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T HE dominant characteristics of quilt making are companionship and concentrated interest. Both of these qualities, or—better yet—virtues, must be in evidence in order to bring a quilt to successful completion. The sociable, gossipy “quilting bee,” where the quilt is put together and quilted, has planted in every community in which it is an institution the seeds of numberless lifelong friendships. These friendships are being made over the quilting frames to-day just as they were in the pioneer times when a “quilting” was almost the only social diversion. Content with life, fixity of purpose, development of individuality, all are brought forth in every woman who plans and pieces a quilt. The reward of her work lies, not only in the pleasure of doing, but also in the joy of possession—which can be passed on even to future generations, for a well-made quilt is a lasting treasure.
All this is quite apart from the strictly useful functions which quilts perform so creditably in every home, for quilts are useful as well as artistic. In summer nights they are the ideal emergency covering for the cool hour before dawn, or after a rapid drop in temperature, caused by a passing thunderstorm. But in the long chill nights of winter, when the snow sifts in through the partly raised window and all mankind snuggles deeper into the bed clothes, then all quilts may be truly said to do their duty. And right well they do it, too, as all those who love to linger within their cozy shelter on frosty December mornings will testify.
As a promoter of good-will and neighbourly interest during the times when our new country was being settled, and woman’s social intercourse was very limited, the “quilting bee” holds a worthy place close beside the meeting-house. The feeling of coöperation so noticeable in all men and growing communities, and which is really essential for their success, is aptly described in the old “Annals of Tennessee,” published by Dr. J. G. M. Ramsey in 1853 (“Dedicated to the surviving pioneers of Tennessee”):
“To say of one he has no neighbours was sufficient, in those times of mutual wants and mutual benefactions, to make the churl infamous and execrable. A failure to ask a neighbour to a raising, clearing, a chopping frolic, or his family to a quilting, was considered a high indignity; such an one, too, as required to be explained or atoned for at the next muster or county court. Each settler was not only willing but desirous to contribute his share to the general comfort and public improvement, and felt aggrieved and insulted if the opportunity to do so were withheld. ‘It is a poor dog that is not worth whistling for,’ replied the indignant neighbour who was allowed to remain at home, at his own work, while a house raising was going on in the neighbourhood. ‘What injury have I done that I am slighted so?’”
Quilts occupied a preëminent place in the rural social scheme, and the quilting bees were one of the few social diversions afforded outside of the church. Much drudgery was lightened by the joyful anticipation of a neighbourhood quilting bee. The preparations for such an important event were often quite elaborate. As a form of entertainment quilting bees have stood the test of time, and from colonial days down to the present have furnished much pleasure in country communities.
In a quaint little book published in 1872 by Mrs. P. G. Gibbons, under the title, “Pennsylvania Dutch,” is a detailed description of a country quilting that Mrs. Gibbons attended. The exact date of this social affair is not given, but judging from other closely related incidents mentioned by the writer, it must have taken place about 1840, in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. The account reads as follows:
“Aunt Sally had her quilt up in her landlord’s east room, for her own was too small. However, at about eleven she called us over to dinner, for people who have breakfasted at five or six have an appetite at eleven.
“We found on the table beefsteaks, boiled pork, sweet potatoes, ‘Kohl-slaw,’ pickled cucumbers and red beets, apple butter and preserved peaches, pumpkin and apple pie, sponge cake and coffee. After dinner came our next neighbours, ‘the maids,’ Susy and Katy Groff, who live in single blessedness and great neatness. They wore pretty, clear-starched Mennonist caps, very plain. Katy is a sweet-looking woman and, although she is more than sixty years old, her forehead is almost unwrinkled, and her fine hair is still brown. It was late when the farmer’s wife came—three o’clock; for she had been to Lancaster. She wore hoops and was of the ‘world’s people.’ These women all spoke ‘Dutch,’ for the maids, whose ancestors came here probably one hundred and fifty years ago, do not speak English with fluency yet.
“The first subject of conversation was the fall house-cleaning; and I heard mention of ‘die carpett hinaus an der fence’ and ‘die fenshter und die porch,’ and the exclamation, ‘My goodness, es was schlimm.’ I quilted faster than Katy Groff, who showed me her hands, and said, ‘You have not been corn husking, as I have.’
“So we quilted and rolled, talked and laughed, got one quilt done, and put in another. The work was not fine; we laid it out by chalking around a small plate. Aunt Sally’s desire was rather to get her quilting finished upon this great occasion than for us to put in a quantity of fine needlework. About five o’clock we were called to supper. I need not tell you all the particulars of this plentiful meal; but the stewed chicken was tender and we had coffee again.
