hrough Jo Beverly’s lovely post on Word Wenches, I have discovered Google Books. Google Books is, for those of us who no longer have access to the library of a world-class university, simply amazing. Instead of having to rely on someone else’s research (which drives me nutters, because how do I know that they did the deed right? Witness the near-constant misuse of “scandalbroth”), you can read first-hand accounts from approximately the correct time period.

Do a search for “The Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge and you’ll find a huge variety of pamphlets, ranging from An Address to the Laborers, on the subject of destroying machinery from 1830. (Price one penny, With a Reduction to those who take a Quantity for distribution). This is an incredibly condescending piece of garbage, and one wonders what purpose it served except to merrily provide fodder to aforementioned laborers (who probably weren’t going to pay a penny for it). It’s not a great example of persuasive prose:

You appear to have contracted a great dislike to the use of what are termed Machines, and chiefly to the use of Thrashing Machines. You have never well considered the Reason for your dislike. You merely state, that Machines are hurtful to the Labourers—that they prevent the Poor from being employed. Upon these grounds, you proceed to destroy them.

The pamphlet then goes on to say that, of course, God gave us machines, and by the way, more machines lead to lower prices, something that Peter the Great really appreciated when he was trying to civilize Russia. The pamphlet notes that you’d have to be an idiot to not use saws and planes and doohickeys, and therefore, threshing machines are right out.

Of course, the pamphlet doesn’t deal with the real problem—given the widespread unemployment during the time, “cheaper wheat” wasn’t really an issue, because the very poorest couldn’t afford it anyway, and some people don’t care how much labor you save if it leaves some people unable to find work. But it gives us, at this time, a tremendous insight into how some land owners must have felt. And if you really think about, you can see how easily the common laborer would have been completely and utterly pissed off by the prospect.

But the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge has some lovely treatises on horses, and if you ever want to know how much you’d have to pay to buy an annuity in the period,
A Synoptical Catalogue of British Birds, which is super-useful because I can now verify that certain species of birds were, in fact, in Britain at the time, and what the common name was. Also the Latin name, which I imagine my hero would know, and which I haven’t got a clue. (Plus, it’s hard to know whether we’ve detected more–or less–speciation then they imagined, and so relying on modern latin names could well be wrong).

There’s also The Family Receipt Book, which has more home remedies than you can shake a stick at, and in fact, a bunch of home remedies where you’d want to shake at least five or six sticks. For instance, if you’re having trouble breathing, this lovely book suggests that “[a] quart of tar is to be stirred six minutes in a gallon of water,” and then drunk between meals. It advises that at first, you might want to use less tar, just in case you vomit it all up.

But it, too, contains some fascinating facts: “Ladies who work lace or embroidery sometimes suffer inconvenience from the perspiration on their hands; which may be remedied by rubbing the hands frequently with a little dry wheaten bran.”
I could go on and on. But I’ll stop with this gem: A Full Inquiry into the Subject of Suicide, to which are added (as being closely connected with the subject) two treatises on dueling and gambling.

It contains such lovely statements as: “But ‘gentlemen’ it seems may claim the exclusive privilege of pistoling one another whenever they please, not only with impunity, but also with honour.”

That, right there, is fodder for more plot devices than any reasonable novel can shake a stick at.

What are your finds?