Part 1

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COMMON SENSE FOR HOUSEMAIDS.

BY A LADY.

Second Edition.

LONDON: THOMAS HATCHARD, 187, PICCADILLY. 1853.

LONDON: G. J. PALMER, SAVOY STREET, STRAND.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

Brass, how to clean 22

Bug poison 9

Carefulness, hints on 86

Carpets, how to clean 26

Clear-starching 77

Dress, observations on 90

Daily work, Housemaids’ 34-75

Economy, observations on 91

Fire, how to light 38

Floor-cloth, how to clean 33

French polish, how to clean 15-20

Grates, how to clean 8, 18, 35

Lamps, how to clean 59

Mahogany, how to clean 16-21

Marble, how to clean 19

Mirrors, how to clean 16-24

Nursing the sick, hints on 94

Paint, mixture for washing 11

Painted walls, how to clean 20

Papered walls, how to clean 14

Picture frames, how to clean 24

Pipeclay, how to prepare 31

Plate, how to clean 81

Scouring floor, different ways of 12

Stairs, how to clean 31

Sweeping, ways of 11

Washing muslins and lace 76

Windows, how to clean 23

EXTRACTS FROM A LADY’S JOURNAL, SHOWING THE ABSOLUTE NECESSITY FOR WRITING THIS BOOK.

Arrived yesterday in Cavendish Square at half-past five o’clock, for a visit of a few days. Much fatigued, but wonderfully sustained in spirits during the journey, by the prospect of seeing a dear friend, the ten thousand comforts of her well-regulated establishment, and the bright visions of the appearance of my accustomed bed-room. Again and again, had it risen before my mind’s eye, in all its glory. The inviting appearance of the smooth, flat, well-made bed, with the light night quilt of snowy whiteness (and the heavy creature folded aside); the easy chair, and footstool (with their bright crimson covers), turned towards the clear glowing fire; the dear little kettle of silvery brightness, on the hob, singing its accustomed song to its grateful mistress. A chair before the toilet, with its pink and pure white drapery. The bright looking-glass reflecting crystal candlesticks, wax-lights, and essence-bottles, with all the perfumes of Arabia. The washhand-stand, a perfect picture, surrounded by a hundred towels. The rose soap giving out sweet odours. The additional large tumbler for the saline draft, the cup and spoon, for less pleasant powders. Alas, alas! how are all those glories buried in the dust, and dust is now indeed the order of the day; my friend is the same in heart and soul, but she has sprained her ancle, and changed her _housemaid_.

Hurried to my room to dress, as the dinner was to be at six o’clock; went straight to the accustomed corner, where my trunk, resting upon a stand, uncovered and uncorded, used to be placed in readiness to be opened. The stand was empty, the trunk upon the carpet, the ropes and cover still on and covered with dust. Rang the bell; no one answered, rang a second time; the housemaid entered, undid the ropes, removed the dusty cover, and left the room. Turned to unlock my trunk, found it had been placed with the lock turned towards the wall; tried to re-turn it—found it impossible—rang again for the housemaid, and with our united efforts turned the trunk—stooped to unlock it, and found too late that the dust of weeks was on the carpet—shook it in disgust from my silk dress, and advanced in haste to the washhand-stand, to wash the remembrance from my hands at least,—found no soap, no warm water; fortunately had soap in my dressing-box, and, unwilling to apply a third time to a bell-rope of most frail and suspicious appearance, washed with ice-cold water, and having performed my toilet with inconvenient haste, descended to the drawing-room, and found that the dinner had been on the table some minutes. Forgot my discomforts in most agreeable conversation—but much fatigued, was thankful to retire at night, though with secret misgivings as to the discomforts I might perceive on re-entering my room. Opened the door and perceived nothing, the smoke impenetrable, and the fire out; rushed towards the window, threw it open, a rush also of wind and sleet, and the candle became extinguished; groped my way to the bell, pulled it vigorously, heard no sound, felt only a blow upon my cheek, and the bell-rope in my hand—wished it around the neck of a fellow-creature, advanced a few steps, got entangled in the ropes and cover of my trunk (still left upon the ground), stumbled and fell—found the door at last, and rushing out upon the landing-place, with the bell-rope in one hand, and all that remained of the crystal candlestick in the other, called franticly, _Housemaid, housemaid!_ Mr. B—— sprang from his dressing-room en robe de chambre. “What is the matter, is it fire?” he exclaimed. “Alas, it is neither fire nor candle,” was my melancholy answer, and my dark history was given. The housemaid, half undressed and sulky was brought into the room. The thick crust of small coal, through which no air could penetrate was removed, sufficient wood to light a dozen fires, thrust into the grate, pieces of small coal added, and all was soon in a blaze; the window was shut down, and the water on the washhand-stand, having once been warm, I resolved to be thankful for small mercies, and, pretending not to feel the smoke which lurked in every corner of the room, as well as in my throat, undressed and went to bed—“_To bed_, but not to _sleep_.” O the variety of _mountain heights_, and the scarcity of _pleasant plains_! fell asleep at last holding fast by the side of the bed, dreamt I was a swift rolling _snow-ball_, and awoke upon the floor.

