pastispresent.org
an online forum for early American discovery, discussion, and diversion from the American Antiquarian Society

March 9, 1870 Wednesday, In the Life of a Blacksmith: Blacksmithing again.  On our big wagon.  I drilled and bolted the wheels today.  In the eve I read [C-- C--] and then wrote a letter to Simon.

Archive for the ‘Curator's Corner’ Category

Chopin in America

March 1st, 2010, by Lauren Hewes

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March 1, 2010 marks the 200th anniversary of the birth of the pianist composer Frédéric François Chopin (1810-1849).  Chopin was born near Warsaw and lived much of his short life in France so you may be asking yourself why on earth there is a post about him on the blog of the American Antiquarian Society.  Last week, after hearing a NPR story about the concerts and events marking Chopin’s birth, how most of him is buried in Paris but his heart is in a shrine in Warsaw, how his music is closely associated with the Romantic movement, etc., etc., I initiated a discussion behind the reference desk over whether or not Chopin was as revered during his lifetime here in the United States as he was in Europe.  There were several ways to find out, we decided, and so we split up to dig through the stacks and our on-line resources to see what we could find.
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A search of the American sheet music collection turned up numerous examples of Chopin’s works, including some which, according to resident music expert Andrew Bourque, had been simplified for more amateur players. Most are lithographed scores and it is interesting to note that the composer began his career just as the sheet music industry was switching from engraving to lithography as the preferred mode of reproduction and distribution of music.  All of the songs in our collection were printed in the United States, and most date from just after the composer’s death or later, so this evidence certainly supported the fact that Chopin had a following here in the latter portion of the century.  But what about during his lifetime, when he was entertaining the elite of Europe?

The print collection turned up two portraits of Chopin, both dating from after his death at the young age of thirty-nine.  chopportThese images indicate that the lithographers of New York and Philadelphia thought there was a market for images of the Romantic musician, but it doesn’t tell us what the composer’s reception might have been here before 1849.  A check of other institutional holdings of prints supports this – with most of the American images of Chopin dating from after 1850.  A quick check of the nation’s painted and sculptural holdings indexed by the Smithsonian American Inventories Resource (http://sirismm.si.edu/siris/aboutari.htm) revealed only five busts of Chopin, all from after 1900.  For comparison, Beethoven returned nearly forty results, many from the nineteenth century.

What else?  The first biography of Chopin published in the United States was a translation of Liszt’s 1852 biography, printed in Boston and Philadelphia in the 1860s.  Concert programs and broadsides in the Society’s holdings list performers playing his work in the 1850s (listing him third, after Beethoven and Mozart, not too shabby!).  Andrew checked periodicals and turned up an article about Chopin published in April of 1850 in the New York periodical The eclectic magazine of foreign literature, science, and art. The article was reprinted from a London magazine, so the content has a very European slant, but the fact that the lengthy article found an audience here is still interesting.

Reference assistant Ashley Cataldo went digging in the on-line resources and found a wonderful 1988 article on the American transcendental critic Margaret Fuller (1810-1850) and her response to the music scene in Boston during the 1840s. Writing for the New-York Daily Tribune in January of 1846, Fuller commented on the upcoming U.S. debut concert of the European pianist Julian Fontana (1810-1869).  She hoped that his playing would translate, “the fire and sweep of Liszt, the architectural majesty of Thalberg, and the tenderness and delicate fancy of Chopin” (Quoted in Ora Frishberg Saloman, “Margaret Fuller on Musical Life in Boston and New York, 1841-1846,” American Music, Vol. 6, No. 4 (Winter, 1988), pp. 428-441, p. 437).  Ah, now we have something concrete. Chopin’s music was certainly being played and heard in America during his lifetime and, at least according to the worldly Fuller, he was a force on the level of Franz Liszt and Sigismond Thalberg.

