Not in Kansas Anymore

~ twothreadsback ~ 2 Comments
Dorothy’s sewing book.
Eliza’s sewing book.

Well, one never was in Kansas and the other isn’t now! Here are two sweet sewing books. The one made by Eliza is American, from Kansas. The one made by Dorothy, who reminds me more of Glinda the Good, is from England. Besides the Wizard of Oz connection (I admit that was a stretch) they have other things in common.

TIME. Eliza’s book is dated 1912-1913, and was compiled during her Home Economics Housekeeper’s Course at Kansas State Agricultural College. Dorothy’s book isn’t dated, but assuming the photo is of her and taken around the time she attended the class, it was probably made soon after Eliza’s. It seems they studied sewing at different ages, however. Dorothy was obviously still a young girl, while Eliza was over 30 when she completed her course, as census records show she was born in 1881.

TECHNIQUES. Both cover the basic hand sewing stitches and seams, and they included samples of them in their books. They also learned patching, darning, and making plackets. Dorothy’s work is all done by hand, but Eliza has samples made by hand and machine.

Dorothy obviously put effort into her work, but compared to others I’ve seen, I don’t think sewing was her favorite subject.
Eliza’s work is more precise. However, she was older and likely more experienced when she took her course.

TEXTILES. Thrift was a virtue! Learning to make clothing economically was considered an important part of their education. Students needed to be familiar with fabric types and know which ones were appropriate for different garments. Truth in advertising could often be … well, elusive. And illusive. (For how to promote sales the right way, you can see some extravagant 1892 marketing here.) Textbooks practically encouraged suspicious shopping, and gave hints on how to distinguish good goods from bad goods. Both Eliza and Dorothy included swatches of fabrics in their books, a feature that became common after 1900.

Dorothy noted prices and purpose. Some of the fabrics are the same, or at least they go by the same name, today: georgette, shantung, taffeta.
I wonder if Dorothy was allowed to sew with any of these? I suspect not.
Eliza’s book has 3 pages of cottons, in addition to wool and silk!

The fabric samples are my favorite part of early 1900s-era sewing books. “Extinct” (or nearly) names appear in catalogs, journals, and books from those days, and while research and historians provide helpful descriptions, there’s nothing quite like seeing and touching a tiny bit of the textile for myself. Tarantulle is longcloth – who knew? Not me. A dictionary defines nun’s veiling, and yes, you can still buy it today (I checked), but it’s so much more fun to see a pink snippet from 1915. Textbooks tell me that albatross was wool, but Eliza had a nice cotton specimen. I can’t imagine asking for albatross at a fabric shop today! Well, if there were any fabric shops left today. There aren’t any near me. Maybe they’re still in Kansas?

Small Talk

~ twothreadsback ~ 5 Comments
“With thee conversing I forget all time”

Plain sewing often taxed the eyesight and dexterity of a seamstress and many of the examples I’ve shown used mind-bogglingly small stitches. They certainly boggled mine, anyway! Such microscopic work wasn’t limited to practical garments and household linen; it could also be used to make a sentimental token for someone special. The “watchpaper” above (which is obviously not paper) is an example.

A watch was quite a luxury until the 18th century, but by the end of that era they were more common, although still greatly valued. It was customary to protect the delicate workings inside with little circles of paper that could be printed with a variety of pretty or amusing things such as portraits of famous people, landmarks, poetry, or even advertising for the maker. And of course, they gave ladies the perfect opportunity for artistic expression. Now highly collectible, some papers were painted, or perhaps inscribed with elegant calligraphy while others were… drumroll… made to show off needlework!

Watchpapers could be embroidered, made of lace, or use simple stitches such as cross-stitch (marking) to convey affection or good wishes. I’m not sure what kind has been used to make the one above since it’s so small and time has taken a toll. What I find most touching is that the maker who stitched

“With thee conversing I forget all time”

has woven the silk thread with her (?) his (?) hair for the embroidery! If you are a bit ambivalent about the “hairwork” or preserved locks found in old jewelry or albums, I understand. But I think the eeriness is part of its appeal, a personal touch through time that makes the past real.

