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Category: Research

Posts in which we talk about research

This weekend we had an ant infestation in our kitchen. Naturally, this would happen when the exterminator wasn’t available. We had to battle the army of ants all by ourselves. I went to the internet to see what weapons we might use against this assault.

I now know more than I ever wanted to know about ant control. Turns out you not only have to remove the temptation (In this case, sugar. Apparently some ants have a sweet tooth; other ants crave other things), you have to interrupt their scent trails. I wiped everything down in vinegar, but that didn’t seem like enough. One of the suggestions was to spray a mixture of essential peppermint oil and water in the areas where it was suspected the ants entered. Well, I had essential peppermint oil, but I didn’t have a spray bottle. Besides, I thought, if a dilution of essential oil would work, how much better could it be if I didn’t dilute it?

I sprinkled full-strength peppermint essential oil all around the window and the sink.

Five hours later, the scent of peppermint was still so strong it made us all feel sick. It made even pizza taste funny.

Today we’ve seen some strays, but I’m still hopeful we’ve solved the problem. I got to thinking. What would a housekeeper have done about an ant infestation in Regency times?

I could not find out what they would have done about ants in Regency times, but I did learn a little about “bug control.”

This is from The Art of Cookery Made Plain And Easy; which Far exceeds any Thing of the Kind yet published by Mrs Glasse (1784)



The Toilet and Cosmetic Arts in Ancient and Modern Times by Arnold J. Cooley (1866) tells about how to get rid of parasites, like the head louse (stiff brush, “occasional” soap and water, and pomade), the body louse (regular bathing), and the crab louse (a solution of corrosive sublimate and sal-ammoniac in soft-water), but I can hardly bear thinking about having to battle such bugs. Cooley also recommends tobacco smoke to drive away insects, such as mosquitos, gnats, and bed bugs. That just goes to show that insects aren’t dumb enough to want to breathe in tobacco smoke. 

Have you come across any other Regency era insect exterminating practices? 
Or, how do you get rid of ants?

Look for a new contest at my website today!

*The picture is “Mrs Sperling Murdering Flies” from Mrs. Hurst Dancing by Diana Sperling, charming watercolors created during the Regency. 

It is October, time for all things spooky. So here is another historical ghost story – pre-Regency, but that’s okay because there is a Wellington connection.

This is from Hillman’s Hyperlinked And Searchable Chambers Book Of Days.

The Wynard Ghost Story

This event was experienced by two military officers, Sherbroke and Wynyard, who were stationed in Canada in 1785. Both were in the 33rd Regiment, which in later years was commanded by Arthur Wellesley, the future Duke of Wellington. Sherbroke and Wynyard were friends who often studied together in Wynyard’s apartment. One day as they were studying, Sherbroke glanced up and saw the figure of a
THE WYNYARD GHOST-STORY

No modern ghost story has been more talked of in England, than one in which the seers were two military officers named Sherbroke and Wynyard. The men occupied conspicuous places in society, and were universally known as persons of honour, as well as cool good sense; the reality of their vision was attested by a remarkable circumstance which afterwards took place; and every effort of their own or on the part of others to give an ‘explanation’ has been vain.
John Cope Sherbroke and George Wynyard appear in the army list of 1785, the one as a captain and the other a lieutenant in the 33d Regiment a corps which, some years after, had the honour to be commanded by the Hon. Arthur Wellesley, subsequently Duke of Wellington. The regiment was then on service in Canada, and Sherbroke and Wynyard, being of congenial tastes, had become friends. It was their custom to spend in study much of the time which their brother officers devoted to idle pleasures. According to a narration resting on the best authority now attainable:

‘They were one afternoon sitting in Wynyard’s apartment. It was perfectly light, the hour was about four o’clock; they had dined, but neither of them had drunk wine, and they had retired from the mess to continue together the occupations of the morning. It ought to have been said, that the apartment in which they were had two doors in it, the one opening into a passage, and the other leading into Wynyard’s bedroom. There was no other means of entering the sitting room but from the passage, and no other egress from the bedroom but through the sitting room; so that any person passing into the bedroom must have remained there, unless he returned by the way he entered. This point is of consequence to the story.
‘As these two young officers were pursuing their studies, Sherbroke, whose eye happened accidentally to glance from the volume before him towards the door that opened to the passage, observed a tall youth, of about twenty years of age, whose appearance was that of extreme emaciation, standing beside it. Struck with the presence of a perfect stranger, he immediately turned to his friend, who was sitting near him, and directed his attention to the guest who had thus strangely broken in upon their studies. As soon as Wynyard’s eyes were turned towards the mysterious visitor, his countenance became suddenly agitated. “I have heard,” says Sir John Sherbroke, “of a man’s being as pale as death, hut I never saw a living face assume the appearance of a corpse, except Wynyard’s at that moment”
‘As they looked silently at the form before them, for Wynyard, who seemed to apprehend the import of the appearance, was deprived of the faculty of speech, and Sherbroke perceiving the agitation of his friend, felt no inclination to address it as they looked silently upon the figure, it proceeded slowly into the adjoining apartment, and, in the act of passing them, cast its eyes with an expression of somewhat melancholy affection on young Wynyard. The oppression of this extraordinary presence was no sooner removed, than Wynyard, seizing his friend by the arm, and drawing a deep breath, as if recovering from the suffocation of in tense astonishment and emotion, muttered in a low and almost inaudible tone of voice, “Great God! my brother!” “Your brother!” repeated Sherbroke, “what can you mean, Wynyard? there must be some deception follow me;” and immediately taking his friend by the arm, he preceded him into the bedroom, which, as before stated, was connected with the sitting room, and into which the strange visitor had evidently entered. It has already been said, that from this chamber there was no possibility of withdrawing but by the way of the apartment, through which the figure had certainly passed, and as certainly never had returned. Imagine, then, the astonishment of the young officers, when, on finding themselves in the centre of the chamber, they perceived that the room was perfectly untenanted. Wynyard’s mind had received an impression at the first moment of his observing him, that the figure whom he had seen was the spirit of his brother. Sherbroke still persevered in strenuously believing that some delusion had been practised.
‘They took note of the day and hour in which the event had happened; but they resolved not to mention the occurrence in the regiment, and gradually they persuaded each other that they had been imposed upon by some artifice of their fellow officers, though they could neither account for the reason, nor suspect the author, nor conceive the means of its execution. They were content to imagine anything possible, rather than admit the possibility of a supernatural appearance. But, though they had attempted these stratagems of self delusion, Wynyard could not help expressing his solicitude with respect to the safety of the brother whose apparition he had either seen, or imagined himself to have seen; and the anxiety which he exhibited for letters from England, and his frequent mention of his fears for his brother’s health, at length awakened the curiosity of his comrades, and eventually betrayed him into a declaration of the circumstances which he had in vain determined to conceal.
The story of the silent and unbidden visitor was no sooner bruited abroad, than the destiny of Wynyard’s brother became an object of universal and painful interest to the officers of the regiment; there were few who did not inquire for Wynyard’s letters before they made any demand after their own; and the packets that arrived from England were welcomed with more than usual eagerness, for they brought not only remembrances from their friends at home, but promised to afford the clue to the mystery which had happened among themselves.
‘By the first ships no intelligence relating to the story could have been received, for they had all departed from England previously to the appearance of the spirit. At length the long wished for vessel arrived; all the officers had letters except Wynyard. They examined the several newspapers, but they contained no mention of any death, or of any other circumstance connected with his family that could account for the preternatural event. There was a solitary letter for Sherbroke still unopened. The officers had received their letters in the mess-room at the hour of supper. After Sherbroke had broken the seal of his last packet, and cast a glance on its contents, he beckoned his friend away from the company, and departed from the room. All were silent.
The suspense of the interest was now at its climax; the impatience for the return of Sherbroke was inexpressible. They doubted not but that letter had contained the long expected intelligence. After the interval of an hour, Sherbroke joined them. No one dared be guilty of so great a rudeness as to inquire the nature of his correspondence; but they waited in mute attention, expecting that he would himself touch upon the subject. His mind was manifestly full of thoughts that pained, bewildered, and oppressed him. He drew near to the fireplace, and leaning his head on the mantel-piece, after a pause of some moments, said in a low voice, to the person who was nearest him: “Wynyard’s brother is no more!” The first line of Sherbroke’s letter was “Dear John, break to your friend Wynyard the death of his favourite brother.” He had died on the day, and at the very hour, on which the friends had seen his spirit pass so mysteriously through the apartment.
It might have been imagined, that these events would have been sufficient to have impressed the mind of Sherbroke with the conviction of their truth; but so strong was his prepossession against the existence, or even the possibility of any preternatural intercourse with the souls of the dead, that he still entertained a doubt of the report of his senses, supported as their testimony was by the coincidence of vision and event. Some years after, on his return to England, he was walking with two gentlemen in Piccadilly, when, on the opposite side of the way, he saw a person bearing the most striking resemblance to the figure which had been disclosed to Wynyard and himself. His companions were acquainted with the story, and he instantly directed their attention to the gentleman opposite, as the individual who had contrived to enter and depart from Wynyard’s apartment without their being conscious of the means. Full of this impression, he immediately went over, and at once addressed the gentleman. He now fully expected to elucidate the mystery. He apologised for the interruption, but excused it by relating the occurrence, which had induced him to the commission of this solecism in manners. The gentleman received him as a friend. He had never been out of the country, but he was the twin brother of the youth whose spirit had been seen.’
From the interesting character of this narration the facts of the vision occurring in daylight and to two persons, and of the subsequent verification of likeness by the party not previously acquainted with the subject of the vision it is much to be regretted that no direct report of particulars has come to us. There is all other desirable authentication for the story, and sufficient evidence to prove that the two gentlemen believed and often told nearly what is here reported. Dr. Mayo makes the following statement on the subject: ‘I have had opportunities of inquiring of two near relations of this General Wynyard, upon what evidence the above story rests. They told me that they had each heard it from his own mouth. More recently a gentleman, whose accuracy of recollection exceeds that of most people, has told me that he had heard the late Sir John Sherbroke, the other party in the ghost story, tell it much in the same way at a dinner table.’