Additionally, Ashley located several 1845 advertisements in the Boston Daily Atlas for Oliver Ditson’s music shop in Boston which include references to Chopin’s songs being sold.  A broadside published c. 1844 for competing music dealer John Ashton & Co., also of Boston, lists Chopin’s songs being sold with other “foreign” tunes.  So Chopin’s music was available for sale before his death in multiple shops in Boston.
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So what did we learn from our little exercise?  Probably those in the know, like Fuller and the music store owners, were aware of Chopin and maybe even understood his dawning influence on piano music during this period.  We know that after the young composer’s death his music became widely available and his image begins to circulate in this country.  He was not, apparently, the “rock star” personality that he was in Europe, as his work is not mentioned in the wider press nor is there much information on his unconventional personal life (I’d love to be a fly on the wall with George Sands and Margaret Fuller in the same room –  anyone else?).  In contrast, the British and French press tracked the composer’s travels, commented frequently on his reclusive nature, and noted the scandals associated with Sands later novels and her relationship with Chopin.  Americans were not so focused on Chopin until much later.

Here in the States, his work is just starting to be widely played in the late 1850s, right before the Civil War.  And during the war, he pretty much disappears, understandably, until the 1870s.  It is hard to imagine his soft, complex, romantic music competing with the blast of cannon fire and sometimes shrill patriotic tunes that were flooding the ears of Americans from 1858 to 1865.  His nocturnes and etudes would have seemed very foreign and very far removed.


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In the Bleak Mid-winter

February 24th, 2010, by Lauren Hewes

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In the cold of a New England winter, it is easy to feel sorry for one’s self as the grey clouds of January barely dissipate in the low light of February’s early gloam. Some believe that the best way to tackle winter is to embrace it, and so the Graphic Arts department offers for your enjoyment selections from the collection that reflect how our ancestors dealt with the snow and ice of winter by singing, sleighing and skating. We chose optimistic images on purpose – leaving the broadsides and songs about blizzards and frostbite and lost cattle for another day!

J.Henry Whittemore, composer, Footprints on the Snow, Detroit: Calvert & Co. Lithographers, 1866. The first stanza of this song records a young man stepping out after a snowfall and finding a woman’s footprints in the snow outside his door. Naturally, true love ensues! He sings: “I gazed with admiration on the trim and tiny marks, and felt within my bosom kindling love’s bewitching sparks,”

J.Henry Whittemore, composer, Footprints on the Snow, Detroit: Calvert & Co. Lithographers, 1866. The first stanza of this song records a young man stepping out after a snowfall and finding a woman’s footprints in the snow outside his door. Naturally, true love ensues! He sings: “I gazed with admiration on the trim and tiny marks, and felt within my bosom kindling love’s bewitching sparks,”

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Tintype of skaters, three unidentified women on ice skates in the studio, no photographer given, c. 1875. These three women thought an ice skating scene would make for an amusing photographic memento. Not so cold as shooting it outside on the real ice!

Scene of Boston Commons in the snow, no photographer given, albumen on card, carte de visite, c. 1860. The city of Boston frequently trucked snow from the city streets to the Common. Here horses pull carts loaded with snow through the gates of the park.

Scene of Boston Commons in the snow, no photographer given, albumen on card, carte de visite, c. 1860. The city of Boston frequently trucked snow from the city streets to the Common. Here horses pull carts loaded with snow through the gates of the park.

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Stop Thief. For Aquila Cook of Bellingham, Massachusetts. Woonsocket, Rhode Island: Patriot Press, 1848. Question: Who would steal a sleigh, horse, harness and blankets in the middle of February? Answer: Someone with really bad cabin fever, perhaps!

Locomotive in a drift, March 29, 1881, stereophotograph. Winona, Minnesota: Elmer & Tenney. The upper Mid-West trumps New England when it comes to snow fall totals, but western-themed stereocards such as this one were very popular in New England homes. Schadenfreude, perhaps?

Locomotive in a drift, March 29, 1881, stereophotograph. Winona, Minnesota: Elmer & Tenney. The upper Mid-West trumps New England (or maybe this year we should say it trumps even the mid-Atlantic) when it comes to snow fall totals, but western-themed stereocards such as this one were very popular in New England homes. Schadenfreude, perhaps?