I like the idea of making one of these myself. It would be utterly useless since I haven’t got a watch for it. It would create eyestrain to the point of a headache. But it would only require scraps of material and a little bit of time – my kind of project!

PS You’ll find more on the history of these tiny treasures online, and lots of pretty ones to see (Pinterest or auction sites) if they catch your fancy. PPS This one will be available on my Etsy site soon, as I continue uncollecting!

Nanny’s Lace-making

~ twothreadsback ~ 2 Comments

Lace is about as far as you can get from plain sewing, but this little collection is so sweet it deserves a bit of attention. “Point Lace, The Royal Point Lace Instructor,” by Mlle. Riego de la Branchardiere was published in 1869, and provided ladies who had crafty fingers, and some free time, with all they needed to make their own tape lace.

This handwritten version of Mlle. Riego’s book belonged to a woman born only a couple of years after the original was published. “Nanny” was a widow who worked as a children’s nurse for a family in Devon, England in the early 1900s. In 1901, she made a copy of the published book in a notebook of her own, and meticulously traced the patterns and illustrations onto tissue paper.

A large tissue pattern for a border or insertion of Venetian Point Lace.

In a 1960s letter, a previous owner of the lace work recommended a needlework supplier, Mesdames Mace and Nairn, that may still be supplying embroiderers today!

The collection comprises samples of unfinished work tacked to two layers of ground fabric. There’s one with a heavy canvas backing with a lighter cotton front, and two strips that are puzzling. They have a muslin back and pink glazed cotton front that has the lace pattern inked on it. What makes them unusual is that they’re constructed like old-fashioned sewing roll-ups (kits), bound with purple silk ribbon. You can see where they’ve had the tapes tacked to the pattern and then clipped off in places. Were they used for teaching? For reference? They’d be easy to roll up neatly and carry in a work box or bag! Or maybe they just allowed Nanny to work on a length of lace at a time, untack it, and then do another, while the “roll-up” kept the fabrics together and prevented raveling?

A deep blue pattern with bright points of light shining through the old tacking marks – like a starry night!

The largest piece is made of blue glazed cotton which appears to be stamped with a pattern, probably purchased from a shop. It has a pattern number (reversed) and a crown logo. It’s obviously been used. I wonder if the finished project is still tucked in a drawer somewhere or in a stack of old linens in an antique shop.

A closeup of the fine work that she did. Apparently the instructions gave her no problems at all!

This last photo shows how pretty the lace is when finished and cut from the backing. It would have made lovely trimming. Some clues about Nanny and her life survived with the collection, showing the path it traveled over a century. The stories are as much a treasure as the relics!

P.S. This collection (along with other “old” things) is ready for a new home, I will be listing it soon! Check my Etsy shop as I downsize, a little at a time!

True Taste and Correct Principles

~ twothreadsback ~ 9 Comments

Dressing dolls in a rich or showy manner, is among the earliest and most effective means of forming in little ones a taste for a similar style of dress in themselves or others. The toy baby or lady is arrayed in fine colors, gossamer fabrics, or rich silks, and loaded with all the trimmings and ornaments which fashion permits. This gaudy or splendid object is admired by everybody, and every part of the dress commented on by the wondering owner, in terms of enthusiasm, worthy of Victoria’s bridal paraphernalia. Who can wonder that the little girl receives the impression that the style of dress which calls forth such rapture is exceedingly beautiful, and all–important?

Give children dolls dressed in accordance with the taste which you would wish to form in them, and a style which you would like to have them imitate. And never allow a doll’s dress to be commented upon as though it were a matter of any importance, except in reference to tidiness.

A true taste and correct principles in regard to dress may be formed in young children under proper management. –The Mother’s Journal, 1843

Well, thank heaven my mother didn’t follow that advice! I loved every bit of glitter, color, sequins, or lace that I played with, wore, or admired from a distance. It certainly didn’t affect my dress taste as adult. Maybe it would have been better if it had, since now I’m more likely to ask “do I have to wear shoes?” when I’m invited anywhere!

