Shoe-making Tool Roll

Much like the flatware rolls, and the one for my straw-plaiting accoutrements, this tool roll isn't an historical copy, but rather the application of a historic method (rolled fabric pocket) to a crafting and living history need (a way to contain my shoe-making tools, especially the pointy ones, in storage and transit). It certainly would have been a familiar organizational strategy for the sorts of women trying to DIY their own shoes with Every Lady Her Own Shoemaker, so I think it's a reasonable addition to my interpretive kit. After all, I'm not portraying a period shoemaker, just a person with basic sewing skills attempting to learn from a book.

Tools all assembled.

 

I left out the hammer and pliers, due to their size and weight skewing my mock-ups. The rest of the tools and supplies get their own designation pockets: wool-lined leather sheaths for two shoe knives and a rasp; wool needle-page;  then fabric pockets for two awls, a wood burnisher, an edging tool, bar of wax, thread winders, a bag of tacks, and glass burnisher. Wool is used to keep moisture (and thus rust) away from the blades and needles, while the rest of the roll is made from reproduction cotton prints. The awls have small pieces of cork over their tips to prevent them poking through the fabric.

I've taken it out for one event so far, and other than being inconveniently large for the table space, it did a good job of keeping everything neat and ready at hand. I also appreciate that it rolls up into a single neat package, which is helpful for organizing my box of shoe-making supplies.

Flatware Rolls

I made these rolls as a way to keep my 1850s  flatware and serving spoons tidy and clean when not in use, and to make it easier to pack for events (by which I mean "tea at Ft. Steilacoom.") I still don't have a good way to transport the used items home, but it's definitely an improvement. 

Open rolls, showing the pockets for each knife, spoon, or fork.

These are not based off of a specific antique design, but instead on the general idea of a rolled sewing kit. I've also seen a traveling surgeon's kit and a toilet sachet (toiletries bag) from the mid-19th century using this general organizational scheme, it's not completely outlandish. [Same idea underlies my straw tool roll.] However, I'm not exactly going to brandish them about at events, lest I give someone the idea that this was a typical way to store silverware.

Closed rolls. No problem with things sliding out so far.

The rolls are both made from 18" x 18" squares of 1.2 mm wool felt, selected both for its body (no need to line the rolls or bind edges) and its ability to wick moisture (the flatware being carbon steel and Britanniaware). One pocket on each is folded; the excess height cut off the spoon roll made the second pocket on the knife/fork roll.

 All told this was a quick and easy project. I used a ruler to sew the spoon pockets, but found it both faster and neater to mark the sewing lines in chalk on the fork/knife roll.

Rag Rug, Part 2: Dyes

With references to dyeing both warp and weft, I decided to try some natural dyeing on my rug materials. 

I first applied an alum mordant to 7 of the 9 skeins of wool rug warp, using the recipe described in Wild Color by Jenny Dean.

Marigold Dye Bath

 

I then made 3 different dye vats. The first was with dried marigold flowers from my last two harvests (about 2 oz pure petals and 3 oz of full flower heads). For the second, I used about ~4oz of powdered madder root.. For both of these dye baths, I first dyed the prepared wool (letting it soak for about 3 hours), then put in mordanted linen thread and some test strips of white cotton (with and without mordants) for the whole afternoon/evening, and finally threw in my unmordanted rag weft to soak overnight.

Marigold and Madder Dye Results.

 

I tried to keep the madder below boiling, to get more of a red than an orange shade, but as the wool dried it shifted from a deep scarlet color to a tomato red, and finally a bright orange. The cotton, meanwhile, dried pale pink. The marigold wool came out dark goldenrod color (in person, it more resembles the image above than the one below), with the cotton coming out a pale Easter egg yellow

 

Marigold-dyed and undyed wool.

 

For the third, I used Dharma's pre-reduced indigo to make a 3-gallon dye vat. I over-dyed two of the marigold-dyed wool skeins, as well as the two un-mordanted skeins. This produced a very dark green (tending black) and a deep indigo blue--the former darkened as it dried, and the latter lightened from a navy blue. I tried overdyeing some pink and yellow rag weft, but instead of purple and green, I got the same deep blue as with white rags. Subsequent batches of rags came out slightly lighter, but still a fairly dark blue.

Green and blue wool dyed with indigo.

Rag Rug, Part 1: Research

Fiction

In Our Cousins in Ohio (1849), one November task is cutting wool clothing scraps for rugs. The pieces are sewn together and rolled into a large balls; when woven, the weft may be visible, created a mottled effect. It might also be woven in stripes/plaids or else dyed a solid color.  Here, the narrator claims that such rugs are common in America, used in the kitchens and dining rooms of the rich, and throughout humbler houses. 