Two more nights have passed—No, I will not detail them. What is friendship but a name?

I will leave the house——

I WILL WRITE A BOOK!

COMMON SENSE FOR HOUSEMAIDS.

This little book is intended to convey instruction with regard to a housemaid’s duties to the most ignorant in the simplest possible language. Many will throw it aside in indignation, and exclaim, “Does it require a book to be written to tell us that the drawing-room grate should be the first thing cleaned and polished, and not left till a room is swept and dusted, or that if the apartment has not been used for some time, and the carpet carefully covered up, it is better to leave it covered till the walls have been swept down, and the window-curtains brushed?” Strange as it may appear, such advice we have more than once found necessary; we therefore address ourselves to those who for want of regular training, and from not bringing common sense into practice, have fallen into similar errors to those here alluded to, and to a still more numerous race, who are every day leaving their father’s cottage with the desire to obtain a housemaid’s place, and would therefore willingly learn something of a housemaid’s duties.

A housemaid’s duties are various, and by no means easy of attainment; for she has to contend against a host of enemies—dust, soot, smoke, rust, insects of various kinds, and bad smells innumerable; let her, however, not be discouraged; all difficulties will give way before early rising, habits of activity, an acute nose, frequent open windows, and a teachable spirit; let us therefore proceed without further preface to give our best advice as to cleaning a house thoroughly after the six winter months of smoke and dust.

Let all the dusters and brushes which will be required, be carefully washed the day before you begin the work of cleaning. To sweep with a dirty brush will do more harm to a carpet than to leave it unswept; and a chair-cover, rubbed with a soiled duster, is injured in a way which no after-dusting can remove.

Let the stair-carpet be first taken up and folded to be beaten with the other carpets. If the family are absent, it is better that all the carpets which require to be beaten should be taken up at the same time and sent away, and all the chimneys swept before the cleaning begins. But if the family are at home, this should not be done, as the cleaning should then only begin in one room at a time, so as to occasion as little discomfort and inconvenience as possible.

Let the stairs be first swept down after the carpet has been removed, taking care that all the bed-room doors be previously shut. If the chimneys in the attics are to be swept, place a mat on the upper landing-place, and if the rooms have carpets, let the carpets be taken up in as many of the rooms as can be cleaned in one day: as the carpets in the upper rooms are, generally small, they are in most families beaten in the court below; the window and bed-curtains should also be taken down and well shaken and brushed below stairs, and the beds carefully covered up with a covering-sheet, well tucked in all round, that no soot may penetrate; then remove the tables and chairs into the landing-place, if there is space sufficient, turning the bottom of one chair down upon the bottom of another; if the landing-place is too small, remove them into one of the attics, and let this room be the last swept and scoured. As soon as the chimney is swept, let the soot be carefully collected, and the housemaid follow the sweep down stairs, taking care that he previously has rubbed his feet upon the mat, and also that he does not allow the bag of soot which he carries to touch the walls as he passes down,—this should be still more attended to, when some one chimney in a house may require to be swept at a time when the stair-carpet is not taken up; to have a handsome brussels carpet stained with soot is no light misfortune to a feeling heart, to trace the creature at every step is no pleasant journey.