I still love extravagant doll clothes. In fact, this project didn’t start with a doll, it started with a doll corset. I bought it because it was hand sewn (and a bargain) even though 1– I didn’t have a doll to wear it, and 2– it was the wrong period for the Romantic and Gothic styles I wanted to sew. No problem, I thought, just make a doll body to fit it. And then find a doll head to fit the body and the fashions!

So what if I’d never made one before? So what if I knew (still know) nothing about 1830s-40s dolls? But just like making Pharaby, “faint heart never won fair lady,” let’s have some fun! So here’s a look at what turned out to be years of fun.

I made the body with 2 layers of fabric so the sawdust wouldn’t leak through. It’s dyed with tea to match the complexion of the head which was reproduced by Royal Copenhagen in the 1970s from the original molds. Warning: if you make skinny ankles out of muslin and sawdust they will flop. Solution: orthopedic surgery with wooden dowels. That wasn’t fun for either of us, although termites might have enjoyed it.
The arms were custom made of leather by a doll-making pro (it’s why they look so good) and then colored by me to match her complexion (it’s why the color doesn’t). Her chemise is pretty standard, similar to my other dolls’, which are gores, gussets, and rectangles pieced together. Her drawers are “open” style and they close with antique linen buttons – also used on the straps I added to her corset. You can see the outline of the whalebone busk down the corset’s center.
She also got plain tucked and corded petticoats. The corded one needs some alteration because I didn’t like how the cords showed through the muslin. Which is why it didn’t make the photo shoot.
Her green silk shoes weren’t as hard to make as Pharaby’s because she has (dare I say it?) not-dainty-feet.
The shoes were lined with glazed linen which was excruciatingly difficult to do.The silk knit stockings were custom made by a pro. I knew there was no way on earth I could make them myself to fit the awkward combination of skinny ankles and not-dainty-feet.
We had to have sleeve supports! Those ginormous gigot sleeves that were so fashionable couldn’t stand on their own. Ladies of the era contrived a way to save sleeves from collapsing by wearing supports resembling little pillows or cages. If you’re already wearing a dozen undergarments, a couple more can’t hurt. I stuffed them with wool instead of down. The sawdust was messy enough. Me with feathers? Unthinkable.
This was the first dress I made. I love the historical cotton prints available for quilting, but bemoan the weight. It won’t shape and drape like period calico did, and that’s especially evident in doll clothes.
The bodice is lined with vintage glazed linen and the waist is covered with vintage tape. I’ve forgotten how many tries it took to get the skirt gauging (gathering) to fit. Suffice it to say more than one.
Of course every lady needed a pelerine or fichu or canezou or whatever name this ethereal embroidered kerchief was called. This one is refashioned from a rescued/repurposed vintage bit of whitework.
The next dress was an adventure in pattern making; I was aiming for an early ’30s ballgown that would work with sheer oversleeves and I had pink silk satin that was begging me to use it. The scalloped collar (see the first image) was an ordeal – making it fit and lie properly on the shoulders and then meet like it should in the back – arrghh!
However, that was nothing compared to figuring out the sleeves. Workwoman’s Guide and Patterns of Fashion to the rescue.
Unfortunately, with sleeves, you have to make two. And here’s the kicker – they have to match – as mirror images! It looks like the back of the silk is a different color here, but that’s just the lighting.
Sleeve attached. WITH piping! You’ll notice, however, that there are no photos showing both sleeves together. See caption above.
My favorite part! The oversleeves. Until I started searching for examples to go by, I had no idea they were such “a thing.” But the internet is full of portraits of women wearing them. The buckle was a lucky find on Etsy. Vertical rectangular buckles were also very much “a thing.” (Hint: I have one listed there myself right now!)
Moving towards 1840s here, with tighter sleeves and long pointy waists, as my lady became a young matron and wanted a more dignified style. And guess what? Scarlett wasn’t the only one who could make a gown out of curtains! I bought this silk years ago for windows. It was the perfect weight for a doll dress. You might say we “just saw it in the window and couldn’t resist!”
Let’s see… what went wrong during construction? First I tried to use some vintage glazed lining that wasn’t up to the job. Too many needle holes and it cracked. Started over. Then realized I’d cut the bodice in a totally modern way. Started over. Then made yards of sleeve trimming which I trashed because it looked awful on the sleeves. Started over.
After all that, the skirt was too easy. Except that I hemmed it first for convenience, then left the wrong edge open for the waistband. Started over. Maybe there’s no such thing as too easy?
This gown was a pleasure to sew because the cotton was so thin, like original calicos and ginghams. The sleeves were cut like the floral dress, then gauged (gathered) to fit close to the arm.
A tippet! Can’t have an 1830s wardrobe without at least one!
My lady needed a nightdress and I had an unfinished project that was doomed to remain that way. So I used parts of it for her gown. I shouldn’t say what’s inauthentic about it, but I will: the hem shouldn’t have tucks, but it does.
To compensate for taking liberties with the nightgown, I went the extra mile for her night cap and actually sewed the strings (ties) like originals were done, instead of using ribbons. The hems are tinier than they look in the photo, and my vision is now a little worse.
I’ve never watched a horror movie, ever. But making this dressing gown felt like I was living one. I had only a few online images to go by (e.g. Augusta Auctions here). Figuring out how to make the lining fitted in the back and tie around the front and the yoke attach to the front skirt and the sleeves fit it all… I was within an inch of setting fire to days of tortured work. So I put it away for a long time, then got it back out and fought it till I won. NEVER AGAIN. (Photo of me using my patented paper towel pattern method.)
Last of all, a cloak for cold weather. It’s made of a dull gold cotton velveteen, lined with ivory silk which is quilted with wool batting. It’s edged with silk ribbon unraveled into fringe and a curly silk trim.
The quilting took ages and I had to stitch it flat on a table to keep it straight. Some of the lines are crooked anyway.