"What Small Hands May Do" (1851) has a 14-year-old surprise her family with a new parlor carpet. She saves up scraps over the course of a year, cutting them into strips, and paying the local weaver $3 to make the carpet. The weaving takes four days, and the warp is included in the price. Red, blue, and white rags are specifically included to add decorative "figures." The woven carpet is pieced to fit the floor.

In the didactic story Home Comforts: Or, Economy Illustrated (1855), a rag carpet is made up in odd moments, using scraps of old clothes. The warp and weaving were paid for with additional rag-weft (both weaver and the family providing the rags got half of the final rug). 

The story "Making the Best of Everything" (Peterson's, 1861) has one cousin teach another to cut old clothes for a rag carpet: the colors are cut separately and dyed, then sent off to be woven (implying visible weft). This is considered a summertime task.

Piecing cotton and linen cabbage for the weft.

Non-Fiction

The Harbinger (1846) newspaper describes a whole industry in New York, in which rag-pickers sort, clean, and stitch rags into 1/2" strips which are sold to weavers to make rag rugs.

Miss Leslie (1850) disapproves of rag rugs being used in kitchens (on the ground that they get greasy and soiled), but recommends them for other service rooms or "where much economy is necessary." She mentions only wool fabrics (cloth from old garments, along with baize, flannel, or scraps of ingrain carpets).

Letters to Country Girls (1853) gives green dye instructions specifically for carpet warp (indigo over any shade of yellow), and recommends using  "ley and copperas" to make a colorfast yellow rug. Mrs. Swisshelm goes on claim that the hard-packed (warp-faced) rag rugs woven by professionals wear out quickly; she recommends requesting a more "thin" and "loose" weave.

Eliza Lea's Domestic Cookery, Useful Receipts, and Hints to Young Housekeepers (1859, 1st ed 1851) gives instructions for "How to Make a Rag Carpet." It recommends a warp of purple, green, yellow, and red (in stripes arranged according to your own fancy), and advises that the weft rags be made from 2/3 wool scraps and 1/3 cotton. It also observes that carpet warp is usually cotton, and (in name-dropping red flannel) indicates that the appearance of the rug is affected by the color of the weft. 

Agricultural prizes from Massachusetts (1853) mention a rag rug made with cotton weft submitted in the domestic manufacture division.  Rag rugs (braided and woven) are mentioned in a number of similar agricultural contest reports, one of which opines: 

"These [rag rugs] are articles in which the taste of the maker should combine beauty with utility to form, from unsightly and useless material, a serviceable parlor ornament. Arrangement of color should be carefully studied, and neat patterns selected or devised which are adapted to the colors at command."

The New York Institution for the Blind (1856) particularly recommends rag-carpet-weaving as an occupation for its graduates. The report mentions that every farmhouse in the area uses rag carpeting, and that one of its former pupils has already made a career of it. In his case, he both weaves commissioned carpets, and also sells carpeting he's already woven (pointing to a market for buying rugs, as well as preparing one's own rags and hiring a weaver). Some reform schools have the children cut the rags for carpet weft.

The Canadian Settler's Guide (1857) praises making rag rugs for use in the 'parlor, staircase and bed-room' of one's log house. It recommends saving cotton, linen, and woolen clothing too worn for reuse, cutting the fabrics into 1/4" strips (1/2" for fine muslins), and paying for it be woven on a 2-ply cotton warp. It mentions cutting turns in the fabric to save time on piecing, but claims that piecing perfectly straight strips gives a superior product. Cleaning the rags before use, and dying the white cotton, is also recommended. Recipes for dying the warp blue, yellow, and black are also provided. [Of course, clothing that is still wearable should be given to the needy, not cut for rag rugs.]

Both Peterson's and Arthur's Home Magazine (November 1865) discuss knitting rags into rugs. Where the woven rugs can be treated as carpeting (sewn together to fill a room or used in smaller pieces), the knitted rugs are suggested as mats or bedside rugs. The tone of the article indicates that this craft is not widely practiced in America as of 1865, though the author advocates for it.

In a letter dated December 1, 1855, Catherine Blaine mentions having a "very pretty" rag carpet in the parlor/sitting room of their Seattle home. In a June 9th, 1856 letter to his siblings, her husband David Blaine asks about a previous letter, in which his mother apparently visited the local weaver (in Seneca Falls, New York), asking "But what can you be going to do with a rag carpet? Is it to be used on Derinda's kitchen?"

Rag rug, c.1830-1870, from Historic New England.

Artifacts

I can't find many 19th century rag rugs in any of the usual online repositories, fewer still woven rag-rugs (hooked are more common, braided scarcer still).

