To have a set place for everything is economy of both time and substance: you will then know precisely where to look and where to find. You should have neat trees made for your boots, and insist upon the regular use of them being observed. Brush your riding-habit carefully yourself, unless you have a maid who can be trusted to do it properly: namely, in a downward direction always, and never from hand to hand. Should it be wet, hang it in a cool, dry place, but not close to a fire—and place a stick across the skirt on the inside, in order to aid the drying process. Do not attempt to brush off mud spots until the cloth is perfectly dry.
Stretch your gloves upon block hands, made the size and shape of your own, and if they have been wet, be all the more careful about doing so. Make a frequent inspection of the stitching of them, and mend with a fine needle and silk any portions that may have given way, or seem likely to do so. Look to the buttons also, in order that you may not be inconvenienced at unexpected times.
If you wear a silk riding-hat, never be induced to allow an iron to touch it, except when wielded by a professional hand. You can renew it yourself by wiping it very lightly with a sponge just dipped in warm water, going carefully round and round, always the one way. When the hat is dry, brush it gently with a very soft brush, and finish with a silk handkerchief.
A black veil that has become discoloured by dust may be restored by dipping it a few times in cold water, shaking the wet from it, and stretching it neatly out upon a rail or line to dry. It will not require any ironing if nicely picked out with the fingers. Another way is to put the veil, when damp, between two soft cloths—old lawn handkerchiefs will do—and pat it smoothly out with the hands, leaving it then to dry without hanging.
Your celluloid collar and cuffs will wash beautifully in your basin, and will require no making-up, beyond a light wiping with the towel on which you dry your hands. The material is a marvellous invention, introduced by our friends across the silver streak, and is invaluable to equestrians in wet weather, as it never becomes limp after rain: a great improvement upon linen in this respect, as in many others also.
To conclude my list of economies: If you cannot afford the price of silk drawers and vests, fine cotton ones in summer, and merino in winter, will make good substitutes; but silk is not an extravagance in the long run—it wears so well and feels so delicious next the skin. Silk underclothing of all kinds is a great luxury, and considering the benefits that arise from the use of it, I question much whether ladies of even very moderate incomes will, at the end of twelve months, find themselves any the poorer for investing in it.
If silk stockings are thought too dear for wearing under or over cotton ones—and certainly they are an expensive item of dress—fine cotton ones will do very well; but there are few ladies who do not possess a supply of silk for dinner and evening wear—and these, when old, or deficient in colour and freshness, will serve the purpose quite as well as new ones.
While on the subject of “colour” it will not be amiss to give a hint or two about the proper method of washing silk and woollen underclothing. Silk stockings, vests, chemises, pocket-handkerchiefs, and so forth, ought to be washed as follows:—Mix six tablespoonfuls of bran with four quarts of water, put it to boil, and stir while boiling. When ready, pour into a tub, place the articles in it, and move them lightly about with a stick until the water is cool enough to bear the hand; then wash rapidly in the usual way, but without using soap. Rinse in three or four waters, hang out to drain in a bright, dry atmosphere, and iron while damp, placing a piece of fine muslin between the iron and the article on which it is used. This receipt will be found to answer admirably also for white flannels or woollens. For coloured ones the water must be in a lukewarm state. Neither silk nor woollen garments should ever be wrung.
On the subject of corsets I have from time to time received a vast number of letters, most of them wailing over my well-known abhorrence of cheap goods. Surely the matter is one of which ladies ought to be able to judge for themselves. I did not know that it was possible to obtain a really good corset, made specially for one’s-self, of best materials, and by a superior artist, for less money than I am accustomed to quote,—nor do I believe that it is. At the same time, corsets (like everything else) will be found ready manufactured in various qualities, and at different rates of charge. I have seen windows full of them in London, and even at expensive Eastbourne and Bournemouth, ticketed 1s. 11½d.! After this, who need complain of prices? The papers teem with advertisements of “ready-made corsets” of all patterns and descriptions, and I have heard many persons say that they have found them answer perfectly well. This being the case, I cannot see why the articles should not be given a trial, or why ladies of limited resources, and with figures easily fitted, should pay two or three guineas for a corset, when “perfect treasures,” or, at all events, something that will suit quite well (and that will not go to pieces all at once), can by all accounts be had for less than an eighth of the sum.
I once went to a famous London oculist, to consult him about the right sort of glasses to be used for extreme short-sightedness, and was quite prepared for his prescribing some rather costly affairs; but, to my surprise, he said, very pleasantly, “Just go to an optician and suit yourself. Don’t mind what he says; select something that you can see well through, and that does not in any way distress your sight, or cause your eyes to feel on the strain. Years ago,” he added, “I found that I wanted glasses myself, and coming across an old man sitting at the corner of a street with a tray of them before him, I chose a pair for a shilling, and I’m wearing them now.”