I really should add another gown or two to her wardrobe, perhaps some more accessories and a bonnet. She’s also missing something else important, and I can’t seem to find the perfect fit. She needs a name! Suggestions welcome – if they show a True Taste. We won’t worry about Correct Principles.

About 1849

~ twothreadsback ~ 8 Comments

“About 1849.” Except for the owner’s name, that’s really all I know about the history of this particular little sewing album. It’s bound with marbled paper card stock, edged with silk ribbon, and the colorful pages have the feel (and unfortunately the quality!) of children’s construction paper. Written inside the front cover is “made about 1849 by Mary M. Quiston, later Mrs. Reid, later Mrs. Porter.” (The “M. Quiston” might be “McQuiston.”)

Samplers of cross stitch (marking), embroidery, or darning skills have a long history in Britain, America, and Europe, but the popularity of books containing specimens of plain sewing stitches began in England in the 1810s. They were developed as part of the “monitorial” education system where pupils who had mastered a skill instructed the ones who were just learning it.

This system of “mutual education” was originally applied to basic reading, writing, and arithmetic, then to plain needlework since it was an essential part of female education. Understanding sewing instruction techniques was much easier if you had a small sample to see. Books with samples of hemming, stitching, seaming, marking, etc., were originally intended to help a teacher follow “the system” in her classroom, but also developed into treasured collections preserved by the girls who had worked them in order to demonstrate their accomplishments.

This is one of two caps included in the 1816 British and Foreign School Society manual, a book intended as a guide for educators who were using their monitorial system. It’s attached to the page so I can’t fold it out to show it well, but there’s a tiny number “1” marked in red cotton barely visible on the left. The other cap is marked (surprise!) “2.”

The earliest books might include a miniature shirt, cap, or apron, but it wasn’t long before they added other items like stockings, sleeves, dresses, trims, etc. to the classes. Educators appreciated the savings in time and expense that using small samples offered (and heaven knows charity schools needed to economize!) but maybe they had another reason as well: it was fun making tiny garments that were just like doll clothes! Here are some of my favorite pages from Mary’s book.