The Met has a single rag rug, described as cotton and wool, c.1800-1850, and woven in stripes. Looking closely at the supplemental images, it appears to be warp-faced.

The Smithsonian has a piece of weft-faced rug from Maine (dated "late 19th century"), and a plaid cotton-rag rug from North Carolina (1832). 

Historic New England has a fair few warp-faced striped woven rugs which came up in my initial search, though they have since been updated without reference to rags (and the close zoom appears to have a yarn fill rather than rags in most cases). And then, the holy grail (shown above): a warp-faced striped rag rug, with both warp and weft described as wool (though the overall item description reads "wool, cotton").

 

Conclusion

Although a humble article, rag rugs are associated with neatness and comfort. The most common structure for them (in the 1840-1865 period, in the literature I consulted) is woven, though weak evidence for braided, knit, and hooked rag rugs exists. Stripes appear to be the most common pattern in surviving rag carpets, and are also well-represented in contemporary literature. While many of the written sources treat the rags (weft) as being visible in the final product, the few surviving examples appear to favor warp-faced rugs where the rags are barely visible. 

A mixture of wool and cotton materials is recommended, and most mentions of warp fiber are cotton. Surviving rugs are biased towards wool, though the descriptions are not always clear which is warp and which weft.

The most universal depiction of rag-rug making in period literature is that of the thrifty girl or woman working at home, cutting otherwise unusable wool and cotton scraps into 1/2" (or occasionally 1/4") strips, sewing these into 3-yard pieces, and rolling them into large balls, which are then sent out to be professionally woven.

Ink, 17th-18th century

I went looking for a home-made ink for 16th century use, and ended up finding a number of recipes from the 17th/18th centuries:

The Mysteryes of Nature, and Art (1654) has a page of recipes for different colors of printing ink, as well as a "good writing ink".

Naturall Experiments, or Physick for the Poor (1657) has instructions for red, green, blue ,and gold-colored ink. 

Eighteen Books of the Secrets of Art and Nature (1661) page 272 has a simple receipt with copperas, oak galls, gum arabic, and white wine

Polygraphice (1685) Another oak gall/copperas/wine/gum arabic receipt

Modern Curiosities of Art&Nature (1685) has recipes for India ink, powdered ink, "an excellent ink for writing", ink for parchment or grease-paper, silver and gold ink, etc.

New Curiosities in Art and Nature (1711): India ink recipe with horsebeans 

Three Essays in Artificial Philosophy (1731)

Dictionarium Polygraphicum (1735) the "Another good black ink" receipt with copperas, oak galls and stale beer looks promising. 

The Laboratory (1740):Same as others, uses alum, sal ammonia.

The Instructor; Or Young Man's Best Companion (1742) Like the others, with rock alum added

I decided to try the common combination of oak galls and copperas (aka ferrous sulfate aka iron (II) sulfate), which are both conveniently available at my favorite dye supplier. The main difference between the first and last of these seems to be the inclusion of alum in the later 18th century versions. There's also some variety in whether the solvent is water, beer, or wine.

 I went with the stale beer/copperas/oak gall/gum arabic version from Mysteryes of Nature, at a 1/2 scale (1/2 pint beer, 1 handful galls), though the vitriol quantity is not given (the gum is to be 1/3 that amount). So, I filled in from the Dictionarium Polygraphicum which calls for 2-3oz vitriol/3 pints solvent, which I ended up approximating as 1 tsp vitriol and 1/2 tsp gum arabic.

Ingredients assembled.

Coarsely cut oak galls, in a not-for-food-use glass jar.

The galls soaked in beer overnight.

I let the galls soak almost 24 hours, having intended to leave them overnight, then running into scheduling issues. The liquid stayed a dark, gross brown the whole time. [It also smelled of off-beer, as a warning.] I filtered through muslin to remove the galls and some of the scum, then added the vitriol and gum at which point the ink started turning black. I stirred it in a hot water bath as it darkened, letting it go about 2 hours total. This is more than was called for, but as some of the other recipes want you to heat it for days at a time, this seemed reasonable. I decanted the ink into a storage container (and my clay inkwell) and gave it a try.

Finished ink. It writes well with a steel nib, now to try some quills.

1850s Make-Do Beds

I sometimes accumulate trivia while researching other projects. In this case, primary source descriptions of camping and improvised beds in the 1850s:

The Prairie Traveler  (1859) lists for each person's bed: two blankets, comforter, pillow, and a water-resistant ground cloth of gutta percha or painted canvas. A large piece of sole leather may also be used as a waterproof layer. However, the book does give diagrams for two styles of folding field cot. [This is a guidebook from a military perspective, but apparently aimed at general audiences.]