Ice crystals, c. 1870, stereophotograph. Littleton, N.H.: Kilburn Brothers.  Scientists used cameras to study ice, snow and frost patterns starting in the early 1850s.

Ice crystals, c. 1870, stereophotograph. Littleton, N.H.: Kilburn Brothers. Scientists used cameras to study ice, snow and frost patterns starting in the early 1850s.

A Winter Scene, reward of merit for Miss Lucy Draper, engraving, c. 1840. This reward of merit was found in an 1837 grammar book.

A Winter Scene, reward of merit for Miss Lucy Draper, engraving, c. 1840. This reward of merit was found in an 1837 grammar book.


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Canines at the American Antiquarian Society

February 15th, 2010, by Lauren Hewes

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ball_carte-de-visiteDogs. Some people love them, others hate them. Regardless, there is just no getting around the fact that the lives of humans and dogs have long been intertwined. Depictions of dogs were painted on cave walls by early man and just last week images of “First Dog” Bo (the Obama’s Portuguese water dog) playing in Washington D.C.’s record snow fall were sent around the world via the Associated Press.

This week, the city of New York hosts the 134th Westminster Dog Show, bringing together an international selection of canines and their breeders and handlers. Westminster started in 1877, just at the tail-end (sorry!) of the American Antiquarian Society’s collecting range. However, the presence of dogs in many pre-1877 graphic materials in our collection shows American interest in man’s best friend indisputably pre-dates the invention of the formal dog show.

Dogs have long held symbolic meaning in prints, representing fidelity in wedding or patriotic images, or showing cowardice with tail betwjohnson_pancea_croppedeen the legs in political cartoons. Once you start looking for them, you see them everywhere. Dogs deficate, urinate and vomit in dozens of political cartoons and social sartires ( such as David Claypool Johnston’s Panacea Mania detail at right). Capitalizing on the cuteness or hero factor, dogs_tregear they also often appear in advertising material, helping American merchants sell everything from sewing needles to hats (see the trade card at left for Boston hatter H.D. Tregear where a dog bravely attempts to rescue his owner’s chapeau).

For this posting, however, we are looking at images of actual dogs, not the more common symbolic or fictional dogs. Therefore, for your viewing pleasure (or if you detest dogs – to your great dismay) and in honor of the biggest dog show in the world, we have selected a handful of photographs and drawings of actual pets from the Graphic Arts department, starting with a nerodaguerreotype of Nero, a dog once owned by the Barton family. A mixed breed, Nero sits attentively on the photographer’s table, isolated from his human owners, but perhaps focused on them (or on a bit of chicken or liver like his counterparts in Madison Square Garden this week). Daguerreotype exposures could be lengthy, so the fact that Nero could hold the pose long enough to stay in focus is impressive. Additionally, the Bartons thought enough of the dog to pay extra to the photographer to have his collar hand-tinted with gold paint.

Carte-de-visite photographs became popular in the 1850s, and several in the Society’s large collection include dogs. A portrait by Bostonsturgis_carte_de_visite photographer John Adams Whipple of Henry H. Sturgis features a terrier mix resting atop a table while his owner leans casually against a pillar. Miss Anna Ball of Worcester took her setter to the studio of Charles Claflin and the dog slept on the floor while Anna posed in an elegant dress (image at top of post). Neither of these photographs include the name of the dog, although the Sturgis card has been annotated to include the name of the human sitter’s future wife (I wonder if she and the dog got along!).

Drawings and paintings of specific pets are also found in the collection. The lithographers johnston_dobermanLouis Maurer and Charles Crehen as well as several members of the Johnston family often included dogs in their more generic hunting and farm scenes. In order to capture the dogginess of these fictional creatures, all of these artists made sketches of their own dogs which are now part of the AAS collection. Scattered across the Society’s drawing and artists collections, these images feature relaxed and tolerant beasts, all of which were probably used to being studied carefully by their owners.

