In This Issue
On the Month of February
Cupid's Wheel of Fortune
On Love, Courtship and Marriage, or Victorian Love Letters
The Value of a Scrapbook
Colonel Mavers on Justice for Bluebeard
Destinations
See what's new at MissMary.com
Free Gift for You
Cupid's Wheel of Fortune is my adaptation of an early 20th century parlor game of the same name. Download cupid2.pdf (requires the free Adobe Acrobat reader). 366KB
Receipts & Remedies
POMADE, to prevent baldness, is made thus: Beef suet one ounce, tincture of cantharides one teaspoonful, oil of origanum and bergamot, of each ten drops. Melt the suet, and, when nearly cold, stir in the rest of the ingredients, until set. — Godey's Magazine, Nov. 1852
Victorian Poetry
I Cannot Love Again
If I had met thee ere I knew
The bitterness of love,
Then might thy gentle eloquence
My wayward fancy move.
It cannot be—oh! cease to plead,
For it must be in vain;
Thou knowest well I once have loved,
And cannot love again.
S.M.Z 1855
Household Hints
The Value of a Scrap-Book
Source: Household Hints and Recipes by Henry T. Willams and “Daisy Eyebright” 1884
Every one who takes a newspaper containing various items connected with housekeeping, the toilette, etc., will often regret to have it torn up, on account of some little scrap in it which was of importance to them; but, if a scrapbook was only at hand, the scissors could have quickly transferred the item to its pages.
If you have never been accustomed to preserve short articles, and tiny scraps in this manner, you cannot understand the pleasure you would take in turning over the pages of the book, and reading a bit here and a scrap there. Perhaps a choice bit of poetry will meet your eye, and bring tears to its lids; or a witty anecdote will make the room ring with your laughter. Or, valuable “Hints” or “Recipes” may claim your attention just at the time you needed the knowledge they contain.
Indeed, you can hardly read a single paper at the present time, but you will find something in its columns that is worthy of preservation, and which will be of service to you many times during your life.
Or, you may procure a choice thought, which is far more precious than a jewel set in gold; and, if you will hoard these rare gems, year after year, you will garner up a treasure-book that will not only be of service to yourself, but also to your children and grandchildren, in decades of years yet to come.
Tip: Use graphics from Miss Mary's Victorian clip art and tea or coffee stained images to create a "vintage" scrapbook of your own.
Gleanings
A large portion of the sorrow and suffering of the world arises from the want of chastity in thought, speech, and behavior. Characters are ruined, homes made desolate, and fond hearts broken, by neglecting to preserve that purity of heart, of which a little child is the type. —Jasper Goodykoontz 1897.
Links and Things
More Victorian Love Letters and Romantic Clip Art
On the Month of February
Source: Demorest's Monthly, February 1897
It seems strange that so dreary a month as February should ever have been graced with the charming myths which have gathered about St. Valentine's Day, and made its observance one of the relics of the fairy-land of love and dreams, which passed away when the shriek of the steam-whistle, and the click of the telegraph announced that only tangible realities were to be considered respectable, and that all stock in the realm of romance and superstition had fallen below par. Charles Lamb in his inimitable essay says that in his time already the pretty customs of Valentine's Day were passing out of aristocratic society, and falling to the share of the footman and the housemaid; but we rather think that there were ladies and gentlemen of “high degree” who envied the footmen and housemaids the liberty exercised under the good saint, and would fain have had a share in the fun.
The pretty fable of the birds choosing their mates upon this day, and receiving the episcopal blessing, has been immortalized by Chaucer, and has given it the charm of freshness and poetic fancy; and in spite of the efforts which have been made to discredit it by coarse caricature and associations, February, with its weeping clouds and disconsolate skies, is welcomed chiefly by the young folk, because of its genial holiday. The shops are gay with every variety of fanciful conceit that can be pressed into the service. Hearts are at a discount, but darts above par. Cupids are lively, and to look in at the shop windows takes one back to the days of chivalry when men were thrilled with chains of roses, instead of links of gold. But no degree of prosaic commonplace, no commercial estimate of values, can alter human nature; no Midas's touch can change the roses into gold pieces, or shut out the winged-boy who owns allegiance to St. Valentine, the only saint in the calendar he is inclined to favor.
Love vibrates in the wind-harp's tune,
With fays and fairies lingers he,
Gleams in the ring of the watery moon,
Or treads the pebbles of the sea,
And everywhere he welcome finds;
To cottage door or palace porch
Love enters free as spicy winds
With purple wings and lighted torch,
With tripling feet and silvery tongue,
And bows and darts behind him slung!
Upon Valentine's days the well pleased postman carries about the fluttering captive at the risk of crushing his rosy wings, and the yet more imminent risk of a sly dart; but whether hidden in elegant rose scented paper, or folded ruthlessly up in some staring horror, decked with green and blue, he always comes out “good as new,” and plays precisely the same tricks upon the boy that reads the “horror” in some safe corner of the stable, as upon the courtly dame who unfolds the gilded missive, and is quite content in both cases if he adds another bleeding heart to his trophies.