The grate is next to be cleansed, and if polished with black lead, two brushes are to be used, one for putting on the lead, and the other for polishing. The fire-irons and fender to be scoured with emery cloth, and then rubbed quickly with a woollen cloth. All the articles required for the grates should be kept in a box for the purpose, and a coarse sheet should also be kept in the housemaid’s closet to be laid down whenever a grate is to be scoured: this may seem unnecessary in an attic room where the carpet may be shabby, or perhaps where there may be no carpet,—but the habit acquired is everything; where no sheet is laid down above-stairs, pokers, tongs, even dust-pans, are often put down on the drawing-room carpet, without a feeling of remorse; a well-trained housemaid would shudder at such a spectacle. The sweeping down of the cornices and walls should now be attended to. Let a pair of steps be brought into the room, and (taking care that they are stretched out to their full extent, so as to stand quite steady on the floor), let the housemaid, mounted on them with a long broom, sweep away the cobwebs and dust from the ceiling and cornices, sweeping also behind each window-shutter, and round the ceilings and shelves of the different presses in the room. The long broom should then be covered with a bag of coarse flannel, and the walls thoroughly swept down. After this has been done, spread a large sheet on the floor, and let the bedding be removed upon it and covered up, the frame of the bed thoroughly well brushed, and also all the edges and corners of the sacking bottom, where dust can lodge, and let the bed-posts and stock be well rubbed till no soil remains on the duster. Then with a feather or small hair-brush, anoint every joint and crevice with the following mixture:—

Put one ounce of corrosive sublimate into a pint of spirits of wine—shake the phial well, and keep it closely corked except when in use. Poison should be written in large letters on the phial, and great care taken to keep it in a safe place out of the reach of children.

Should the housemaid be called away, even for a moment, while she is using this mixture, let her not leave the room till she has put this phial out of the reach of every one. If the beds are kept free from dust, and every spring anointed with this mixture, there will be no risk of their becoming infested by those creatures which it is impossible to name, but which are very dreadful. Clothes-baskets from the laundress for this reason should never be brought into the bed-rooms. The clean linen should be carefully looked over below, and hung upon a screen before the fire, to be made thoroughly dry before it is put into the drawers or wardrobes. The dusting and anointing of the bed-frames being completed, proceed next to switch and brush the bedding—an old riding whip is an excellent thing for switching bedding or the cushions of chairs, as anything heavy and unyielding is apt to cut them; as soon as you have made the bedding free from dust, replace it on the bed, and cover all up with a sheet, well tucked in, leaving the bed-curtains to be put up, and the bed-linen put on after the cleaning of the room has been completed.

We come next to sweeping the floor previous to having it scoured. There are various modes of sweeping, and of non-sweeping; the non-sweepers follow the principle of letting _the wee pickle stour lie_ (as they say in Scotland)—they wash on the top of the dust, and the inky appearance of the boards brings no feeling of shame to their darkened minds; other young housemaids, again, sweep with an air, giving a slight toss up with the broom, at every motion of the hand, so as to make the dust mount up and settle on all that has been previously cleaned; a tidy young woman, on the contrary, sprinkles the floor first with tea-leaves, she then lays the broom close to the boards as she moves along, sweeping gently, but thoroughly, and leaving no spot unswept. If there are closets in the room, let them be first swept, and the doors shut, then sweep under the beds and chests of drawers, &c., before sweeping the other parts of the room. The scouring should then commence: the first thing to be washed is the paint of the window shutters, doors, chimney-piece, and wainscots all round, and this should be done with the following mixture. To every quart of soft boiling water, add half an ounce of soft soap, and half an ounce of pearlash. Soda is too strong, and injures the paint. Let this mixture dissolve before using it. If the room is to be in immediate use, boiled yellow soap may be used with the pearlash, as the smell of the soft soap is disagreeable at first. Scour the paint (a small portion at a time) with a coarse flannel and this mixture; rub straight up and down, then wash with a clean flannel and plenty of water a little warm (cold water makes paint look clouded), and dry with a linen cloth, rubbing briskly: where there is carving above doors or mouldings, use a painter’s brush, with the soap and pearlash instead of the flannel, as it gets better into the carved wood, and then wash with a flannel and water. The floor is next to be scoured, with a little soda mixed in soft warm water—wet a small portion of the floor with your washing-cloth of coarse flannel, rub yellow soap upon your scrubbing-brush, and scrub hard up and down the boards, but never across, then wash well off with clean cold water, and dry with a coarse cloth. In Yorkshire a wisp of straw, tightly rolled up and doubled, is used in scrubbing floors instead of a scouring-brush, and sand instead of soap, and the floors are beautifully clean and white; but this method is not understood in London; the sand there is generally of a dull grey colour, and the dust and smoke of a large city require soap and hard scrubbing. Except in country-houses, the German method of sweeping and washing at the same time would not answer either; there the sleeping apartments are generally without carpets, and a broom is seldom used in sweeping them; a coarse cloth is passed through water, and being wrung out, is drawn across the floor in every direction, and by this method no dust is raised upon the furniture.