Bringing a pet to a photo studio or making a drawing may not tell us all that much about their specific owners (“Those Bartons, they must have been real dog people!”), but given the visual record, both practices were widespread. This does say something about Americans and their dogs. Historical examination of pets is being undertaken by numerous scholars (see Katherine Grier’s Pets in America, a History, University of North Caroline Press, 2006; or recent papers on animals and children presented by Brett Mizelle of California State University at Long Beach). We’ll let the scholars discuss the social and historical ramifications of owning a dog in America before 1877 – for now, we are happy to mark the opening of the 2010 Westminster Dog Show with this blog post. And in the interest of full disclosure: I’ll be rooting for the poodles but we also have strong feelings about pugs, springers, and greyhounds here in the Graphic Arts department. May the best dog win!


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My Hairy Valentine!

February 11th, 2010, by Lauren Hewes

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valentine_2In 2010, the Graphic Arts department will be evaluating and re-housing its collection of nineteenth-century valentines.  We have over 3,000 of these lacy, be-flowered paper objects and they are being sorted to provide better access for readers.  Due to the high number and complexity of each object (some have moving parts, accompanying envelopes, etc., while others require elaborate folds) the project will be spread out over multiple calendar years.  These items call out for individual blog entries, so expect a few!

One area of the collection of particular importance is the manuscript valentines.  These were handmade notes sent to a spouse, friend, or relative.  They are often decorated with elaborate calligraphy, word puzzles, or watercolor drawings.  The earliest dated manuscript valentine in the collection is a folded puzzle that was made in 1832. Other manuscriptvalentine_1 valentines in the collection, including a handwritten poem by Lucinda Prentice for her cousin (at left & dating from before 1825)  pre-date this example, but, as their sender did not choose to include the date in their salutation, they are temporarily relegated to the “not dated” portion of the manuscript collection (let this be a lesson to us all – always date your correspondence!).

As I have been processing the manuscript valentines, examining and foldering each item, I am struck by how many missives include human hair.  There arvalentine_3e locks of hair, whole ringlets, and impossibly small looped braids of hair.  Poetic verses such as:  “Remember me when this lock you see,” and “This lock of hair I once did wear,” appear frequently with accompanying hair decorations glued, sewn and pasted down in all sorts of creative ways.

All of these “hairy Valentines” caused me to think about how the perception of human hair has shifted over the centuries.  If I suggested to my eleven year old that she make a decoration out of her hair to send to her best friend or grandmother, I am fairly certain that the response would be, “Mom, that’s gross!”   And I am not at all sure what my own reaction would be to opening a letter and having a curl fall into my lap – I imagine there might be shrieking involved. valentine_4

But in the 1840s and 1850s, hair was used for all sorts of craft projects, with periodicals like Godey’s Ladies Book offering design suggestions for homemade jewelry, buttons, and even elaborate hair pictures for framing.  The Society’s miniature collection features a likeness of Andrew Craigie, Jr. in a locket case backed by intricately woven hair.  The daguerreotype collection includes several images of the Barton family (including the famous Clara at a young age) with scraggly lengths of hair pinned inside the cover of each case. Hair occasionally turns up in books, too, such as the curl pressed into an 1845 New England primer in the Society’s collection, which is accompanied by the inscription: “My youngest brother’s locks.”  The business side of the hair market is documented elsewhere in the collection, including a c. 1806 trade card for a Salem jeweler who states, “Hairwork neatly executed,” and a 1870s broadside from New York with wholesale prices for “human hair and hair goods.”

In her 2007 publication Love Entwined: The Curious History of Hairwork in America, author Helen Sheumaker writes, “Revulsion, squeamishness, curiosity and sometimes a sentimental cooing: these have been the principal responses to hairwork that I have encounters in the years I have researched its history” (p. vii).  The valentines are no exception, having elicited grimaces, gasps and questions from researchers and staffers as they pass by my work space where the valentines are spread out for examination.  So, this coming Valentine’s day consider our ancestor’s acceptance of human hair as token of affection and make your own decision on what to include in a card for your Valentine.  My family and friends will all hopefully stick with flowers and chocolate!