“Polly M’s husband now came over the creek in the boat, to take her home, and he warned her against the evening dampness. The rest of us quilted a while by candles, and got the second quilt done at about seven. At this quilting there was little gossip, and less scandal. I displayed my new alpaca and my dyed merino and the Philadelphia bonnet which exposes the back of my head to the wintry blast. Polly, for her part, preferred a black silk sunbonnet; and so we parted, with mutual invitations to visit.”
The proverbial neatness of the ancestors of the Dutch colonists in America was characteristic of their homes in the new land. This is well illustrated in the following description of a Pennsylvania Dutch farmer’s home, similar to the one in which the quilting above mentioned took place: “We keep one fire in winter. This is in the kitchen which, with nice housekeepers, is the abode of neatness, with its rag carpet and brightly polished stove. Adjoining the kitchen is a state apartment, also rag-carpeted, and called ‘the room.’ Will you go upstairs in a neat Dutch farmhouse? There are rag carpets again. Gay quilts are on the best beds, where green and red calico, perhaps in the form of a basket, are displayed on a white ground; or the beds bear brilliant coverlets of red, white, and blue, as if to ‘make the rash gazer wipe his eyes.’”
There are many things to induce women to piece quilts. The desire for a handsome bed furnishing, or the wish to make a gift of one to a dear friend, have inspired some women to make quilts. With others, quilt making is a recreation, a diversion, a means of occupying restless fingers. However, the real inducement is love of the work; because the desire to make a quilt exceeds all other desires. In such a case it is worked on persistently, laid aside reluctantly, and taken up each time with renewed interest and pleasure. It is this intense interest in the work which produces the most beautiful quilts. On quilts that are made because of the genuine interest in the work, the most painstaking efforts are put forth; the passing of time is not considered; and the belief of the majority of such quilt makers, though unconfessed, doubtless, is the equivalent of the old Arab proverb that “Slowness comes from God, but hurry from the devil.”
All women who are lonely do not live in isolated farmhouses, prairie shacks, or remote villages. In reality, there are more idle, listless hands in the hearts of crowded bustling cities than in the quiet country. City women, surrounded by many enticing distractions, are turning more and more to patchwork as a fascinating yet nerve-soothing occupation. Not only is there a sort of companionship between the maker and the quilt, but there is also the great benefit derived from having found a new interest in life, something worth while that can be built up by one’s own efforts.
An anecdote is told of a woman living in a quiet little New England village who complained of her loneliness there, where the quilting bees were the only saving features of an otherwise colourless existence. She told the interested listener that in this out-of-the-way hamlet she did not mind the monotony much because there were plenty of “quiltings,” adding that she had helped that winter at more than twenty-five quilting bees; besides this, she had made a quilt for herself and also helped on some of those of her immediate neighbours.
American women rarely think of quilts as being made or used outside of their own country. In reality quilts are made in almost every land on the face of the earth. Years ago, when the first New England missionaries were sent to the Hawaiian Islands, the native women were taught to piece quilts, which they continue to do down to this day. These Hawaiian women treasure their handiwork greatly, and some very old and beautiful quilts are to be found among these islands. In creating their patchwork they have wandered from the Puritanical designs of their teachers, and have intermingled with the conventional figures the gorgeous flowers that bloom beside their leaf-thatched, vine-covered huts. To these women, also, patchwork fills a place. It affords a means of expression for individuality and originality in the same way that it does for the lonely New England women and for the isolated mountaineers of Kentucky.
Harriet Beecher Stowe, immortalized by “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” produced other stories, not now so familiar to us as to our countrymen of the Civil War period, which showed an intimate knowledge of the home life of the American people as well as the vital questions of her day. In her novel entitled the “Minister’s Wooing,” which ran first as a serial in the Atlantic Monthly in 1859, she describes a quilting supposed to have been given about the year 1800. Here we can view at close range a real old-fashioned quilting, and gain some insight into its various incidents of sociability and gossip, typical of an early New England seafaring village, as set forth in Mrs. Stowe’s inimitable style:
“By two o’clock a goodly company began to assemble. Mrs. Deacon Twitchel arrived, soft, pillowy, and plaintive as ever, accompanied by Cerinthy Ann, a comely damsel, tall and trim, with a bright black eye and a most vigorous and determined style of movement. Good Mrs. Jones, broad, expansive, and solid, having vegetated tranquilly on in the cabbage garden of the virtues since three years ago, when she graced our tea party, was now as well preserved as ever, and brought some fresh butter, a tin pail of cream, and a loaf of cake made after a new Philadelphia receipt. The tall, spare, angular figure of Mrs. Simeon Brown alone was wanting; but she patronized Mrs. Scudder no more, and tossed her head with a becoming pride when her name was mentioned.
