A New EngJatid Village Quilting Party in the Olden Times.
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��A NEW ENGLAND VILLAGE QUILTING PARTY IN THE
OLDEN TIMES.
By Elias Nason, A. M.
��It was in one of those old yellow houses on Meeting House Hill just sev- ent}' years ago ; and in those days a quilting party was a great sensation" in the household. For it, the floors were scoured and sanded, and things in general brought into perfect order. Pies, cakes, preser\'es, and Hyson tea, with large lumps of loaf sugar, were provided liberally for the occasion. The women of the village, married and unmarried, the Rev. John Baxter, min- ister of the village, and Mr. Hezekiah McAdams were betimes invited. The largest room in the house was cleared of all furniture, except the flag-bot- tomed chairs, the old eight-day clock with the half moon upon its face, and the antique looking-glass, which had re- flected faithfully the beauties and de- formities of at least five generations. A calico patchwork, or sort of " crazy quilt," was extended over cotton batting on a frame of deal, and every- thing got in readiness for the nimble fingers of the quilters.
But hark, the knocker !
'■'Well," exclaims Mrs. Benson, the good-looking lady of the house, " how glad I am to see you, Molly Mansfield ; why didn 't your sister Katy come? "
" She sprained her ankle on her way home from meeting yesterday. What ! am I the first one here? " cries Molly with surprise, on entering the quilting room.
" Yes, you are," says Mrs. Benson, " but the rest will soon be in ; take off your things and make yourself at home." She does so.
But hark, again the knocker !
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��" Well, sure enough," exclaims Mrs. Benson, cordially, " how do you all do ; INIiss Hannah Blair, and my dear Ange- line, and if here isn 't Aunt Tabitha Pinchbeck ! Walk right in ; I knew you would be here ; so early, too ; take off your calashes."
They do so ; they arrange their dresses at the aforesaid looking-glass, and then seat themselves in the flag-bottomed chairs, prepared with scissors, thimbles, thread, and needles for the work before them.
But once more the knocker strikes ; the door flies open, and Mrs. Benson warmly says to those now entering : " O, how glad I am to see you, Mrs. Rackett and Mrs. Rugby; how well you 're looking ; how good in you to come ! "
So group after group, in calico or ging- ham dresses, with hair done up pyra- midally on the apex of the head and fastened with a long glistening horn or tortoise-shell comb, come posting in un- til the room is full. The old eight-day clock strikes two, and with tongues run- ning fluently, they take their seats around the quilting frame and com- mence operations on the party-colored patchwork. '
The conversation, as well might be supposed — for the pubhc library, ly- ceum, railroad, telegraph and telephone had not then appeared — was not very sesthetical, hterary, scientific, or in- structive. The women of that period, in the rural village I am speaking of, had but little time to read, or to think of much, except domestic and church affahs, together with the faults and foi-
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