“It is evident that the latter, by compression and friction, will mat and lock together, while cotton and linen fibers, having no such asperities of surface, are incapable of anything like close mechanical adherence. Hence the peculiar capabilities of woolen fabrics of felting, fulling, and shrinking, caused by the binding together of the ultimate filaments. We see, therefore, the impolicy of excessive rubbing in washing woolen fabrics, and of changing them from hot to cold water, as the contraction that it causes is essentially a fulling process. The best experience seems to indicate that woolen cloths should never be put into cold water, but always into warm, and if changed from water to water, they should go from hot to hotter. In the most skillful modes of cleansing delaines for printing, the plan is, to place them first in water at 100° or 120°, and then treat them eight or ten times with water 10° hotter in each change.”
XII.
JUNE CARES.
THERE is much of romance and beauty in the month of June, partly imaginary and partly real. During the frosts and snows of winter, the sharp winds and dreary storms of spring, our thoughts turn with most affectionate longings towards June,—the month of loves and roses. Yet, when she comes, hardly any other month of the whole year brings so many little frets and annoyances as the month of June.
The first two or three days, so warm and balmy, lull us into a dreamy state of delightful rest and security; but we wake to find damp, foggy mornings, with mists so dark and dense that you long to cut a window through for the sunshine, which you feel must be held in durance vile behind it. Particularly is this noticeable if living near a river. All through the first half of the month we have cold, stormy days, then suddenly damp, sultry, sticky ones. In the morning we are uncertain how to dress. If warm, and we put on cool, thin garments, perhaps in an hour or two a chilly wind sweeps by, and, shivering and quite uncomfortable, we resort to a breakfast shawl or sack; they are a little too much, and we drop them, only too glad, in a few moments, to draw them close about us again; or, in an obstinate fit, we refuse to yield to the demands made by these sudden changes for warmer clothing, and a heavy cold is the result. The wind has a decided partiality for the east most of the time in early June. If it veers for a few hours to the south, it is in an unsteady, wavering manner, and soon turns back to the east again. The result is, that the first half of June will very likely keep you in an uncomfortable, dissatisfied state of mind. Everything molds; clothes grow damp in drawers or wardrobes, or the washing is caught out in a shower, just as it is half ready to be taken in. It is decidedly “falling weather.” Be watchful to guard against any infelicities that may follow these changes, patiently accepting what they bring that cannot be avoided. That’s the only true way. This variable weather usually lasts till the middle of June, sometimes later, when we may look for more settled but very warm weather.
The flies have been reconnoitring,—sending out scouts, during those few weeks of mild weather; but as the warm days become more permanent, they come on with their main army. We have put the moths to rest, but these intruders, if not as mischievous, are quite as hard to manage, and even as persistent. There are various kinds of “fly-paper,” around which, if ready for them, certainly lie large numbers of the slain to certify to the virtues of the paper. It is doubtless of some benefit, but does not by any means free us from this great vexation. It is at least a dirty, mussy remedy, requiring one to be incessantly on the watch lest flies who have tasted the paper fall into food, or lie about in an unseemly manner. If servants in the kitchen or dining-room have any gifts toward neatness, this constant litter makes them cross; if they have not that gift, the careless way they allow the dead flies to lie about, and the fear that they may approach too near the cooking, may make the mistress cross also,—two evils to be scrupulously avoided.
During the heat of summer we are compelled to keep open doors and windows, but these lawless intruders know, apparently, the moment when we lift the latch or raise the window, and swarm in upon us in myriads. To secure the air and baffle the flies, we have found mosquito netting a great help. A simple frame of pine, about an inch and a half wide, fitted closely inside the lower sash, with mosquito lace or net nailed across it (galvanized nails or tacks should be used, to avoid rust), is the most effectual safeguard we have ever tried. The frame must not be quite as high as the lower sash, as room is needed to push in the spring to open or close the window. The outside doors and those leading from the kitchen to the dining-room may have frames fitted in the same manner,—the frame having a cross-piece in the middle. It can be hung on hinges, having a hook in the cross-piece to fasten it with, while the real door may be kept open all day, excluding the flies, but leaving freedom for the air to circulate. By a few days’ extra care the family will soon learn to close this net door, or swarms of flies will quickly remind them of any heedlessness in this matter. A wire net is the most durable, although more expensive at first; but it will soon repay the extra expense, for lace or netting must be renewed every year. Yet notwithstanding these precautions, the flies will often effect an entrance, especially into the dining-room when dishing the dinner, or when merry, heedless children rush in and out, always forgetting to close the door. Cut old newspapers in strips an inch or an inch and a half wide, nearly the whole length of the sheet, leaving only about two inches uncut at the top. Take a smooth round stick about two feet long, and laying three or four of these cut papers together, wind the uncut part about the stick. Tie the paper on with strong twine, very tightly, so that it will not slip, leaving the long ribbons of paper hanging loose, and you have a most effectual fly-brush. Cheap calico is still better, as paper tears easily and litters the room. Keep one always on hand for the kitchen, and two for the parlor and dining-room. If the flies have secured an entrance during the dishing of dinner, when it is served spread a large piece of netting over the table to protect the food from dust or the flies you may brush down. Open the door, let two persons take each a fly-brush, and, standing opposite the door, swing the brush in concert through the room swiftly toward the door, and it will be amusing and gratifying to observe how hastily the intruders will vacate the premises. One or two well-directed charges will leave you free to shut the net door, remove the netting from the table, and partake of your dinner unmolested.
XIII.
PURE AIR AND THOROUGH VENTILATION.
AT all seasons of the year it is important that the house should be kept dry and well ventilated; but extra precautions are necessary in warm weather. The nights are often close and sultry; windows are left open with the hope—often a vain one—that an occasional breeze may deign to sweep through the rooms, and assist us in the labor of breathing. And here is danger. The night air, what there may be of it, and the heavy morning fogs, fill the house with dampness. The bedclothes are moist and disagreeable. The garments laid off on retiring at night, if left near an open window, are heavy with dew. Fever and ague, rheumatism, cholera, and dysentery lurk always in such an atmosphere. One of the best preventives is a quick blaze, in an open fireplace or stove, immediately after rising; no matter how warm the weather may be. A handful of brush or light wood, just to make a blaze, expel the bad air, and dry the rooms, not heat them, is all that is needed.
Those who can be in the country during the summer will have no difficulty in finding plenty of brush,—dead branches, or sprouts, or bushes, cut off in clearing up the fields or hedges. On a rainy day, when outdoor work or play cannot be advantageously attended to, a child could easily cut them up into foot or foot and a half lengths, tie them in fagots, and pile them neatly in the wood-house, ready for use. Keep one of these fagots always in the fireplace or stove, ready for lighting every morning. It will dry and purify the air wonderfully, and save doctors’ bills and much sickness.
Aside from the ill effects of dampness, the air is full of impurities arising from the body, and more injurious through the night than in the day. Professor Youmans says:—