The windows and doors should be left open that the floor may dry quickly, and while it is drying, the furniture outside the room should be dusted and rubbed. The furniture in the attics being generally painted wood, will require to be washed twice a-year with the same mixture as the other paint in the room, taking care to do it lightly, and to wash it quickly off with water. The carpet having been well beaten, should then be put down, straight and tight, upon the clean floor; a few small nails are requisite for this; but as the carpets in the attics are generally small, they require to be but slightly nailed down, and should be frequently raised: the furniture should now be restored to its proper place, and the door of the room shut; and after each of the attics has been cleaned in a similar manner the housemaid will proceed to the bed-room story. There all will be done as before; the furniture removed, the window-curtains and bed-curtains taken down to be switched and brushed, the beds covered up, and the carpet lifted, the chimney having been previously swept and the soot removed. The grate and fire-irons will next be scoured, the beds switched and brushed, and the mixture used for the bed-stock; the cornices will be swept, and the paint of the doors, window-shutters, &c., &c., taking care that in sweeping the paper on the walls the long broom be covered with a clean flannel bag, which should be frequently shaken and turned during the operation; for if the flannel is not clean the paper will look worse than it did before. Paper on walls can be made to look almost new by being cleaned with stale bread; this is a more tedious process; when it is to be done, however, after sweeping the walls with the broom covered with flannel, take a quartern loaf of stale bread three days old, cut it into four pieces, and holding the crust in your hand, rub lightly downwards, taking about half a yard at each stroke; the next time of going round the room begin a little above where the last stroke ended, and take care not to rub across the paper or to go up again. The floor having been sprinkled with tea-leaves, should be swept before the bread is used for the walls, and it will require to be swept a second time before washing the paint of the window-shutters, doors, chimney-piece, and scouring the floor commences. If the carpet does not entirely cover the room, attention should be observed in scouring thoroughly those places not covered, as nothing gives a greater look of cleanliness to a room than nicely cleaned boards: scrub hard straight up and down with the scrubbing-brush and soap, and then wash well off with clean cold water; it is a mistake to think that warm water is necessary for the washing off; cold water does quite as well, and is better, as it is more easily changed: to change the water often is most necessary in scouring floors: many housemaids scour the floor constantly, and yet they have always a black soiled look, from the water not being sufficiently clean. The bed-room furniture is next to be attended to: where the mahogany is French-polished, rubbing lightly with a dry soft cloth is generally all that is necessary; but if the furniture is soiled in any way, then wash it over with a sponge and water (a little warm), and rub lightly with the cloth till quite dry and clear. Where there is no French polish, dust the mahogany well, and with cold drawn linseed oil, mixed with a little turpentine, wash it over with a sponge, and rub briskly and well with a soft woollen or linen cloth; the rubbing does more, in polishing the wood, than any mixture you can use. Many people mix bees’-wax with the oil, and this makes the furniture look well at the moment, but it gives a fictitious brightness, which every finger-touch or drop of water will dim; the polish produced by rubbing is superior to French polish or any other. The oil should not often be put on, and never while the slightest dampness remains on the mahogany. Some servants use a great deal of oil and very little rubbing, the consequence of which is, that little or no lasting polish is acquired; the dust sticks to the furniture, and gives it a dull soiled look. Nothing gives one a greater idea of care and cleanliness than to see all the mahogany looking bright and clear; the legs and rims of tables, and all that is below as well as above, should be attended to; amongst other bright things the looking-glass must not be omitted: after the mahogany frame has been well rubbed up, the glass should be washed with pure cold water, dried with a clean soft cloth, and polished with a silk handkerchief: if the bed-room chairs have loose chintz covers, they should be taken off and well shaken before the mahogany of the chairs is rubbed up, then put on again as tightly as possible, and rubbed lightly with a clean cloth; all this having been done, before the furniture is brought into the room, the carpet, having been beaten, should be put down perfectly straight, drawn as tight as possible, and slightly nailed; there is nothing looks worse in a room than to see a carpet all pulled awry, and the stripes and seams running across instead of straight up and down. The furniture should now be replaced, the bed-curtains put on, the bed made up for use,[1] and the blinds let down, so as to keep the room cool and preserve the carpet.