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The Children’s Henry Box Brown

February 8th, 2010, by Laura Wasowicz

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henry_box_brownHenry Box Brown (b. 1816) escaped lifelong slavery in Virginia by shipping himself in a box (with the help of white and African-American abolitionists) to Philadelphia in 1849.  One of the few primary sources detailing his breathtaking escape to freedom is the children’s book Cousin Ann’s Stories for Children.  Written in 1849 by Quaker abolitionist and pioneer female physician Ann Preston (1813-1872), her account conveys in simple but deft language, Brown’s death-defying journey:

The box was three feet long, two feet eight inches deep, and twenty-three and a half inches wide.  Then, he got a kind man to send word to a trusty friend in Philadelphia, that the box would be sent on the cars to Philadelphia on a certain day.  On the top of the box was written in large black letters, ‘this side up with care.’  When it was nearly time for the cars to start, Henry took a bladder of water, some biscuit, and a large gimlet, and got into his box.  Then a man nailed down the top, and porters took the box to the cars, thinking … that it was a box of goods. It was very hot in the box, and Henry could hardly breathe, there was so little air.  But he made up his mind to die rather than make a noise … Part of the way he travelled by water, and when the box was put on the steamboat, it was placed so that Henry’s head and back were down … He lay in this way, while the boat went twenty miles, and it nearly killed him.  He staid in his little box-house twenty-six hours; but could not eat any of his biscuit, and instead of drinking the water, he used it to bathe his hot face.

Thankfully, Henry survived, and he emerged out of his box at the home of an abolitionist. His jubilant emergence is captured in this wood-engraved illustration from Cousin Ann’s Stories, as well as in a political cartoon, and two broadsides held at AAS. Brown, himself, described his journey in the Narrative of Henry Box Brown, first published in Boston in 1849.

Ann Preston concludes her story about Henry Box Brown with a profound comment on the meaning of true heroism:

We call people heroes who do something that is brave and great, and Henry is a hero.

Henry Box Brown’s story has been told to a whole new generation of young readers by writer Ellen Levine and illustrator Kadir Nelson’s evocative picture book Henry’s Freedom Box (2007), which was named a Caldecott Honor Book.  Levine and Nelson skillfully convey the sadness and hope of Henry’s story, and the book provides an incisive introduction to the historical understanding of American slavery for today’s children.

Primary Sources on Henry Box Brown at AAS:

Escape From Slavery of Henry Box Brown in a Box 3 feet and 1 inch long, 2 feet wide, 2 feet and 6 inches high. (Boston, ca. 1849 or 1850)  Broadside.

Preston, Ann. Cousin Ann’s Stories for Children. (Philadelphia, 1849). Children’s book.

The Resurrection of Henry Box Brown at Philadelphia. (Boston, 1850). Political cartoon.


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European Political Prints On-line

February 5th, 2010, by Lauren Hewes

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european_cartoons_bm9170_croppedJust in time for your winter viewing pleasure (who needs football?), the Graphic Arts team is pleased to announce that an inventory of the European Political Print Collection is now on-line and is fully illustrated.  Have a look:

http://www.americanantiquarian.org/Inventories/Europeanprints/

This is the latest work by our Graphic Arts Assistant Jaclyn Penny, who inventoried, described, re-foldered, and digitized (for reference only) the collection of just over two hundred objects.  These are complicated prints and an image really is worth a thousand words.  The written descriptions are fantastic though, and we have a pdf for key-word searching (try devil, or Paine, or dog).  The images are all 150 dpi, so you can enlarge and zoom in to read the small text and see all the gory details (including paper texture and plate tone, for those who are really passionate about such things).

But why does AAS even have European Political Prints, you ask?  Well, the bulk of the collection illustrates Europe’s perceptions of the emerging colonies, the Revolutionary War period, and the War of 1812, so these objects offer a valuable comparison to the American political prints — allowing for a two-way conversation of cartoons and social satires.

