ladies’ department. 
65 
Cables’ Department. 
REPLY TO REVIEWER ON KNITTING, &c. 
Will you once more allow me to occupy the 
residue of some half-filled page, in order to correct 
a slight typographical error in my answer to Solus’ 
article on “ Knitting,” published in the August num¬ 
ber of the Agriculturist ? which, trifling as it ap¬ 
pears to be, is sufficient to throw an air of ridicule 
on the evening amusements of my country gentle¬ 
men. What I wrote was intended to recommend 
knitting, basket-making, &c., as a change from the 
equally pleasant but more elegant employments of 
“drawing, and carving (not carrying!) in wood.” 
I do not remember, and have not time just now 
to look, whether the reviewer who noticed my little 
article on gardening, meant to “handle” the article 
itself, or only some notable error in it, “ without 
gloves;” but he certainly does accuse me of “ using 
too many words.” A crusty codger he must be, to 
wish to deprive a woman of one of the very few 
privileges even nominally allowed her! Now had 
I been a little more “ discursive,” the printer could 
not have made me say anything so queer; for I 
should have told of beautiful models of rural archi¬ 
tecture carved in wood , and fine casts in plaster of 
favorite domestic animals, made by two brother 
farmers during the evenings of last winter, by the 
brilliant light of a lard lamp. I should have men¬ 
tioned exquisitely finished drawings, and good paint¬ 
ings of various subjects, the products of the leisure 
hours of a Pennsylvanian farmer, whose sisters 
“trundle that wheelbarrow,” wear those gloves, 
and gum elastic shoes, and “work in the garden 
every day before breakfast,” and who enliven the 
refined labors of the family every evening, by 
“ thumping the piano,” and singing in a style that 
would touch the heart of Reviewer himself— if he 
had one! But probably he is some stiff, crusty 
bachelor, whose far-off cousins sat for his not too 
attractive portraits of American farmers’ daughters. 
Sisters he cannot have, and as he has been so un¬ 
fortunate in his female acquaintances, he deserves 
our pity. One thing more I can tell him,—that I 
will be as “ discursive” as I please, and write about 
wheelbarrows, governesses, country schools, and 
“ black babies,” if I like, into the bargain. 
I had determined resolutely to read nothing more 
of Reviewer’s critiques; yet I could not help look¬ 
ing, just to see what he said about “ knitting,” and 
then, to use a phrase borrowed from Salmagundi, I 
indulged myself “ in a burst of thirty feet of solid 
laughter” at the idea suggested by his advising 
“ Solus to go where he can get his stockings knit 
at home.” To have the good offices of the little 
old maid contended for because she can use her 
knitting needles, and dares to boast in print of this, 
her only accomplishment, has so much real fun in 
it, that I have felt sorry that my incognita would 
not allow me to let any one share in my mirth. I 
have laughed off at least two wrinkles from my 
brow, for which I thank him, as in duty bound. 
But if he had seen me throw aside my knitting—a 
slipper—a man’s dressing slipper, I believe—and 
take the pen to write the above very amiable re¬ 
marks, he never would have thought of his pleasant 
ingle-side, home-knit stockings—Solus’ beau ideal 
of domestic comfort, and my cross-looking, tidy, 
little ladyship as connected therewith, I know. 
Reviewer may be assured he shall not laugh me 
out of my fancy for urging my young country¬ 
women to cultivate a taste for gardening; and telling 
them what I have found to be the best methods of 
gaining health and pleasure at the same time; and 
as to scolding me from my purpose, let him try to 
remember if he ever heard of a woman who was 
not always confirmed in her own way by opposition. 
But to be serious for a moment. Can any one point 
out a purer pleasure, or a more mind-ennobling pur¬ 
suit in which a woman of cultivated taste, and 
refined feelings, can be engaged, than in the active 
care of a garden ? For myself, I would rather re¬ 
linquish a hundred other gratifications, than give 
up the feelings of chastened enthusiasm excited by 
everything connected with it. When I am grieved 
in spirit, or vexed in temper, by the unavoidable 
cares of my little world, I go out and work in my 
garden; and in the healthful exercise of the body, 
and the beautiful soul-subduing quiet that pervades 
the place, and steals like a healing balm over my 
mind, I soon forget my troubles,—and restored to 
eace, cheerfulness, and comfort, return to house- 
old cares and duties, prepared to meet them with a 
calm, if not a smiling face. 
When I am happy, I go to the garden, and find 
the flowers take a brighter hue, and the birds sing 
more joyously their welcome to me ; then “ looking 
through nature up to nature’s God,” my whole soul 
rises in thankfulness to “ the Giver of every good 
and perfect gift,” for all his manifold mercies to the 
children of men. 
Patience, for a moment more, good Mr. Editor, 
and, knitting again in hand, I will take leave of 
pens and printers, after wishing Reviewer speedy 
success in his search for a knitting wife (he does 
not use tobacco ?) who will humor his love for sour 
craut, and every other harmless whim, and sympa¬ 
thize in his abhorrence and contempt for “ dried 
cabbage leaves ” And, for many bright years to 
come, may he 
“ Make a happy fireside chime 
For weans and wife— 
That ’s the true pathos and sublime 
Of human life.” 
Eutawah. E. S. 
MUSICAL BELLS FOR COWS. 
An accomplished and somewhat romantic French 
lady, on visiting the chateau of a distinguishednoble- 
manjsays.l have heard for the first time, an admirable 
and enchanting sound, which, if generally estab¬ 
lished, would add an inexpressible charm to the 
other beauties of arural life. This was no less than 
an inconsiderable herd of shining cows, each with 
a musical bell attached to her neck, attuned with 
the greatest nicety, of several octaves, high and 
low—forming a delicious, yea, a kind of celestial 
music, the sweetness of which has a powerful 
effect on the imagination, and cannot be listened to 
without experiencing a sensible emotion. 
This, Mr. Editor, the farmers may say, is all 
ammon, and will produce no butter and cheese; 
ut, allow me to tell you, it is practicable; and l 
have little doubt that many a gentlewoman, after 