“The quilt pattern was gloriously drawn in oak leaves, done in indigo; and soon all the company, young and old, were passing busy fingers over it, and conversation went on briskly.
“Madame de Frontignac, we must not forget to say, had entered with hearty abandon into the spirit of the day. She had dressed the tall china vases on the mantelpiece, and, departing from the usual rule of an equal mixture of roses and asparagus bushes, had constructed two quaint and graceful bouquets where garden flowers were mingled with drooping grasses and trailing wild vines, forming a graceful combination which excited the surprise of all who saw it.
“‘It’s the very first time in my life that I ever saw grass put into a flower pot,’ said Miss Prissy, ‘but I must say it looks as handsome as a picture. Mary, I must say,’ she added, in an aside, ‘I think that Madame de Frontignac is the sweetest dressing and appearing creature I ever saw; she don’t dress up nor put on airs, but she seems to see in a minute how things ought to go; and if it’s only a bit of grass, or leaf, or wild vine, that she puts in her hair, why, it seems to come just right. I should like to make her a dress, for I know she would understand my fit; do speak to her, Mary, in case she should want a dress fitted here, to let me try it.’
“At the quilting Madame de Frontignac would have her seat, and soon won the respect of the party by the dexterity with which she used her needle; though, when it was whispered that she learned to quilt among the nuns, some of the elderly ladies exhibited a slight uneasiness, as being rather doubtful whether they might not be encouraging papistical opinions by allowing her an equal share in the work of getting up their minister’s bed quilt; but the younger part of the company was quite captivated by her foreign air and the pretty manner in which she lisped her English; and Cerinthy Ann even went so far as to horrify her mother by saying that she wished she’d been educated in a convent herself, a declaration which arose less from native depravity than from a certain vigorous disposition, which often shows itself in young people, to shock the current opinions of their elders and betters. Of course, the conversation took a general turn, somewhat in unison with the spirit of the occasion; and whenever it flagged, some allusion to a forthcoming wedding, or some sly hint at the future young Madame of the parish was sufficient to awaken the dormant animation of the company.
“Cerinthy Ann contrived to produce an agreeable electric shock by declaring that for her part she never could see into it how any girl could marry a minister; that she should as soon think of setting up housekeeping in a meeting-house.
“‘Oh, Cerinthy Ann!’ exclaimed her mother, ‘how can you go on so?’
“‘It’s a fact,’ said the adventurous damsel; ‘now other men let you have some peace, but a minister’s always round under your feet.’
“‘So you think the less you see of a husband, the better?’ said one of the ladies.
“‘Just my views!’ said Cerinthy, giving a decided snip to her thread with her scissors. ‘I like the Nantucketers, that go off on four years’ voyages, and leave their wives a clear field. If ever I get married, I’m going up to have one of those fellows.’
“It is to be remarked, in passing, that Miss Cerinthy Ann was at this very time receiving surreptitious visits from a consumptive-looking, conscientious young theological candidate, who came occasionally to preach in the vicinity, and put up at the house of the deacon, her father. This good young man, being violently attacked on the doctrine of election by Miss Cerinthy, had been drawn on to illustrate it in a most practical manner, to her comprehension; and it was the consciousness of the weak and tottering state of the internal garrison that added vigour to the young lady’s tones. As Mary had been the chosen confidante of the progress of this affair, she was quietly amused at the demonstration.
“‘You’d better take care, Cerinthy Ann,’ said her mother, ‘they say “that those who sing before breakfast will cry before supper.” Girls talk about getting married,’ she said, relapsing into a gentle melancholy, ‘without realizing its awful responsibilities.’
“‘Oh, as to that,’ said Cerinthy, ‘I’ve been practising on my pudding now these six years, and I shouldn’t be afraid to throw one up chimney with any girl.’
“This speech was founded on a tradition, current in those times, that no young lady was fit to be married till she could construct a boiled Indian pudding of such consistency that it could be thrown up a chimney and come down on the ground outside without breaking; and the consequence of Cerinthy Ann’s sally was a general laugh.
“‘Girls ain’t what they used to be in my day,’ sententiously remarked an elderly lady. ‘I remember my mother told me when she was thirteen she could knit a long cotton stocking in a day.’
“‘I haven’t much faith in these stories of old times, have you, girls?’ said Cerinthy, appealing to the younger members at the frame.
“‘At any rate,’ said Mrs. Twitchel, ‘our minister’s wife will be a pattern; I don’t know anybody that goes beyond her either in spinning or fine stitching.’
