storm how fierce soe'er it flieth,
Disturbs the soul that dwells, O Lord, in thee.

"O rest of rest! O peace, serene, eternal!

Thou ever livest, and thou changest never;
And in the secret of thy presence dwelleth
Fulness of joy, forever and forever."

In the year 1864 Mrs. Stowe built a beautiful house in the city of Hartford, where she has since resided, surrounded by a large circle of family friends, and both admired and loved by all who enjoy the honor of her acquaintance.

In the midst of whatever can minister to comfort, or invite to leisure and repose, her years are still years of literary labors, and also of rich fruits in their season. Late may she rest from those labors!

MRS. ELIZABETH CADY STANTON.

BY THEODORE TILTON.

I ONCE Watched an artist while he tried to transfer to his canvas the lustre of a precious stone. His picture, after his utmost skill, was dull. A radiant and sparkling woman, full of wit, reason, and fancy, is a whole crown of jewels. A poor, opaque copy of her is the most that one can render in a biographical sketch.

Elizabeth Cady, daughter of Judge Daniel Cady and Margaret Livingston, was born November 12th, 1816, in Johnstown, New York, - forty miles north of Albany.

Birthplace is a secondary parentage, and transmits character. Elizabeth's birthplace was more famous half a century ago than since; for then, though small, it was a marked intellectual centre; and now, though large, it is an unmarked manufacturing town. Before her birth, it was the vice-ducal seat of Sir William Johnson, the famous English negotiator with the Indians. During her girlhood, it was an arena for the intellectual wrestlings of Kent, Tompkins, Spencer, Elisha Williams, and Abraham Van Vechten, who, as lawyers, were among the chiefest of their time. It is now devoted mainly to the fabrication of steel springs and buckskin gloves. So, like Wordsworth's early star, "it has faded into the light of common day."

A Yankee said that his chief aml ition was to become more