This dress is a simpler style than the sheer one above and it’s made of printed cotton.
Mary sewed this child’s dress with nine tucks in the skirt, gauged gathers, and trim she (probably) made herself.
We can’t forget the MOST important garment in the Plain Sewing repertoire: The Shirt. No course in plain sewing was complete without this accomplishment!
Here’s an example of the practice cuffs or wristbands that would have been worked before she advanced to making the above shirt. Knitting was also an essential needlework skill for women, and most 19th C sample albums included examples. There was a single full-sized stocking tucked into the book also.
Plain and fancy! Mary did all the hemming, seaming, and making buttonholes in her earliest lessons, but she obviously got to learn some fancywork as well. If you get a thrill looking at daguerreotypes of that time (Pinterest is sooo addictive) you might recognize the vandyke collar pattern that was so popular then.
Nope, it’s not a walrus mustache. It’s some pretty (or not!) wool trim, useful for Victorians who didn’t know the meaning of restraint in decor. Mary also made a hexagon quilt patch and worked a scripture verse on punched paper. I don’t understand why 19th C needle workers seem so untroubled by words that run out of roo– m. Why???
Two pairs of undersleeves were kept with the book. I assume they were Mary’s work because they have her initials marked in cross stitch. I’ve circled them in the photo to show how small they are. The sleeves show wear, so I don’t know if they were part of her sewing instruction or later work that stayed with her album.
The marked initials are less than 4mm tall. I never cease to be amazed at the tiny stitches they could make. The letters look like M B Mc to me. McQuiston?

I wish I knew more about Mary. How old was she when she learned to sew? Did she have daughters who wanted to take the dresses for their dolls? I would have! Did she use her skills for the rest of her life, or pack them away, back “around 1849”?

Three Scoops

~ twothreadsback ~ 10 Comments

What happens when classical simplicity meets feminine extravagance? Well, here’s a dainty survivor from long ago, with a feature quite fashionable in its day – sooo very “Regency.” The sleeves remind me of a three-scoop ice cream cone! They’re called by various names today, but I can find no specific period name for them. Like other fashions that tend toward “profusion,” they were subject to satire.

Enough fluff, do you think? Le Bon Genre numéro 54 : Manches en Spirales, Profusion de Garnitures, 1812″. Paris, Musée Carnavalet. CC0
Revealing and concealing – and quite a few scoops of ice cream! “Le Bon Genre, N°50. Les Garnitures. G.10779″ by Anonyme, graveur. CC0 1.0.

And a lot of scoops on this one as well! It’s not satire, but a fashion plate. “Morning Walking-Dress: A round robe dress of white figured muslin, with worked bosom, made high on the neck–vandyked collar of lace–long sleeves, made full, and drawn across in five or six divisions–to tie in small bows of light blue ribbon:–the robe trimmed at the feet with a triple row of light blue ribbon: the shoulder-straps and bracer, ribbon of the same color.” The Lady’s Magazine, August, 1814. www. lacma.org

Sadly, the bodice has lost its collar, possibly removed for use in another garment. It may have lost something else, too! It could have been worn as a habit-shirt/tucker/chemisette, but there are signs that it was originally attached to a skirt.

A lot of the fashion plates I’ve seen depicting these multi-puffed sleeves are c.1810-15, but I’m not knowledgeable enough to date this one with any certainty. I am, however, always wildly curious to see how unusual styles were contrived and constructed. How did they make the puffs puff? It was fun to peek inside and see.

The bodice itself is simple enough. It opens in the front, with two double buttonholes at the top for linked buttons, and one glass button (original?) at the bottom. There are adjustable gathering tapes at the “waist” front and at the wrists. There’s piping at the shoulders and a single tuck on the upper arms. (I forgot to fold it down for the photo.) There are gathers on the shoulders and at the center back. Each puffed “scoop” is gathered to a narrow band made out of the same fabric. It’s not one long, full sleeve piece gathered or tied at intervals.

Here’s my chance to slip in plain sewing stitches: the view from inside shows the backstitching that was used to attach the sleeve, the overcasting that prevented raveling, and the whipped gathers that attached the fullness to the plain band. (Click the image above and below for a larger view.)