So, give the pigskin a break and do a key word search on pig or on Patriot (no Saints or Vikings, alas) and enjoy!

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Slate, before the hype

January 27th, 2010, by Lauren Hewes

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With the pending release of Apple Computers’ tablet computer and the surrounding press and discussion, it seemed like a good time to review the precursor to it all, the humble school slate. The Antiquarian Society has several nineteenth-century slates in the games collection, including one slate_insidewith multiple pages, patented in 1867 and bound like a book. These small objects were used in schools for spelling and mathematical exercises and featured a surface that could support erasure and re-writing. Some were made of actual stone slate, others, like the one pictured here, were paper or paperboard treated with a slate-infused pigment. The selling points for a good-quality school slate might be recognized by today’s computer-savvy consumer: the size of the writing surface, the portability of the object, and the durability over time. Most salesmen’s texts and advertisements promote these qualities. At rates of $1 to $2 per dozen, the school slate was cheap enough that it was widely disseminated and used by thousands of school children across the country.

Where did all that slate come from? Before the Civil War, slate was mslate­_Lithf_MoorT_Grae_Dispined in New York, New England and throughout the Mid-Atlantic states.  As the population moved westward, slate deposits were recorded and mined right the way across the continent to California. Also used as a roofing and paving material, slate was in high demand through about 1900.

Let’s keep thinking like those executives at Apple. What about the market? In the nineteenth century, school slate manufacturers tried to capture market share inslate_national_primary_school_slates several ways. They created decorative frame styles to appeal to customers, they sold their slates directly to schools to get children used to them (sound like a familiar strategy?), and they offered accompanying items like chalk pencils, cleaners, and rubberized tips to protect the corners of the slate. To help create demand, schoolbook publishers often included in their texts sections designated as “for the slate,” which include suggestions for teachers and students to improve their hand writing, mathematical calculating skills, etc.

slate_naughty_boySo, go ahead and enjoy your tablet computer (or the tablet that belongs to the student in your life)! Now you know that you are following in the footsteps of American consumers well before your time, folks who wanted a smooth surface to write on during class. Just remind your kids to be gentle with their new technology and not to be like the “naughty boy” in the 1845 gift book illustration pictured here. In a fit of pique, he has apparently thrown his slate to the floor of the schoolhouse and it lies there, broken in a million pieces. Alas, there is no evidence that manufacturers ever offered extended warranties on nineteenth-century school slates!


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Clean out your closets!

January 15th, 2010, by Lauren Hewes

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two_penny_whist_folder_17Recently the Graphic Arts staff at the American Antiquarian Society posted its latest illustrated inventory, a complete listing of political and social engraved satires from the Charles Peirce collection (yes, that last name is spelled correctly! Peirce, not Pierce!).  You can have a look by following this link http://www.americanantiquarian.org/Inventories/Peirce/

Like many collections here at the Society, the Peirce collection is amazing and rare and wonderful for many reasons.  It includes the only known copy of James Akins’ (1773-1846) sharp-witted cartoon The Philosophic Cock which depicts Thomas Jefferson as a rooster and his slave Sally Hemmings as a hen.  There are rich social satires by the English engravers Thomas Rowlandson (1756-1827) and George Cruikshank (1792-1878) that lampoon everything from fashion to dentistry in the early nineteenth century.

Twelfth_night_folder_40Our web resource for this collection features an introduction written by 2009 Last Fellow Allison Stagg (University of London) documenting her research on how the Peirce album was used in Portsmouth, New Hampshire.  Peirce, a bookseller, compiled the album then rented it out for parties – see the image Twelfth Night by Cruikshank (Folder 40) for a group of Brits using a set of prints in a similar manner.  We have also illustrated Peirce’s newspaper advertisements documenting the album, which Allison found in the course of her research.

What you will not learn from this great new finding aide is the way the album was originally found by the donors.  In a compelling little essay titled “All I wanted to do was put the vacuum cleaner in the closet,” the donor, Edith Fisher Hunter, describes how she discovered the somewhat-tattered, portfolio-sized album among a large group of books from her spouse’s multi-generational family library.  The books had been boxed up and shoved into the hall closet under the stairs during various moves and renovations in the 1798/1810 family farmhouse.

