Who Is She?

-There is a lady ing in a httle four-roomed cottage in the environs of Boston whose name is welUknown to literary people, writes a correspondent of Lippincott's. She depends wholly upon her own exertions for the support of herself and children, and does all her own housework, yet her cottage is the focus of the best society in the locality. A gentleman calling there re cently was received at the door by a daughter of the lady,, who told Mm that lier mother was too busy to be called, but that he could see her in the kitchen if he pleased, and he followed her to that room. The lady greeted him without the least embarrassment though she had on a big apron and her sleeves pinned back to her shoulders. She was cutting a pumpkin iiito strips for pies; and there sat a venerable gentleman gravely paring the strips to the accompanyment of brilliant oonversatiqn. I was asked to guess who this gentleman was, and after several fruitless attempts was told that it was the poet Longfellow. While the pumpkin paring was in process another distinguished poet called, and he also insisted upon being impressed into the service. It was a dreary day outside, and no one cared to leave the pleasant cottage, so they all stayed to lunch, one of the pies forming the piece de resistance of the oceasion.