And now the most curious part: the puffs are held in place with tacked-on cord! It looks just like any cotton string you can buy today. Can you imagine the effort of getting the lengths all set and the placement just right? I imagine it felt a little awkward to wear, too.

The fullness of the back is gathered and tucked in between a linen tape and the dress fabric, and then sewn to a cord on the inside to hold the gathers in place.

One tiny, beautifully worked darn is hidden under the arm. It’s easy to see how vulnerable these fine fabrics were to damage. Even in its youth, the muslin was fragile and the lightest pull or snag could mean disaster. Not to mention laundering, which could have been as hazardous as wearing!

A perfect darn. Click for a closer view.

So there you have it, inside and out. I wish I knew the history – I’ve seen pictures of this same bodice on the internet, so I know it’s been through other hands. But alas, I may never learn its story. I also wonder whether the gown was worn starched so that the puffs would be full, or whether they were allowed to droop gracefully. Because of the sleeves’ crepe-like texture, and no trace of starch, I vote for drooping. Although when posed on the mannequin, gravity makes it look like the ice cream is melting. But then gravity eventually does that to us all!

I’m melting….But with elegance!

Nine What?

~ twothreadsback ~ 3 Comments
A stitch in time saves nine.

I’ve heard the old adage “a stitch in time saves nine” since I was a child, but I think I was an adult before the light clicked on. It made no sense to me: saves nine what? My ten year-old self thought it was silly. My grown-up self got the point, but still thought it was silly.

A few decades later, I can almost appreciate it ‘as written’. According to Thomas Fuller in 1732,

Because Verses are easier got by heart, and stick faster in the Memory than Prose; and because the ordinary People use to be much taken, with the clinking of Syllables; many of our Proverbs are so form’d, and very often put into false Rhymes; as, A Stitch in time, may save nine…. This little Artifice, I imagine, was contriv’d purposely to make the Sense abide the longer in the Memory, by reason of its Oddness and Archness.

Of course it means that attending to a problem now will save you many times the work later. When clothing or linens need mending, it’s better to do it before the damage gets worse. In the 19th century, mending and darning could take as much time as making and were an important part of plain sewing since the pile of work never diminished. Period fiction rang true, as in this excerpt from The Christian World Magazine, 1869:

I have so much to do – there are so many little ones, and mamma is so very often poorly. And the fact is, we are not rich. I have to make and to mend, and to turn, and to return, and so we never come to an end of the sewing. I sometimes speculate on the foot of a stocking, and wonder whether there is half an inch of the original fabric left in it! One darns it first quite neatly, and then one darns the darns, not quite so neatly, of course; and lastly, one cobbles as well as one can the darned darns, till it becomes quite a work of art, I assure you.”

Lots of quick and clumsy patching abounded (by necessity I’m sure!), but I’m amazed at the delicate repairs you can find in finer clothing (examples here, here, and here). One day last summer, I temporarily lost my mind and decided to try it myself on a baby gown in need of repair. Before starting, I looked at a similar gown with a neat mend to see how they’d accomplished it. It had a 3/4″ darn right in the center front.

Can you spot the period mend on this c. 1810 infant gown? Front and center. It’s right below the “Uh-oh!”
Here’s a closer view of the darning.

The one I wanted to repair had eraser-tip size holes on one sleeve and a tear at the back opening. My first problem was finding thread to darn with. Even the finest cotton thread I had looked wrong – too white, too glossy, too thick. So I raided a bag of “damaged beyond saving” muslin scraps and used the closest color and weight match, pulling threads from the fabric itself, trying to get strands long enough to use. I reviewed old sewing manuals for directions, but since I was being adventurous anyway, decided “Never mind manoeuvres, always go at them!”

Here you can see the holes on the front of the left sleeve. It was a daunting task for a first try. But how could I make it any worse?
I worked from the inside to keep it less visible on the outside.
No more holes!
The tear on the back was a little easier because it was straight along the weft. And I’d had a little practice by then!
By this time I was actually having fun with these tedious tiny stitches and went looking for more. I found a couple of pin sized holes and Saved Nine again!