Poll_of_horselydown_folder_25 _croppedUntil 1990, the boxes had been competing for space with the vacuum cleaner and tubs of Christmas decorations.  One muggy August day, while trying to cram the vac into the closet, Edith decided enough was enough. She pulled everything out and began sorting. The results: two boxes of material relating to bookseller and relative Charles Peirce were put aside, including the album of caricatures.  It all eventually made its way to AAS, much to our pleasure.  “The closet in the hall is delightfully empty,” Edith wrote in her conclusion, “The box of Christmas decorations fit into the closet very nicely as does the vacuum cleaner!”  The moral of this tale could be – It is never too late to tackle spring cleaning. Or, for those of us who lack acute housekeeping motivation – Clean out the closet to avoid dealing with the dust and dog hair on the rugs.  Yep, I admit it.  I’d rather lose myself in twelve boxes of early American imprints than push the Hoover!


Now Where Was I, Redux!

January 4th, 2010, by Lauren Hewes

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Last Friday we posted an entry about bookmarks describing the variety of scraps and ephemeral objects used by eighteenth and nineteenth century readers to mark their places in their books.

As that blog post was being edited, yet another bookmark was discovered, and a most curious one at that. A small letter was found tucked between the pages of the New York periodical The New Mirror of Literature and the Fine Arts for 1844. The note was written by Mrs. Gen. Macomb (Harriet Balch Macomb, 1783-1869, widow of General Alexander Macomb) to a “Mr. Abbott” and we transcribe it below in full:

July 20, 1844

bookmark_reduxDear Sir,
I have been requested by a very poor and respectable young Lady to ask you to take one or two of the accompanying Book Marks. She is endeavoring to support herself by her industry. I have taken several as presents for my friends. Would not Mrs. Abbott like one? I do not urge the business as Miss Mountz does, ha ha. Your Friend, H. B. Macomb.

The letter was not accompanied by any other bookmarks, but instead was used as one itself.

The fact that the note was found the same morning the blog post was written and was being edited just illustrates again the wonderful sense of kismet found under the generous dome of the Antiquarian Society.


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Now Where Was I?

December 31st, 2009, by Lauren Hewes

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If you were lucky enough to be the recipient of multiple books this holiday bird_bookmarkseason, all of which beg to be read immediately, you may be in need of a crucial tool . . . the humble bookmark!

leaves_bookmarkAt the Antiquarian Society, as books are catalogued they are checked over carefully by our staff and often reveal between their pages the bookmarks of previous owners.  These slips and bits are removed for conservation reasons and make their way to the desk of the Curator of Graphic Arts where they are added to the bookmark collection.  Yes, we have a bookmark collection which includes handmade needlework, slips of paper, assorted ephemera and any flat item which may have been used to mark the pages of a book.

We have religious-themed markers that were removed from the bible christ_bookmarkcollection, including a cut-out of the head of Christ which caused much conversation by those passing my desk (“I don’t see it!  Where is the nose?”), and the expected needlework crosses, doves and chalices.  An 1833 edition of William Cowper’s poems gave up a scrap of fringed silk, a ladies periodical included an advertisement for a rose nursery, and a mechanic’s manual shed a lone playing card (the five of clubs).  In early days, the provenance of these small items was lost and so we how have a folder of stray bookmarks marked as “removed from nineteenth-century novels,” which includes a blank tax receipt for the town of Ashburnham, an undated note from Martha to her friend Jane asking her to “come sup and call with me on Mrs. Chester Wilson,” and a homemade marker of ferns inscribed on the verso “1876, A happy New Year to all yours, as ever, Clara.”

dingee_bookmarkBefore we chide these earlier owners for their untidy use of found material and bits and scraps to mark their place in their books, an assessment of contemporary practices should be considered.  A quick survey of the books stacked by the bedsides in my house revealed the following being used as bookmarks: one of those annoying rectangular magazine advertising inserts, a scrap of newspaper torn from the morning paper, a feather, an actual bookmark given out by the public library to raise awareness for an upcoming building campaign, a postcard of a panda bear from a recent trip to Washington D.C., and, inevitably, a length of sparkly Christmas ribbon.

