He has contributed considerable matter to the New England Historical and Genealogical Register, and his name is recorded among the editors of that journal. He edited the first and a portion of the second volume of the Historical Magazine. He has been recording and corresponding secretaries and treasurer of the New England Historical and Genealogical Society, and recording secretary of the American Statistical Association. Among the papers which Mr. Dean has edited for the New England Historical and Genealogical Society, is a curious piece of ancient writing, a quaint picture of manners of a bygone day, A Declaration of Remarkable Providences in 66 the Course of my Life, by John Dane of Ipswich, 1682;" and a complete and valuable annotated account of the celebrated author of that remarkable poetic relic, The Day of Doom, "The Rev. Michael Wigglesworth, his Memoir, Autobiography, Letters, and Library," a few copies of which were printed separately for private circulation by Munsell, of Albany, in 1863. For years Mr. Dean was engaged in preparing a Memoir of the Rev. Nathaniel Ward, author of the "Simple Cobbler of Aggawam in America," with notices of his family, for which he has made most diligent research. Endowed by nature with a ready and retentive memory, having an ardent thirst for knowledge and a discriminating taste, Mr. Dean has, by consecrating every moment he could spare from a laborious calling to his favorite studies, acquired an amount of historical information such as few men of his age possess. The accuracy of his writings is acknowledged by those best acquainted with the subjects on which he employs his pen; while he is ever ready to communicate to others the information derived from his diligent researches and the advantages of his choice, well-selected library. **In May, 1870, Mr. Dean was chosen president of the Prince Society, of which he was one of the founders, succeeding Mr. Samuel G. Drake, who had held the office from the formation of the Society in 1858. He still continues at the head of this association of gentlemen, named in honor of Rev. Thomas Prince of Boston, one of the earliest American antiquaries, and organized for the printing of rare works relating to America. In January, 1872, he declined a re-election as recording secretary of the American Statistical Association, having discharged the duties of that office for twelve years. Three years previously he received the degree of A. M. from Dartmouth College. The later writings of Mr. Dean comprise A Memoir of Rev. Nathaniel Ward, Author of the Simple Cobbler of Aggawam in America (Albany, 1868, Joel Munsell, 8vo., pp. 213); and Memoir of Rev. Michael Wigglesworth, Author of the Day of Doom (Albany, 1871, pp. 160), an enlargement of the article in the Historical and Genealogical Register. ANNA CORA MOWATT RITCHIE. ANNA CORA, the daughter of Samuel G. Ogden, a New York merchant, was born in Bordeaux, France, during her father's residence in that city. Her early years were passed in a fine old chateau in its neighborhood, called La Castagne. One of its apartments was fitted up as a theatre, in which the numerous children of the family, of which the future Mrs. Mowatt was the tenth, amused themselves with dramatic entertainments, for which several of them evinced decided talent. The family removed a few years after to New York. While yet a school girl, Anna, in her fifteenth year, became the wife of Mr. James Mowatt, a lawyer of New York. The story of her first acquaintance with her lover, who soon began to escort her to and from school, gallantly bearing her satchel, and the courtship and run-away match which speedily followed, are very pleasantly told in the lady's autobiography. The only reason for the elopement being the unwillingness of the couple to wait until the lady had passed seventeen summers, they soon received the paternal pardon, and retired to a country residence at Flatbush, Long Island. Here the education of the "child-wife,” as she was prettily styled, was continued by the husband, several years the senior. Some pleasant years were passed in Sunday-school teaching, fortune-telling at fancy fairs, "shooting swallows on the wing," in sportsman tramps through the woods, private theatricals, and the composition of an epic poem, Pelayo, or the Cavern of Covadonga, in five cantos, which was published by the Harpers, and followed by a satire entitled Reviewers Reviewed, directed against the critics who had taken the liberty to cut up the poen. Both appeared as the work of "Isabel." Mrs. Mowatt's health failing, she accompanied a newly married sister and brother in a tour to Europe. She wrote a play, Gulzara, or the Persian Slave, during her absence, had appropriate scenes and dresses made in Paris for its representation, and soon after her return produced the piece with great applause at a party at her residence, in honor of her father's birthday. Meanwhile Mr. Mowatt had taken part in the speculations of the day, and a commercial revulsion occurring, was utterly ruined"—a weakness in The elder Vandenhoff had just before met with great success in a course of dramatic readings, and the wife, casting