we express our admiration of all that is good and glorious in earth and heaven, being concentrated on a cotton wash rag!  Who can wonder that I was ‘solemn’ that day!  I made my agonized protest on the spot, but it fell unheeded, and with satisfied sneer Eliza knit on, and the young Californian continued making the rosebuds.  I gazed into space, and, when alone, wept for my degenerate countrywoman.  I not only was ‘solemn’ that day, but I am profoundly ‘solemn’ whenever I think of that queenly woman and that cotton wash rag. (One can buy a whole dozen of these useful appliances, with red borders and fringed, for twenty-five cents.) Oh, Eliza, I beseech you, knit no more!

     “Affectionately yours,

     “Elizabeth Cady Stanton.”

To this Mrs. Osborne sent the following reply: 

     “Dear Mrs. Stanton: 

     “In your skit
    Against your sisterhood who knit,
     Or useful make their fingers,
    I wonder if—­deny it not—­
    The habit of Lucretia Mott
     Within your memory lingers!

    “In retrospective vision bright,
    Can you recall dear Martha Wright
     Without her work or knitting? 
    The needles flying in her hands,
    On washing rags or baby’s bands,
     Or other work as fitting?

    “I cannot think they thought the less,
    Or ceased the company to bless
     With conversation’s riches,
    Because they thus improved their time,
    And never deemed it was a crime
     To fill the hours with stitches.

    “They even used to preach and plan
    To spread the fashion, so that man
     Might have this satisfaction;
    Instead of idling as men do,
    With nervous meddling fingers too,
     Why not mate talk with action?

    “But as a daughter and a niece,
    I pride myself on every piece
     Of handiwork created;
    While reveling in social chat,
    Or listening to gossip flat,
     My gain is unabated.

    “That German emperor you scorn,
    Seems to my mind a monarch born,
     Worthy to lead a column;
    I’ll warrant he could talk and work,
    And, neither being used to shirk,
     Was rarely very solemn.

    “I could say more upon this head,
    But must, before I go to bed. 
     Your idle precepts mocking,
    Get out my needle and my yarn
    And, caring not a single darn. 
     Just finish up this stocking.”

CHAPTER XXVII.

SIXTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF THE CLASS OF 1832—­THE WOMAN’S BIBLE.