The gown did have one period repair: a three-cornered or “hedge” tear. (At least that’s what it’s called in late 19th century manuals. I only found one earlier reference to hedge tear, 1850s.) I can’t take credit for this darn, darn it. It was neatly done, and I didn’t even discover it until I was part way through my own mending!

A nicely darned tear, done in the gown’s younger days.

All in all, I was pretty satisfied with the results. They wouldn’t stand professional scrutiny, but they work for my purpose and were way more fun than I expected. I’d like to do more. But wait. Does that mean I do or don’t want to Save Nine?

Dropped My Scissors in the Well

~ twothreadsback ~ 2 Comments
Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, FSA/OWI Collection

My dear sister Fannie,
As I have just dropped my scissors in the well, have no more sewing cut out, and can conscientiously spare the time, I will write you a few lines. Indeed I would have written you before this, but I have no time at all to do anything for myself. I’m teaching the boys from eight till time for doing my cooking. All of us are quite well, so are all Pa’s folks.

Pa has not settled down steadily to work since Ma’s death. Keeps us uneasy all the time. I have set no hens yet, but intend to raise a lot this year. What luck are you having with your chickens and geese this year?

Can your baby walk yet? Mine is beginning to talk, has eight teeth and four more in sight. He is not much trouble now, only he climbs and can go up the stairs a good deal faster than I can. With much love to yourself, Ben and the children, I am as ever,
Yours affectionately,
Mollie

1882 Letter to to Fannie Dudley in Florida from her sister in Georgia1

You can’t sew without scissors, right? Seems like a pretty good excuse to me! I haven’t been sewing much lately either, but I’ve managed to entertain a few leisure hours with good books. Here are some I’ve found so interesting that I thought I’d share.

The Accomplished Lady, A History of Genteel Pursuits, c. 1660-1860 by Noël Riley is a guilty pleasure for this plain sewing enthusiast, since it’s far from plain. It’s a fabulous look at the 17th-19th century crafts, hobbies, and amusements that women who could afford leisure pastimes enjoyed. It covers the things you’d expect such as music, dancing, and cards, but I found the chapters on needlework, beadwork, shellwork and other nature crafts especially fascinating. Seaweed pictures, straw work, paper filigree… so many ways to exercise talent and display creativity! There’s even a bit on theorem or “poonah” painting. It’s beautifully illustrated – got to love the eye candy! – but the scholarly research which sets it all in context (without the tedious academese saturating so many similar works today – thank you, Ms. Riley!) makes it a valuable resource. The Accomplished Lady is definitely worth a book search or trip to the library!

Another happy find is closer to my plain sewing focus. Sweet & Clean?, by Susan North. While the title is the topic, personal cleanliness in early modern England, there is a lot of information on the making, wearing, and washing of underlinen (shirts, shifts, etc.). That, of course, means plain sewing figures prominently!

The exhaustive research on the most private areas of daily life kept me engrossed through every chapter. If you have an interest in clothing, health, and domestic life during those years, you’ll find answers to questions you didn’t even know to ask. Sweet & Clean? might be overwhelming if you like to rush through historic site tours to get to the cafe. But if you’re someone who lingers and wants to explore behind all the closed doors, this one’s for you!

Not all my reading is print – books that are available online can be just as entertaining. Old catalogs are lots of fun to browse, and I’ve found that sewing time can dwindle because of them. Mollie’s lost scissors may have been much like these. Which, no surprise, actually look a lot like those in my sewing basket now. The image below is from Carson, Pirie, Scott & Co. Wholesale Drygoods Catalog, 1893. Have a look, it’s like shopping the past.

1893 wholesale catalog. Note the prices per dozen!

If that catalog doesn’t have what you need to stock your dry goods store, here’s another. See what Rice, Stix, and Co. had to offer in their wholesale catalog, 1890.

I have one like E1646 – and it’s not antique, just old!

Maybe when you can “conscientiously spare the time,” you will have as much fun reading as sewing. And if you have any good books to share, please do! It may be a while before I retrieve my scissors from the well.

1 Friends of Dudley Farm Newsletter, June 2000. You can read about Fannie and see her picture here.