about for ways and means of support, determined to bring her dramatic talents into account in this manner. She gained her husband's consent with some difficulty, and, preferring the verdict of a stranger audience, gave her first reading at Boston, and with decided success. She soon after appeared in New York, where she read to large audiences, but the tacit disapproval of friends and the exertions required brought on a fit of sickness, from which she suffered for the two following years. She next, her husband having become a publisher, turned her attention to literature, and wrote a number of stories for the magazines with the signature of "Helen Berkley." These were followed by a longer story, The Fortune Hunter, and by the five act comedy of Fashion, which was written for the stage, and produced at the Park Theatre, March, 1845. It met with success there and at theatres in other cities, and emboldened its author, forced by the failure of her husband in the publishing business, to contribute to their joint support, to try her fortune as an actress. She made her first appearance on the classic boards of the Park Theatre, June, 1845, as Pauline in the Lady of Lyons, and played a number of nights with such approval that engagements followed in other cities, and she became one of the most successful of "stars." She appeared in her own play She appeared in her own play of Fashion, and in 1847 wrote and performed a new five act drama, Armand. In 1847 Mrs. Mowatt visited England with her husband, and made her first bow to an English audience in the month of December, at Manchester. She was successful, and remained in England several years. In February, 1851, Mr. Mowatt died. After a temporary retirement, his widow went through a round of farewell performances, and returned in July to her native land. In August she appeared at Niblo's Garden, and after a highly successful engagement, made a brilliant farewell tour through the Union prior to her retirement from the stage at New York, in 1854. A few days afterwards she was married to Mr. William F. Ritchie, a gentleman of Richmond, Va. In 1854 Mrs. Mowatt published the Autobiography of an Actress, or Eight Years on the Stage, a record of her private and professional life to that date. ** Since 1860 Mrs. Anna Cora Mowatt Ritchie has resided in Europe- at Paris, Rome, Florence, and afterward near London. Her later writings were: Mimic Life; or, Before and Behind the Curtain, a Series of Narratives, 1855; The Twin Roses, 1857; Fairy Fingers, a Novel, 1865; The Mute Singer, a Novel, 1866; The Clergyman's Wife, and Other Sketches, a Collection of Pen Portraits and Paintings, 1867; and Italian Life and Legends, 1870. Mrs. Ritchie died at Twickenham, on the Thames, July 28, 1870. TIME. Nay, rail not at Time, though a tyrant he be, And say not he cometh, colossal in might, MARY E. MOORE was born in Malden, Massachusetts. After her father's death her mother removed to Boston, where the daughter remained until her marriage with the late Mr. James L. Hewitt. She has since resided in the city of New York. In 1845 Mrs. Hewitt published Songs of our Land and Other Poems, a selection from her contributions to various periodicals. In 1850 she edited The Gem of the Western World, a holiday volume, and The Memorial, a volume of contributions by the authors of the day, designed as a mark of respect to the memory of Mrs. Osgood. Mrs. Hewitt was lately married to Mr. Stebbins, of New York. In 1856 appeared The Heroines of History. Her poems are marked by their good sense, hearty expression, and natural feeling. GOD BLESS THE MARINER. God's blessing on the Mariner! A venturous life leads he- The landsman sits within his home, God bless the hardy Mariner! He hath piped the loud " ay, ay, sir!' O'er the voices of the main, Till his deep tones have the hoarseness Of the rising hurricane. His seamed and honest visage The sun and wind have tanned, And hard as iron gauntlet Is his broad and sinewy hand. But oh a spirit looketh From out his clear, blue eye, With a truthful, childlike earnestness, Like an angel from the sky. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH; SUSAN WARNER; ANNA B. WARNER. A venturous life the sailor leads Between the sky and sea But when the hour of dread is past, He knows that by the rudder bands TO MARY. Thine eye is like the violet, Thou hast the lily's grace; And the pure thoughts of a maiden's heart That to memory hath clung, Falls thy voice, in the loved accent Of mine own New England tongue. New England-dear New England!