A writer, signing himself COGNATUS states in Notes and Queries (July 3rd, 1858), that the brother (not twin-brother) whose spirit appeared to Wynyard and his friend was John Otway Wynyard, a lieutenant in the 3rd regiment of Foot guards, who died on the 15th of October 1785. As this gentleman writes with a minute knowledge of the family history, we may consider this date as that of the alleged spiritual incident.
In Notes and Queries, July 2nd, 1859, appeared a correspondence, giving nearly the strongest testimony then attainable to the truth of the Wynyard ghost story. A series of queries on the subject, being drawn up at Quebec by Sir  , adjutant general of the forces in Canada, was sent to Colonel Gore, of the same garrison, who was understood to be a survivor of the officers who were with Sherbroke and Wynyard at the time of the occurrence; and Colonel Gore explicitly replied to the following effect. He was present at Sydney, in the island of Cape Breton, in the latter end of 1785 or 1786, when the incident happened. It was in the then new barrack, and the place was blocked up by ice so as to have no communication with any other part of the world. He was one of the first persons who entered the room after the supposed apparition was seen.

‘The ghost passed them as they were sitting at coffee [between eight and nine in the evening], and went into G. Wynyard’s bed closet, the window of which was potted down.’

The next day suggested to Sherbroke the propriety of making a memorandum of the incident; which was done.:

‘I remember the date, and on the 6th of June our first letters from England brought the news of John Wynyard’s death [which had happened] on the very night they saw his apparition.’

Colonel Gore was under the impression that the person afterwards seen in one of the streets of London by Sherbroke and William Wynyard, was not a brother of the latter family, but a gentleman named he thought) Hayman, noted for being like the deceased John Wynyard, and who affected to dress like him.
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Last March I blogged about The Look of Love: Eye Miniatures from the Skier collection exhibit at the Birmingham Museum of Art. I had heard of the exhibition and its catalogue book from Jo Manning, author of My Lady Scandalous and several wonderful Regencies and frequent guest blogger at Number One London. I considered myself lucky to purchase the catalogue, because I didn’t have a prayer at getting to Birmingham to see the exhibit.

