Patching is a neat and expeditious method of filling up large holes, specially valuable for weak sight, or in repairing silk and thread stockings; or, in short, any fine material with loops so small as to render the raising up of each stitch a very tedious task. It is very similar to the linen buttonhole patch. Method of working: Cut out the unsound part straight to a thread, and prepare a patch of the same material to fit the gap exactly. Border with rather close buttonhole stitch the perpendicular edges of both hole and patch (Fig. 179). Attach lightly the 4 corners, graft the upper and lower edge, and sew the buttonholed by drawing together the opposite loops of each stitch (Fig. 180).
Refooting.—This process comprises herringboning, and the three different stocking, seams—grafting, buttonholing, and stitching. When the foot of a stocking is apparently past mending, separate it from the sound part of the leg, and rip up the 4 seams, thus detaching the sole from the upper part with the heel. Pin or tack each part on brown paper, outline the shape in chalk, then cut out, allowing nearly ¼ in. for turnings. Unpick the leg seam of any old stockings, spread them flat, and upon them place the paper pattern, the lines of which are followed precisely in the cutting out. The two pieces being ready, unite by buttonholing the side seams of the foot, and the centre seam of the leg. Method of working: Leave ¼ in. turnings, and buttonhole each folded edge. Then holding the work as for sewing, join the rows, either by a buttonhole stitch taken in each of the opposite loops, or by neat sewing. In most cases, however, a single buttonholed or sewn seam may suffice. When completed flatten the seam, and secure each turning by tiny herringbone stitches, carefully avoiding puckering. If preferred, a tiny ribbon sewn over the seam, can replace the turnings, though it will not be equally lasting. The toes and the two parts of the heel are united by stitching on the right side. Ravel out the edge loops, and lay the pieces opposite each other as for sewing, with the loops of the back in exact correspondence with the front ones. Insert the needle in the first loop, and bring it out in the next one, pass it back to the hole it first entered and bring it out again; thus each stitch occupies two bars. The joining of the sole and heel is accomplished on the wrong side. The ravelled-out loops of the sole are stitched on the ⅛ in. turning of the heel, which is fastened down on the latter itself by an almost imperceptible herringbone. This stitched seam is also occasionally used in stockings reheeled by knitting. The new foot is lastly grafted to the leg. It is almost useless to make any remarks on the most advantageous way of cutting out the pieces, as this depends so much on the size and condition of old legs at command. Nevertheless it may be advisable to suggest that if the width is insufficient to manage the instep and heel in one single piece, the latter can be slit up at the clocks, thus making two heel parts, to be connected with the front by the buttonhole seam, scarcely visible on the right side, especially when hidden by an embroidered spray. Such refooting may be considered rather long and complicated, but is most important for the elaborate and expensive hose now worn.
Supplementary Literature.
Misses S. F. A. Caulfield and B. C. Saward: ‘The Dictionary of Needlework; an Encyclopædia of artistic, plain, and fancy needlework; with over 800 illustrations.’ London, 1882. 21s.
Beeton’s ‘Book of Needlework; including tatting, crochet, knitting, netting, embroidery, point lace, guipure d’art, Berlin work, monograms, initials, names, crewel work, pillow lace, and lace stitches.’ London. Latest edition. 7s. 6d.
[THE LIBRARY.]
The library in a house is a haven to which the unlucky wight, kept indoors by a steady rain overhead and a slushy mire underfoot, may, or ought to be able to, seek retreat and pass many hours of quiet and thorough enjoyment, instead of wandering aimlessly about the house, and looking out of the windows with an idiotic expression on his face at the dim and misty landscape. But how can it be a peaceful, restful refuge, when the would-be reader finds a vast number of volumes, treating of all manner of subjects, intermixed in a most marvellous fashion; flighty romantists, witty memoir writers, heavy theologians, enigmatic scientists, and deep-thinking philosophers elbowing each other and almost crushing the unlucky poets out of sight? Dismay seizes the daring explorer of the wonders of a country-house library; the book he wants is not to be found, and what is more he does not know where to look for it, great names stare at him from all sides, and seem to sneer at him for being so foolish as not to read them; but then he wants a particular book, and in despair, rather than face the long row of books which seem to jeer at his unsuccessful attempt to get what he is in search of, he composes himself down to read Punch, or stare out at the drip, drip, dripping rain.
Let us see if this can be avoided. Of course it can; the way to change the whole aspect of affairs is so to arrange the books on their shelves that the veriest stranger, after he has been in the library a couple of minutes, should know where to look for what he wants, and put his hand on the book if it be in the collection.