- The green graves of my people, And the same bright sun that shineth That bids me so rejoice In my heart her joys to wake, EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. MRS. SOUTHWORTH is descended, both on the father's and mother's side, from families of high rank, who emigrated to America in 1632, and settled at St. Mary's, where they have continued to reside for two centuries. She was born in the city of Washington, in the house and room once occupied by General Washington, on the 26th of December, 1818. Her father, who had married in 1816 a young lady of fifteen, died in 1822, leaving his family straitened in resources, in consequence of losses previously incurred by the French spoliations on American commerce. Her mother afterwards married Mr. Joshua L. Henshaw, of Boston, by whom Miss Nevitte was educated. Emma D.E. N. Southworth In 1841 she became Mrs. Southworth. Thrown upon her own resources in 1843, with two infants to support, a dreary interval in her life succeeded, which was broken by the successful publication of her first novel, Retribution, in 1849. She had previously published, in 1846, an anonymous sketch in the National Era, with which the editor, Dr. Bailey, was so well pleased, that he sought out the writer, and induced her to write other sketches and tales of a similar kind. Retribution | was commenced as one of these, and was intended to be concluded in two numbers, but the subject grew under the author's hand. Every week she supplied a portion to the paper, "until weeks 555 grew into months, and months into quarters, before it was finished." During its composition she was supporting herself as a teacher in a pưblic school, and in addition to the entire charge of eighty boys and girls thus imposed upon her, and of one of her children who was extremely ill, was forced by the meagreness of her pecuniary resources to give close attention to her household affairs. Her health broke down under the pressure of these complicated labors and sorrows. Meanwhile her novel reached its termination, and was published complete by Harper and Brothers. The author, to use her own words, "found herself born, as it were, into a new life; found independence, sympathy, friendship, and honor, and an occupation in which she could delight. All this came very suddenly, as after a terrible storm a sunburst." Her child recovered, and her own malady disappeared. The successful novel was rapidly followed by others. The Deserted Wife was published in 1850; Shannondale and The Mother-in-Law in 1851; Children of the Isle and The Foster Sisters in 1852; The Curse of Clifton; Old Neighborhoods and New Settlements, and Mark Sutherland in 1853, The Lost Heiress in 1854, and Hickory Hall, in 1855. These novels display strong dramatic power, and contain many excellent descriptive passages of the Southern life and scenery to which they are chiefly devoted. **In 1872 Mrs. Southworth's novels, issued in uniform style, numbered thirty-five volumes. Miss Warner made a sudden step into eminence as a writer, by the publication in 1849 of The Wide, Wide World, a novel, in two volumes. It is a story of American domestic life, written in an easy and somewhat diffuse style. Her second novel, Queechy, appeared in 1852. It is similar in size and general plan to The Wide, Wide World, and contains a number of agreeable passages descriptive of rural life. The heroine, Fleda, is introduced to us as a little girl. Her sprightly, natural manner, and shrewd American common sense, contribute greatly to the attractions of the book. The "help" at the farm, male and female, are pleasantly hit off, and give a seasoning of humor to the volumes. Miss Warner is also the author of The Law and the Testimony, a theological work of research and merit, and of a prize essay on the Duties of American Women. MISS ANNA B. WARNER, a younger sister of Miss Susan Warner, is the author of Dollars and Cents, a novel, as its title indicates, of practical American life, published in 1853, and of a series of juvenile tales, Anna Montgomery's Book Shelf, five volumes of which, Mr. Rutherford's Children, Carl Krinken, Sybil and Chrissa, Casper, and Hard Maple, have appeared. **The later works of these two sisters have also a hold on popular favor. In 1860 they put both their pens to the writing of Say and Seal, a story of the placid lives and love of a New England girl and a young divinity student. Miss Susan Warner has also written Hills of the Shatemuc; The Golden Ladder, a series of stories illustrative of the Beatitudes; The Old Helmet; Melbourne House, with a continuation in Daisy. These have been followed by a series of four novelettes, treating of the daily life and trials of a Christian child: What She Could; Opportunities; House in Town; and Trading. She is also the author of two volumes of The Word Series Walks from Eden, and House of Israel, to which her sister has contributed another, Star out of Jacob. Miss Anna B. Warner has published a second novel, My Brother's Keeper, and some other attractive tales for the young. The Three Little Spades, full of pleasant chat about gardening and its romance; Stories of Vinegar Hill, told by a Bible reader to the neglected children of a wretched hamlet; and Little Jack's Four Lessons. Melody of the Twenty-Third Psalm, and Wayfaring Hymns, Original and Selected, appeared in 1869. CHESTNUT GATHERING-FROM QUEECHY. In a hollow, rather a deep hollow, behind the crest of the hill, as Fleda had said, they came at last to a noble group of large hickory trees, with one or two chestnuts, standing in attendance on the outskirts. And also as Fleda had said, or hoped, the place was so far from convenient access that nobody had visited them; they were thick hung with fruit. If the spirit of the game had been wanting