It was certainly in less rigorous climes than ours that the birds chose February for their troth plighting and that it was asserted by Chaucer of the good saint that
“All the air is his diocese,
And all the chirping choristers
And other birds are his parishioners.”
Indeed, England seems to have nourished all the fanciful superstitions and coquettish customs of this festival with great care, and at one time it was observed with infinite zest by “grave and reverend seigniors.” The custom of giving presents as a return for being chosen as a valentine was universal, and is noticed many times by old English authors.
Mr. Pepys in his celebrated diary makes this entry on Valentine's Day, 1667: “This morning came up to my wife's bedside (I being up dressing myself) little Will Mercer to be her valentine, and brought her name written upon blue paper in gold letters, done by himself very pretty, and we were both well pleased with it. But I am also this year my wife's valentine, and it will cost me five pounds.”
But the true, proper ceremony of St. Valentine's Day was a drawing of a kind of lottery, followed by ceremonies not much unlike what is generally called the game of forfeits. Mission, a learned traveler of the early part of the last century, gives apparently a correct account of the principal ceremonial Valentine's Day, he says, the young folks of England and Scotland by a very ancient custom celebrate a little festival. The girls, and young men assemble together and write a name upon slips of paper, the girls writing the name of a gentleman, the young men that of a lady. These are mixed up in separate receptacles, and drawn from by the persons present, who in this way get each a “Valentine,” who, though only compulsory for a year, was not unfrequently chosen for life. This custom is made the basis of a story by “Hope Ledyard” in the present number, and has been the basis of song and story. It is even modernized as a drawing-room game, in which the parties are not, however, chosen for a year, but only for the evening, and though it sometimes degenerates into which is called the “Wristlet” game, yet even this owes its origin to the same idea.
It might not be amiss for some of our beaux and belles to revive this interesting game, and cheer the waning days of winter with its gayety. It would be well to make the present offered always flowers; since the simplest nosegay is always elegant, and the most lavish cost is always possible, this would suit the means and the taste of every class, and take away the taint of vulgarity always attached to a compliment which may possibly be interested.
On Love, Courtship and Marriage is a chapter taken from a curious little red book entitled Lady and Gentleman's Letter Writer and Guide to Politeness. This book does not have a published date, although faint handwritten inscriptions inside are dated 1868 and 1873. For added enjoyment, I have illustrated this text with vintage photographs from my collection.
On Love, Courtship and Marriage
If friendship be capable of awakening sensations so warm, so strong, so elevated, in the human heart, what may not be expected from love — the liveliest, the noblest, the most soul-inspiring, soul-absorbing of passions!
"Who hath not owned
With rapture-smitten frame,
The charm of grace,
The magic of a name?"
I speak not of that love by which common minds are too frequently influenced, and which is little more than mere animal instinct; but of that unselfish, hallowed, undying affection which regards its object as a being of higher order, and for whose interests it is at all times ready and willing to sacrifice its own. Under the influence of such a passion, no creature, man or woman, can ever be guilty of a mean or a base action. Love, true love, is the inspirer, the creator, of all our noblest virtues.
Extravagant flattery should by all means be avoided. Due homage may be paid at beauty's shrine without fulsome adulation; neither does wit or talent demand such sacrifice. The sincerity of the writer is questioned when his language is exaggerated, and ridicule or disgust is excited toward him in the bosom of a woman of sense. Letters thus written, are, indeed, "nauseous notes of compliment," as Maria Edgeworth well terms them, "epistles degrading to those who write, and equally degrading to those to whom they are written; letters which are, however cleverly turned, inexpressibly wearisome."
As a matter of prudence, all promises should be carefully made, and always with strict regard to truth and reason. In honorable minds courtship is always regarded as the porch to marriage, and the lover should promise nothing the husband would hesitate to perform.
Read the Victorian Love Letters in a new window
Colonel Mavers On... Justice for Bluebeard
How the bare mention of my title makes the mind travel back to the days of childhood, and how all the heroes and heroines of youth arise before us like the ghosts in Macbeth! How I remember weeping at poor little Red Riding-Hood's untimely fate, glorying in dear Cinderella's triumph, being wretched with poor Beauty and the Beast, envying the celebrated Jacks their glorious fortunes, and, above all, hating that execrable monster, Bluebeard! The mind of youth is disposed to be always fascinated with the horrible, but when to this is added magic, the effect is simply irresistible. This story to our budding minds was as Jack Sheppard and Dick Turpin were some few years later. So violent is the hatred engendered in the youthful mind against my hero that I am afraid I will have some trouble to surmount these prejudices. To be candid with my reader, it was not until lately that I was able to overcome my own. So powerful are youthful impressions!
But in reading over the biography of this celebrated personage at a period of my life when my mind was not so easily affected as formerly, the thought occurred to me that Bluebeard perhaps had a "might have been," as well as Maud Müller. Who knows? To be candid again, I do not. But it is my object to let you see how very possible "it might have been." [Read the full Justice for Bluebeard article]