Commerce of the Prairies (1851) claims that tents are rarely used, with men instead wrapping up in a Mackinaw or two, sometimes with a buffalo robe.

Scenes and Incidents in the Western Prairies (1857) describes mule-drivers sleeping under only a single blanket, while wealthy travelers through Mexico allegedly carry mattresses and other bed furnishing among their luggage, in order to comfortably camp outside. The author's other remarks indicate that it was common practice in the region is to carry one's own blankets, whether for camping outdoors or in unfurnished inns.

On military duty in Florida, blankets over rough 'clapboards' (supported by four sapling-posts) make improvised beds for soldiers. (c.1838-68)

Ezra Meeker refers to using cedar boughs for a bed when traveling west in 1853. [Mr. Meeker traveled overland with a wagon, and then from Oregon to Puget Sound on foot and by raft.]

The David & Catherine Blaine letters mention using clothing to improvise or improve sleeping places. On a ship deck, they share David's greatcoat as a blanket. While staying overnight in settler's cabin with a 'filthy' guest bed, they arrange Catherine's petticoat over the objectionable linen and again use David's coat as a blanket.

Straw Mattress

I've wanted to try a historic mattress for a few years, and finally had the chance to experiment this last summer. The results were mixed, but I'm glad I had the chance to try it.

Starting from my previous research, I had hoped to fill the mattress with some wool fleece seconds, but was unable to local any local sources for wool (much less at an affordable price). I realized straw was going to be the only option--which was unfortunate, since straw mattresses in my reading have largely been hard base layers for supporting a softer horsehair or wool/flock mattress. I decided the closest I could get at this point was a less-than-board-stiff straw mattress, with my wool sleeping mat (ie, four layers of HBC blanketing sewn together into a 3/4" thick piece) as a thin substitute for a wool mattress above the straw.

The Workwoman's Guide doesn't give straw mattress instructions, as the author states that such items are only made commercially--though she mentions that they are sewn on frames and the straw is packed tight. I took the Guide's general mattress instructions along with an 1859 'how to' story from Godey's as my plan for sewing the mattress (even though these call for horsehair/wool and cotton respectively).

I cut out two rectangular pieces of ticking, 2.5" longer per side than my desired mattress size, and a strip 2 nails (4.5") wide for the sides. I sewed one side of the the strip all around one of the rectangles, and the other side around the other rectangle, leaving a section about 12" open at the end. I then proceeded to stuff ~25 pounds of straw into the mattress, pulling handfuls off of a straw bale. When the mattress was full but seemingly not compacted, I whip-stitched the open seam closed.

One ticking mattress.

 The end result looks like a giant, heavy, striped pillow. I had intended to do the tying, hoping that would keep the straw better in place, but gave up when I couldn't locate my trapunto needle. Despite the sides being only 4" tall after seam allowances (and me trying not to over-stuff the ticking), the mattress ranged up to 10" or so in thickness, and I don't have any needles that could hope to pierce that. My backup plan (shaking the mattress well, then sleeping on it at one event to flatten it out) didn't exactly go to plan. 

To imitate the layers of a historic mattress system, I used this straw mattress as the lowest layer. Over it was the aforementioned wool pad, with the lower sheet tucked around both. The upper sheet went above this, followed by two wool blankets, a wool/cotton coverlet (a special run from Family Heirloom Weavers that I found at The Button Baron). I used a small feather pillow with a homemade cotton case, and (despite it being May/August), threw my heavy wool broadcloth cloak over the lot.

Finished with seven layers of wool and two of linen.
The 8th layer of wool made all the difference.

I ended up using this mattress for a total of 5 nights over the summer. It was distinctly more comfortable than sleeping directly on the ground with only blankets (+/- a pile of petticoats), but less comfortable than literally any other surface I've tried sleeping on.

Reclining on the mattress is fine, but trying to actually sleep revealed a wildly uneven straw distribution: it sloped from head to foot, with several hard mounds that no amount of fluffing/shaking/beating/etc could even out. I frequently felt I was sliding off of the mattress, and even when I managed to get into a 'stable' position, I'd find a hard lump somewhere on the mattress (generally digging into my side). The last day I slept on this mattress, I woke up with a really sore shoulder that severely curtailed my activities for the day (in fairness, the condition started several days prior, it just got a whole lot worse after two nights camping).

The thing that really worked about this set-up was the insulation. Even when it was pouring rain, the straw+wool sleeping surface kept me warm and dry. It also meant that when I eventually did fall asleep, I wasn't waking up periodically from the cold (once I'd figured out to add a cloak over my blankets).