or failing in Mr. Carleton, it must have roused again into full life at the joyous heartiness of Fleda's exclamations. At any rate no boy could have taken to the business beɩter. He cut, with her permission, a stout long pole in the woods; and swinging himself lightly into one of the trees showed that he was a master in the art of whipping them. Fleda was delighted but not surprised; for from the first moment of Mr. Carleton's proposing to go with her she had been privately sure that he would not prove an inactive or inefficient ally. By whatever slight tokens she might read this, in whatsoever fine characters of the eye, or speech, or manner, she knew it; and knew it just as well before they reached the hickory trees as she did afterwards. When one of the trees was well stripped the young gentleman mounted into another, while Fleda set herself to hull and gather up the nuts under the one first beaten. She could make but little headway, however, compared with her companion; the nuts fell a great deal faster than she could put them in her basket. The trees were heavy laden, and Mr. Carleton seemed determined to have the whole crop; from the second tree he went to the third. Fleda was bewildered with her happiness; this was doing business in style. She tried to calculate what the whole quantity would be, but it went beyond her; one basketful would not take it, nor two, nor three,—it wouldn't begin to, Fleda said to herself. She went on hulling and gathering with all possible industry. After the third tree was finished Mr. Carleton threw down his pole, and resting himself upon the ground at the foot, told Fleda he would wait a few moments before he began again. Fleda thereupon left off her work too, and going for her little tin pail presently offered it to him temptingly, stocked with pieces of apple-pie. When he had smilingly taken one, she next brought him a sheet of white paper with slices of young cheese. No, thank you," said he. "Cheese is very good with apple-pie," said Fleda, competently. "Is it?" said he, laughing. "Well--upon thatI think you would teach me a good many things, Miss Fleda, if I were to stay here long enough." "I wish you would stay and try, sir," said Fleda, who did not know exactly what to make of the shade of seriousness which crossed his face. It was gone almost instantly. "I think anything is better eaten out in the woods than it is at home," said Fleda. Well, I don't know," said her friend. "I have no doubt that is the case with cheese and apple-pie, and especially under hickory trees which one has been contending with pretty sharply. If a touch of your wand, Fairy, could transforin one of these shells into a goblet of Lafitte or Amontillado we should have nothing to wish for.” 'Amontillado' was Hebrew to Fleda, but 'goblet' was intelligible. "I am sorry," she said, "I don't know where there is any spring up here,-but we shall come to one going down the mountain." "Do you know where all the springs are?" "No, not all, I suppose," said Fleda, "but I know a good many. I have gone about through the woods so much, and I always look for the springs." They descended the mountain now with hasty step, for the day was wearing well on. At the spot where he had stood so long when they went up, Mr. Carleton paused again for a minute. In mountain scenery every hour makes a change. The sun was lower now, the lights and shadows more strongly contrasted, the sky of a yet calmer blue, cool and clear towards the horizon. The scene said still the same that it had said a few hours before, with a touch more of sadness; it seemed to whisper " All things have an end-thy time may not be for ever -do what thou wouldest do- while ye have light believe in the light that ye may be children of the light.' Whether Mr. Carleton read it so or not, he stood for a minute motionless, and went down the mountain looking so grave that Fleda did not venture to speak to him, till they reached the neighborhood of the spring. "What are you searching for, Miss Fleda?" said her friend. She was making a busy quest here and there by the side of the little stream. "I was looking to see if I could find a mullein leaf," said Fleda. "A mullein leaf? what do you want it for?" "I want it to make a drinking cup of," said Fleda; her intent bright eyes peering keenly about in every direction. "A mullein leaf! that is too rough; one of these golden leaves-what are they?