Then a couple of days ago I saw this at Number One London. The Look of Love exhibit was at the Georgia Museum of Art in Athens, GA. And guess what?? I was IN Georgia! The dh and I took a detour during our Georgia visit so I could see the exhibition.

Eye miniatures were a brief phenomenon during the late 1700s to early 1800s, started when the Prince Regent, then the Prince of Wales, commissioned eye portraits for him and Mrs. Fitzherbert, his secret, but not legal wife. It became the fashion for lovers to exchange portraits of only the eyes, so that they had a remembrance that no one else could identify. Because of this secrecy, whose eye is depicted on most of the pieces in the exhibit is unknown. In the exhibit catalogue, Jo Manning wrote brief vignettes of how certain eye portraits might have come to be.

I’ve known about eye portraits for some time, but have only seen photos, never the real thing. The first thing that struck me was how tiny most of them were. The smallest ones were set in rings which were worn with the eye-side in, so the lover could gaze upon the image without anyone else seeing it. It is amazing that so many rings survived, because the miniatures were painted by watercolor on ivory and could be very easily damaged. The images were so tiny that the artist must have used brushes with only one hair. And yet the images are amazingly detailed and distinctive.

In addition to rings the miniatures were made into brooches, often encircled with tiny pearls or gems. One was a tiny gold heart pendant. There was also a bracelet, stick pins, and even toothpick boxes. Some of the later items were meant to be mourning jewelry and some also contained locks of hair.

We could not take photos, so the images here are taken from the exhibit’s brochure.

The gift shop sold these button souvenirs of the exhibit. Comment on this blog today for a chance to win one of these little buttons!

Have you seen this exhibit? Have you seen eye miniatures elsewhere?

A big thanks to Number One London for blogging about the exhibition and making it possible for me to see these wonderful treasures!

Today it’s time for a giveaway!  Because I, once again, bought a book I already own, so I’m giving away the new copy of Antonia Fraser’s Love and Louis XIV:

 Adelaide of Savoy, a favorite companion of Louis XIV during his dotage, remarked, “Under a king, a country is really ruled by women.” Fraser’s history of the court of the Sun King, seen through the lens of the women closest to him, is a highly readable confection, and unfolds as a sequence of cameos. There is Queen Anne of Austria, Louis’s steely moth”r and regent, who carefully molded the infant King into an Apollo adored by the court; and his wife, Marie-Therese of Spain, who gave him no trouble except by dying. Then comes a trio of mistresses: Louise de La Valliere, who became a nun as recompense for her sins; Athenais, voluptuous and fecund; and Madame de Maintenon, the discreet and redoubtable confidante of his later years. With vivid wit, Fraser demonstrates that within the edifice of the monarchy there were deep crannies of ordinary affection. (Review from the New Yorker)

For a chance to win, just leave a comment here telling us who your favorite royal mistress in history is!  (I’m very fond of Madame de Pompadour…)

In my area autumn began a month or so ago when the big oak tree outside my house began to drop acorns which ping continually on the roof and on our car and crunch underfoot. Not much in the way of tree color changes, since it hasn’t got cold enough, but there’s the occasional flash of color from an exposed maple, although not many leaves have fallen yet. The great autumn sock migration has begun, escaping from the washer/dryer so that of five pairs I now have five single socks that don’t match. Why is this? Must I declare sock amnesty and let them creep shamefacedly home, no questions asked?

What does fall mean to you? Start of a new episode, a semester, the beginning of holiday preparations? What’s it like where you live?

Here are a couple of favorite autumn poems. What are yours?

Ode to the West Wind by Shelley

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave,until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow

Her clarion o’er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill:

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and Preserver; hear, O hear!   read more

 

Ode to Autumn by Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.   read more

And from the sublime to the supremely self promotional, you can win a copy of Jane and the Damned or Jane Austen: Blood Persuasion at Dark Jane Austen.

 

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