From the proportion of the straw bale used, I estimate that this mattress clocked in at 20-30lbs. Moving it felt like more. The size and lack of hand-holds made it obnoxious to carry further than a few feet, and painful to grip. It also developed a distinct musty smell after 3 months, especially during the 3 weeks it was set up in a tent in a field and not shoved in my storage closet. The mattress also took up half my car's cargo space, which isn't ideal for reenactment scenarios where I need to be setting up a camp for 1-2 days, then taking everything home again.

My current verdict is that the experience of sleeping on this mattress was not worth the hassle of carting it around and setting it up. Also, my days of curling up with some blankets directly on the ground are over. I wouldn't be adverse to trying another historical mattress in the future, but to do so I will need to source better filling, and use better approximations of all the layers. I think a second proper mattress, stuffed with cotton or wool, over this straw one would have made a notable difference. If I was remaking this particular mattress as a bottom layer, I would focus on breaking up the straw more as I stuffed the mattress; getting the straw distributed more evenly; and sewing it all into place. 

Mid-19th Century Mattresses

Before settling into a long Christmas nap, let's talk about mattresses and making beds in the early/mid-19th century. This research hole project brought to you by people asking material culture questions in my online book club. The time-frame ranges approximately from c. 1815-1833 when Les Misérables is set through its 1862 publication.

Tent beds from The American Family Encyclopedia (1854)

Summary

Mattresses are canvas or ticking bags stuffed with various materials. They are defined as being firmer than "beds" (as in 'feather bed'). Even the very poor will have access to a mattress or two: we can document mattresses being available to servants, 'unskilled' workers, and even prisoners. Going up the social scale, one will see more mattress layers in use, larger/heavier mattresses, more expensive materials, and newer mattresses.

A typical bed will consist of two or three mattresses/beds. The bottom layer is a firm straw mattress (paillasse) or a metal spring mattress. This layer is necessary for slat beds, but may be skipped if one has a rope bed and doesn't like the extra height. As a rule, these hard mattresses are purchased rather than made at home, and don't need get disassembled.

The next mattress (or two mattresses) will be softer, ideally stuff with horsehair. Wool is a cheaper alternative.  Less common options include coconut fiber (coir), moss, chaff, sawdust, paper, see-grass, cornhusks, and beech leaves. Composites mattresses are also used. Cotton is also sometimes mentioned. 

A featherbed goes above the top mattress, as a soft, warm upper layer. There are concerns that this makes a bed too warm, and featherbeds should only be used in winter, or by the elderly, or else should have a thin mattress or piece of straw matting put above the feather-layer. A comfort stuffed with wool or cotton or mill puff (coarse wool/cotton left-over from manufacturing other articles) can be used instead of a featherbed, or this layer can be dispensed with.

Mattresses and beds are heavy, on the order of 40 pounds each (with poor ones closer to 20 and good ones up to 70-80). They vary in thickness depending on the materials and layer, from about 3"-4" to  6" or 8". Featherbeds should be shaken and turned every time the bed is made; soft straw or wool mattresses should be turned/beaten regularly (ideally daily) and remade at least once a year. 

Both air mattresses and waterbeds have been invented by the 1830s; these are medical devices intended to reduce pressure on the body, and don't appear to have been in widespread use.

Bed Designs from The Workwoman's Guide (1838)

Contemporary Sources

The regulations of a British prison (1826) allows each prisoner one straw mattress, one hair mattress, two sheets, two blankets, and a coverlid or bed-rug. 

A New System of Practical Domestic Economy (London, 1827) claims that high feather prices have ended widespread use of featherbeds, and lead to an unpleasant combination of a straw mattress covered by a thin featherbed; a hair mattress over a straw paillasse is advised instead, or else a mattress of seagrass.

Domestic Duties (1828, London and America) lists the proper layers of a bed as a featherbed over a hair or wool mattress (hair being the preferred option), with a straw paillasse bottommost for those who want the extra height.

The Workwoman's Guide (London, first edition 1838), assumes the first mattress is always straw, the second horsehair or wool [also chaff, seaweed, beech leaves, coconut fiber, paper, etc., for children's mattresses], and a “bed” stuffed with feathers or mill-puff above. No instructions are given for the lowest straw mattress, with the explanation that it is purchased rather than made at home.

Eliza Leslie's The Behavior Book (Boston 1838, reprinted 1854) describes folding mattresses to rebalance them when airing and making beds. She also says to shake the featherbed 'evenly'.

Catherine Beecher's Treatise on Domestic Economy (Boston, 1843) recommends covering the featherbed with a "thin mattress of hair, cotton and moss, or straw", or a thin straw matting. A cotton comfort is also recommended as an alternative top layer. She gets into some detail about shaking out the featherbed, and how to arrange it while making a bed.