-will do better; won't it?" "That is hickory," said Fleda. "No; the mul lein leaf is the best, because it holds the water so nicely,-IIere it is!" And folding up one of the largest leaves into a most artist-like cup, she presented it to Mr. Carle ton. For me was all that trouble ?" said he. "I don't deserve it." "You wanted something, sir," said Fleda. "The water is very cold and niec." He stooped to the bright little stream, and filled his rural goblet several times. "I never knew what it was to have a fairy for my cup-bearer before," said he. "That was better than anything Bordeaux or Xercs ever sent forth.” IIe seemed to have swallowed his seriousness, or thrown it away with the mullein leaf. It was quite gone. This is the best spring in all grandpa's ground," said Fleda. "The water is as good as can be." "How come you to be such a wood and water spirit? you must live out of doors. Do the trees ever talk to you? I sometimes think they do to me.” "I don't know-I think I talk to them," said Fleda. "It's the same thing," said her companion, smiling. "Such beautiful woods!" "Were you never in the country before in the fall, sir?" "Not here-in my own country often enough— but the woods in England do not put on such a gay face, Miss Fleda, when they are going to be stripped of their summer dress-they look sober upon itthe leaves wither and grow brown, and the woods have a dull russet color. Your trees are true Yankees-they never say die!" THE FLOWER GIFTS - FROM THE THREE LITTLE SPADES. Nothing had been heard of little Dick Nobody's garden for some time, and though Clover had been very anxious to see it, she had not dared to say a word. But one day, after the dry weather had passed by and the showers had come to make everything fresh, Sam proposed they should take a walk that way and see Dick's balsams. "We'll see if they look like yours, Clover," he said. "Has Dick got any heart's-ease, Sam?" said little Primrose. "I think not." "Then I'd better take him some," said Prim, with a very grave face. But you'll kill the plants, dear, if you take them up now, when they are all full of flowers," said Clover; "or at least kill the flowers." "It's only the flowers I mean to take," replied Primrose, as gravely as before. "I'll take Dick a bunch of 'em." "What's that for?" said Sam, putting his hands under her chin, and bringing the little sober face into view. "Because," said Prim, "I've been thinking about it a great deal about what mamma said. And if God asked me what I had done with my heart's-ease, I shouldn't like to say I'd never given Dick one." "Oh, if that's all," said Lily, "I can pick him a great bunch of petunias. Do 'em good too they want cutting. While Lily flew down to her garden and began to pull off the petunias with an unsparing hand, Primrose crouched down by her patch of heart'sease, carefully culling one of each shade and tint that she could find, putting them lovingly together, with quite an artistic arrangement of colors. Exquisite," said Sam, watching her. looked up and smiled. Prim Dear me, how splendid!" said Lily, running up with her hands full of petunias; "but just look at these! What will you take, Clover? " "I think I shall not take anything," said Clover, slowly. Nothing! out of all your garden!" said Lily. Clover flushed crimson. "I'm not sure that Dick would care to have me bring any of my flowers," she said, in a low voice. "May be I can find -" And she hurried off, coming back presently with a half-open rosebud, which she quietly put in Prim's hand, to go with the heart's-ease. Then they set off. Dick, of course, was in his garden-he was always there when it did not rain, and sometimes when it did; and visitors were a particularly pleasant thing to him now that he had flowers to show. He welcomed them very joyfully, beginning at once to display his treasures. Great was the surprise of Lily and Primrose to see the very same flowers in Dick's garden that there were in Clover's. The beautiful cameliaflowered balsams, and the graceful amaranthus, and the showy zinnias. Even a canary-bird vine was there, fluttering over the fence. "But where did you get them all?" cried Lily. A lady." said Dick. "She's a good one, and that's all I know. "Where does she live?" inquired Sam. "Don't know, sir," said Dick. "Nobody didn't tell me that. Man that fetched 'em - that's the seeds and the little green things-he said, says he, These be out of the young lady's own garden,' says he." it "Young lady!" said Lily. "Oh, I dare say was Maria Jarvis. You know, Clover, she's got such loads of flowers in her garden, and a man to take care of 'em, and all." But Clover did not answer, and seemed rather in haste to get away, opening the little gate, and stepping out upon the road. And when Sam looked at her, he saw that she was biting her lips very hard to keep from laughing. It must have pleased him - Clover's face, or the laughing, or the flowers, or something for the first thing he did, when they were all outside the gate, was to put his arms around Clover and give her a good hearty kiss. Little Prim all this while had said scarcely a word, looking on with all her eyes, as we say. But when Prim was going to bed that night, and Mrs. May bent over her for a parting embrace, Prim said: Mamma, I don't think God will ever ask Clover what she's done with her flowers." Why not?" asked her mother. Because," answered Primrose, sedately, "I think he told her what to do with 'em-and I think she's done it." EMILY C. JUDSON. MISS EMILY CHUввUCK was born at Morrisville, a town of Central New York. Soon after ceasing to be a school girl, with a view of adding to the limited means of her family and increasing her own knowledge, she became a teacher in a female seminary at Utica. It was with similar views that she commenced her literary career by writing a few poems for the Knickerbocker Magazine, and some little books for children, of a religious |