“Mary sat as placid and disengaged as the new moon, and listened to the chatter of old and young with the easy quietness of a young heart that has early outlived life and looks on everything in the world from some gentle, restful eminence far on toward a better home. She smiled at everybody’s word, had a quick eye for everybody’s wants, and was ready with thimble, scissors, or thread, whenever any one needed them; but once, when there was a pause in the conversation, she and Mrs. Marvyn were both discovered to have stolen away. They were seated on the bed in Mary’s little room, with their arms around each other, communing in low and gentle tones.
“‘Mary, my dear child,’ said her friend, ‘this event is very pleasant to me, because it places you permanently near me. I did not know but eventually this sweet face might lead to my losing you who are in some respects the dearest friend I have.’
“‘You might be sure,’ said Mary, ‘I never would have married, except that my mother’s happiness and the happiness of so good a friend seemed to depend on it. When we renounce self in anything we have reason to hope for God’s blessing; and so I feel assured of a peaceful life in the course I have taken. You will always be as a mother to me,’ she added, laying her head on her friend’s shoulder.
“‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Marvyn; ‘and I must not let myself think a moment how dear it might have been to have you more my own. If you feel really, truly happy, if you can enter on this life without any misgivings——’
“‘I can,’ said Mary firmly.
“At this instant, very strangely, the string which confined a wreath of seashells around her glass, having been long undermined by moths, suddenly broke and fell down, scattering the shells upon the floor.
“Both women started, for the string of shells had been placed there by James; and though neither was superstitious, this was one of those odd coincidences that make hearts throb.
“‘Dear boy!’ said Mary, gathering the shells up tenderly; ‘wherever he is, I shall never cease to love him. It makes me feel sad to see this come down; but it is only an accident; nothing of him will ever fall out of my heart.’
“Mrs. Marvyn clasped Mary closer to her, with tears in her eyes.
“‘I’ll tell you what, Mary, it must have been the moths did that,’ said Miss Prissy, who had been standing, unobserved, at the door for a moment back; ‘moths will eat away strings just so. Last week Miss Vernon’s great family picture fell down because the moths eat through the cord; people ought to use twine or cotton string always. But I came to tell you that supper is all set, and the doctor out of his study, and all the people are wondering where you are.’
“Mary and Mrs. Marvyn gave a hasty glance at themselves in the glass, to be assured of their good keeping, and went into the great kitchen, where a long table stood exhibiting all that plentitude of provision which the immortal description of Washington Irving has saved us the trouble of recapitulating in detail.
“The husbands, brothers, and lovers had come in, and the scene was redolent of gayety. When Mary made her appearance, there was a moment’s pause, till she was conducted to the side of the doctor; when, raising his hand, he invoked a grace upon the loaded board.
“Unrestrained gayeties followed. Groups of young men and maidens chatted together, and all the gallantries of the times were enacted. Serious matrons commented on the cake, and told each other high and particular secrets in the culinary art which they drew from remote family archives. One might have learned in that instructive assembly how best to keep moths out of blankets, how to make fritters of Indian corn undistinguishable from oysters, how to bring up babies by hand, how to mend a cracked teapot, how to take out grease from a brocade, how to reconcile absolute decrees with free will, how to make five yards of cloth answer the purpose of six, and how to put down the Democratic party.
“Miss Prissy was in her glory; every bow of her best cap was alive with excitement, and she presented to the eyes of the astonished Newport gentry an animated receipt book. Some of the information she communicated, indeed, was so valuable and important that she could not trust the air with it, but whispered the most important portions in a confidential tone. Among the crowd, Cerinthy Ann’s theological admirer was observed in deeply reflective attitude; and that high-spirited young lady added further to his convictions of the total depravity of the species by vexing and discomposing him in those thousand ways in which a lively, ill-conditioned young woman will put to rout a serious, well-disposed young man, comforting herself with the reflection that by and by she would repent of all her sins in a lump together.
“Vain, transitory splendours! Even this evening, so glorious, so heart cheering, so fruitful in instruction and amusement, could not last forever. Gradually the company broke up; the matrons mounted soberly on horseback behind their spouses, and Cerinthy consoled her clerical friend by giving him an opportunity to read her a lecture on the way home, if he found the courage to do so.
“Mr. and Mrs. Marvyn and Candace wound their way soberly homeward; the doctor returned to his study for nightly devotions; and before long sleep settled down on the brown cottage.
“‘I’ll tell you what, Cato,’ said Candace, before composing herself to sleep, ‘I can’t feel it in my bones dat dis yer weddin’s gwine to come off yit.’”