Instructions in Household Matters (London, 1844), describes how to make one's bed, detailing the different blankets and sheets to be tucked (or not). It assumes that 2-3 mattresses are in use: the lowest being a straw paillasse, then one or two horse hair or wool mattresses, possibly with a feather bed on top. The paillasse does not need to be shaken, but the other mattresses should be turned daily, and the pillows, bolsters, and featherbed shaken "in all directions".

The Maid of All Work's Complete Guide (London, 1850) instructs on how to make a bed, including shaking up the feather bed daily and brushing/dusting/turning the mattresses monthly. 

A Dictionary of Domestic Medicine (London, 1852) allows that elderly people may need the warmth of a featherbed, but maintains that hair mattresses are better for everyone else, with wool or cotton as cheaper alternatives.

The American Family Encyclopedia / An Encyclopedia of Domestic Economy (New York, 1856, 1^st ed 1845) describes a mattress as a hard-packed, tufted article that doesn't require shaking, used under the softer feather bed. Horsehair, wool, flock, “mill-puff”, chaff, ulva marina (sea lettuce), coconut fibers, beech leaves, and metal coils/springs. Of course, they then go on to mention softer mattresses used in place of feather beds, so the terminology still has some flexibility. There's also an interesting discussion of English and French wool mattresses, the former being firm and the latter much softer (allegedly these wool mattresses are used instead of feather ones in France). And there's some regional differences between chaff (oat versus corn versus bran) which makes me think this is cribbing from a European source. This is one of the sources which describes waterbeds for invalids.

Household Work (London, 4^th ed 1855) states 2-3 mattresses as normal, with straw as the lowest level and wool/horsehair/flock for the upper ones.

The Practical Housewife (London, 1855) discourages the use of featherbeds, advising the use of mattresses made of wool or wool with horsehair. It suggests that extra sheets, blankets, etc., be "aired" by placing them between the straw paillasse and the mattress. In making beds, the feather bed or mattress (possibly whichever is used topmost?) should be turned down when airing the bed before it is made each morning.

A Manual for Domestic Economy (London, 1856) has price lists for different mattress options and materials, and also ranks all the aforementioned materials by the heat conduction. It is asserted that featherbeds are no long ubiquitous, having been replaced by wool or hair mattresses (and recommends a wool mattress over a spring mattress to achieve maximum softness + coolness). It also alludes to the French practice of remaking a mattress every year to keep it clean and not lumpy.

How to Make a Home and Feed a Family (London, 1857) also favors hair above feathers (literally: put the wool mattress over the featherbed to keep cooler), listing other mattress materials as wool, flock (low quality wool), wood/paper shavings, and coconut fiber. This is another book which praises French wool mattresses as “soft and luxurious”, though it warns that wool mattresses need to be re-made regularly to keep comfortable.

“How to Furnish Beds, Pillows, Mattresses, etc.” in The Family Friend (London, 1858) describes how feather beds in particular are made, noting the different grades of feathers and of linen or cotton ticking, the finished weight of the bed (usually around 40 pounds, but ranging from 20 to 70/80 pounds), and the alternative stuffing options of “wool, flock, shavings, straw, chaff, and the leaves of the beech tree.”

The Family Farm, and Gardens, and Domestic Animals (1859) claims that featherbeds are best used only in winter; in summer, one should use a mattress of hair, moss, straw, corn husks. 

The Family and Householder's Guide (Auburn, NY, 1859) also comes out against feather beds and in favor of wool mattresses, with straw, moss, or dried corn (maize) husks as cheaper alternatives.

Beeton's Book of Household Management (London, 1861) details how to make beds in section #1305. The process includes shaking up the featherbed every day, turning spring mattresses regularly, and rotating the mattresses daily.

Godey's excellent article on Remaking and Mending (1862) claims that tiny, unable fabric scraps from garments can be pulled apart and used to stuff bolsters and even childrens' mattresses. 

The Book of the Household (London, 1862) strongly condemns feather beds as unhealthy, preferring horsehair; straw is also mentioned as 'safer', but the focus is on horsehair for mattresses and bolsters, except for in the coldest weather.

Cookery and Domestic Economy (London, 1862): Advises servants to shake and turn the featherbed daily, but that mattresses only need to be turned occasionally.

An article in The Working Farmer (New York, 1864) describes mattresses of feathers, husks, moss, wool, and “composition” (combination of wool or cotton with moss/husks and/or hair). A composition mattress over a husk mattress is recommended as a cheaper alternative to a hair or spring mattress. This article also mentions using a cotton or wool-filled “comfort” as a top layer option (like the featherbed).

Still Life

My new still from Goosebay Workshops

I've wanted a still for some time (it was the best part of O-chem), and finally have the chance to play with a repro one. Huzzah!

