equal in many
respects, and many of whom she excelled as a brilliant satirist and
pathetic painter of the quaint and the beautiful.

For ten years she continued to contribute letters, essays, stories and
poems to the _Mercury_, and to advocate the claims of her sex to the
right of suffrage, in which she still continues to be a firm believer.
Mrs. Simpers has also contributed largely to the _Woman's Journal_ and
other periodicals.

Though possessed of a brilliant poetic genius, Mrs. Simpers is best
known as a writer of prose; and, in addition to the large quantity of
matter she has contributed to the newspaper press, is the author of a
story of about two hundred pages illustrative of the principles and
practices and exemplifying the social life of the Friends, for which she
received a prize of two hundred dollars. This story was highly spoken of
by Dr. Shelton McKenzie, with whom she was on terms of intimacy for some
years immediately before his death, and also by many other distinguished
writers.

On the 22d of February, 1879, the subject of this sketch married Captain
John G. Simpers, who served with distinction in the Second Regiment
Delaware Volunteers in the war of the rebellion. They, at the time of
writing this sketch, reside near the summit of Mount Pleasant, and
within a short distance of the birth-place of Emma Alice Browne.

THE MILLER'S ROMANCE.

The miller leaned o'er the oaken door,
Quaint shadows swung on the dusty floor,
The spider toiled in the dust o'erhead,
With restless haste, and noiseless speed,
Like one who toils for sorest need--
Like one who toils for bread.
"Ha!" says the miller, "does he pause to hark--
Hark! Hark! Hark!
To the voice of the waters, down in the dark--
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Turning the lumbering, mumbling wheel;
Which moans and groans as tho't could feel?"
"Ha!" laughed the miller, "he pauses not and why--
In the sunshine pausing and musing I?
When the spiteful waves seem to repeat--
Repeat! Repeat! Repeat!
The hateful word deceit--
Deceit! Deceit! Deceit"
"Nay," mused the miller, "their musical drip--
Drip! Drip! Drip!
Is like to naught but the trip--
Trip! Trip! Trip!
In the dance of her fairy feet,
Or her rippling-laughter cool and sweet!"

* * * * *

Once more,
The miller leans o'er the oaken door.
Still play the shadows upon the floor,
Still toils the spider ov