The Elements of Materia Medica and Therapeutics (1843) mentions distallation of rosemary with water to recover rosemary oil (used externally as a "stimulating liniment" or perfume); it also discusses rosemary spirits, that is, rosemary essence in an alcohol base (without or without the distillation step) .

Mrs. Rundell's The New Family Receipt Book (1823) describes distilling rosemary in wine spirits to make hungary water, and rose petals in water for rosewater.

A Cyclopedia of Practical Receipts (1846) gives receipts for distilling rosemary, lavender, mint and other herbs in alcohol or vinegar.

The Dictionary of Practical Receipts (1848) includes "rules for the distillation of simple waters", without specifying particular herbs.

The Magazine of Science and Schools of Art (1842) uses rosemary as the example herb for co-distillation with water; it also gives instructions for cinnamon, peppermint, orange peal, orangeflower, and jasmine, among others.

The Domestic Dictionary (1842) goes into more detail about water-herb distillation, but does not list specific herbs. Between these last three, I'm feeling fairly historically justified in applying the technique to everything in the garden.

First attempt was made with fresh-cut lavender.
By visual approximation, there were
about 3 dry quarts of flowers and stems.

Still set up on the stove. The damp towel helps cool
the condensing cone, while an ice-water bath is used
to keep the collection cup from heating up.

Approximately 3 cups of lavender water was made.
It's definitely been my most successful herb.

I've tried lemon balm, and rosemary as well (yielding 1 cup and 1.5 cups from similar quantities of herbs over a similar time). The rosemary smelled nearly as strong as the lavender, while the lemon balm was relatively insipid. Here's hoping the mint works well!

Patchwork Kettle Holders

"Children may learn to make patch work by beginning with kettle holders and iron holders and for these purposes the smallest pieces of calico may be used. These holders should be lined with thick white muslin and bound all round with tape at one corner there should be a loop by which to hang them up. Blower holders are very convenient for the use of servants to save their hands from scorching when they remove the blower from the coal grate."
---Eliza Leslie's "The American Girl's Book", 1831/57, page 301

Wash Water

Citation organization time: 1850-1865 references to the importance of soft water (rainwater or chemically neutralized) for washing clothes.

The Jolly Washerwoman
Lily Martin Spencer, 1851

All the water used for washing must be soft, otherwise the clothes cannot be made clean.
-The Home Book of Household Economy (1859)

The Home Book of Household Economy goes on recommend treating hard or 'brackish' water with lye or soda before attempting to wash clothes; rain water is also recommended. (This message also appeared, verbatim, in Miss Leslie's Lady's House-Book, which was in its 11th edition by 1850.)

 "No washing can be properly done without an abundant supply of soft water; rain water suits the best for the purpose if collected in clean butts or tanks."--The Common Things of Everyday Life (1857)

The Economical Housekeeper (1860) favors spring or river water over rain water for laundry, citing a need to filter the rain water.

"A Chemist in the Laundry", a Scientific American article reprinted in The Home magazine, blames yellowed linen on excessive soda in the wash water and/or on not changing the water often enough. It also claims that blueing does not restore the color(lessness) of garments so much as cover the yellow hues. This "bad color" is "the great thing to guard against" as it "partakes of a permanent evil."

An Encyclopedia of Domestic Economy (1855) advises on the proper construction of a wash house/ laundry/ drying space, including the use of cisterns for storing rainwater off the roof (or holding pumped water). Interestingly, it has water taps!


Household Work (1855, 4th edition) has a lot of interesting tidbits, even if the question-and-answer format reads awkwardly to the modern eye. If one has not a 'sufficiency' of rain or river water, spring water is to be softened with soda, wood ash (lye) or pearl ash. The softened water should not be used on flannel or colored fabrics.

Catherine Beecher's A Treatise On Domestic Economy (1849 revised edition) lists "plenty of soft water" as the first item required for washing clothes. Soda and "ley" are, again, advised for hard water.

More Pillow Pincushions

The bows may have achieved peak cuteness.

On the tenth day of Christmas, two more pillow pin cushions made as New Year's presents. I think these would look great hung on a Victorian Christmas tree (as presents).

The cushions are calico, the stuffing wool (one emory); I used Rit pale pink dye with vinegar to color the silk ribbon, and (again) got a very bright shade.

Christmas Roses

As mentioned in last year's Christmas Crafts post, I found some 1859 instructions in The What-Not for making paper roses. They are said to look well in a vase or basket in the parlor, and to be likewise appropriate for decorating a ballroom or schoolroom at Christmas-time (especially when arranged in evergreen branches), or for decorating the tree. White, pinks, red, and yellows are the recommended colors. I tried white, since that was the tissue paper I had to hand.

They got a little crushed in transit.

As promised, these are a relatively simple craft: cut out the paper, twist a square of paper over some cotton for a base, arrange each row of petals and twist the wire stem around, cover the edges of the last set with some green paper. I found positioning the green paper the most challenging bit, but by the third one, they were noticeably improving. There is a certain need to fuss with each petal in order to achieve a full and graceful rose.

Inktober 2018

Not having the skills to draw, I used the month as a chance to practice Copperplate writing.

Yay, a new old hand.

I used Eleanor  Winter's Mastering Copperplate Calligraphy, working on one letter per day (the other five went for fundamental strokes, and conecting the miniscules). I still have a lot of work to do on this hand, but it's off to a fun start.

Favorite letters: F, T, X, V, f, s, s (long), p, w (old style), z.

Least Favorite: M, Q, the round forms of B, P, R.

Long and Short s

I'm working on my roundhand/copperplate script for inktober, and found a lovely discussion of the long and short forms of miniscule s. It's quite informative, and there are graphs of usage frequency (in printed texts)!

A Pincushion Needlebook

Needlebook with pin cushion.

Between the color combination, and my slight mis-measurement of the pincushion (finished width 3/4", not 1/2") , I've decided that it looks like an ice cream sandwich.  Another Fanciful Utility project.

Needle book interior.

Pillow Pin Cushion

From Anna Bauersmith's recovery pincushion pattern.

Pillow pincushion...well six little cushions.

I used cotton prints from my stash (this is a good project for using up tiny pieces), with wool roving for the stuffing.  As an experiment, I stuffed one of the cushions with emery for sharpening needles--while it does tend to weigh that side of the pincushion down, the effect is less pronounced than I expected.

Another view.

It's a cute little handful of a pin cushion, and made up very quickly.

Periodicals

The news of the day, October 5, 1855.

I hand-bound the Harper's in nine pamphlets of 16 pages each
(four pieces of paper, printed two pages to a side),
with the cover glued at the spine.

I'm rather proud of these, though there's still improvements to be made.  October 5, 1855 editions of the Pioneer and Democrat (Olympia), and Puget Sound Courier (Steilacoom). The former explicitly announces the arrival of the August issue of Harper's Magazine, via express from San Francisco, so I decided to give the Tolmies a copy as well.  Still working on cleaning up a Godey's, so it won't be appearing at Candlelight tonight.

Nisqually Album Quilt Ideas

I've had a few quilt ideas bouncing around in my head (like the wool one that I'll be starting on as soon as I get two more dresses cut out, and thus have some 'cabbage' to play with).  One quilt that I would like to make is another album quilt, this time with signatures from all my west coast reenactment friends--my first ever attempt at a reproduction quilt being a chimney-sweep album signed by my Minnesota reenacting circle. I like having it as a memento, and would love to do another incorporating scraps from my different projects.

Design 1: Crosses, 1840-1860 [tilted variation of the 'narrow X' album block with sashing in between].

IQSCM 2008.040.0165

It's an album block, and I like how the sashing and orientation have played with its visual effect. The narrow stripes of white would limit inscription length, but this could still be a fun design. I could also try a different setting of the blocks.

Design 2: Hourglass, c.1840-1860

IQSCM 2008.040.0037

This example fits my time frame well. Though not an album quilt, the many white blocks could be employed for signatures and verses, and I like the symbolism of the turning hourglasses for a reproduction quilt signed by reenactors.  The block is straightforward, but isn't one I've made before.  I will need to find a nice print for the border (maybe one of the large-scale designs from Reproduction Fabrics).

Design 3: Nine-Patch, c.1850

IQSCM 2003.003.0185

The unbalanced nine patch is a classic pattern, and easily executed. I like how this version created a unified effect through repeated colors and sashing. The white spaces could admit signatures. Unfortunately, only five fabrics are used, including the border, so it wouldn't be good for incorporating dress scraps.

Design 4: Eight-Point Star set in stripes, c. 1830-1850.

IQSCM 2006.043.0218

It's a little before my main years (1855-1865), but this one's pretty and the white triangles could be turned to signatures. I would need to find a suitably awesome period fabric for the vertical stripes, though.

Design 5: Birds in the Air, c.1845-1865

IQSCM 1997.007.0289

It's pretty, falls within my reenacting time span, uses a lot of small pieces, and can be machine-pieced. I am also seriously coveting some of those prints. The downside is that there is no obvious place for signatures.  While it won't fit my current needs, I'll have to keep this example for future consideration.

P.S. I'm still working on my hexagons, but the amount of hand sewing ensures that one will be 'in progress' for some time.