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The Acquisitions Table: Scripture Scenes

December 28th, 2009, by Tom Knoles

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If the holiday leftovers are still lurking in our refrigerators, we figure there’s still time for one more Christmas-themed post, courtesy of Curator of Children’s Literature Laura Wasowicz.   The charming engraving below raises two interesting questions you might want to mull over as you finish off the pecan pie.  First, where would Anderson have seen the image upon which this engraving is based? I’m guessing it was reproduced in a book or as a print he saw.  Second, what is that object in front of the kneeling Magus? Perhaps it has to do with gold, frankincense or myrrh? Or is it his turban? Is it a recognizable part of the iconography of the Magi?

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Fawcett, John, 1740-1817. Scripture Scenes. Cadiz, OH: H. Anderson, 1829.

This is a scarce early Ohio imprint; it is rarer still in that it contains nine hand-colored metal engravings probably executed by its publisher Hugh Anderson (1782-1866), who worked as an engraver in Philadelphia prior to his move to Ohio. Anderson based this engraving of the Adoration of the Wise Men upon a painting by the 16th-century Italian master Jacopo Bassano, shedding new light on the types of access that American children living in the Old Northwest had to Renaissance art. Purchased from David M. Lesser. Ruth E. Adomeit Book Fund.

~ Laura Wasowicz


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Santa Claus Exposed

December 14th, 2009, by Diann Benti

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AAS’s The Children’s Friend: A New Year’s Present is one of just two known copies of the 1821 pamphlet.  Fifteen centimeters tall and eight pages deep, the paper-covered volume stood little chance of survival in the hands of generations of American children. But there was one family fastidious enough for the task, and by chance they would be among AAS’s most important benefactors.

The Salisbury family provided AAS, notably, with two of its presidents, 67 boxes and an additional 100 bound volumes in manuscript materials, and the land for the library’s current home. In 1897 the Society also received the childhood book of  one of those presidents, Stephen Salisbury III. Six-year old Stephen received The Children’s Friend in 1841 as a gift from Kitty Lawrence.

What makes this little book so important?  Put simply it is believed to be the first American Christmas picture book. But we asked Laura Wasowicz, Curator of Children’s Literature, and Gigi Barnhill, Director of CHAViC for a few more details.

  • chimneys~The publishing location, New York City, is important. The brick chimneys visible as “Old Santeclaus” lands his sleigh indicate an urban environment.
  • ~The pamphlet falls within a set of attempts by well-to-do New Yorkers to domesticize the holiday from a time for rowdy alcohol-infused parties and mob revelry to a safe, family-focused holiday. The Children’s Friend joined efforts by New York Historical Society founder John Pintard and Clement Clarke Moore (author of the poem “A Visit from St. Nicholas” first published in 1823).*
  • ~The story offers the first visit by St. Nicholas on Christmas Eve (instead of his Saint’s day December 6th), as well as the first appearance of his reindeer.
  • ~While the “long, black birchen rod” left for parents with naughty sons might seem a harsh ending to modern readers, it was in keeping with the parlance of the day. In a time when a children’s book might conclude with a child burned to death for playing too close to the fire, The Children’s Friend is in fact a gentle cautionary tale.
  • family~The Children’s Friend is considered the first American example of a completely lithographed book.  Lithography (the practice of drawing on limestone with waxy crayons to create a master image that absorbed ink) was introduced in the United States in the early 1800s.
  • ~Unlike engraving, lithography did not require the same high level of skill to execute and could make up to 100,000 impressions with one stone.  But the technology did require special equipment and a specific type of printing press.
  • ~Barnet and Doolittle, the firm that likely lithographed the pamphlet, was the first commercial lithographic printing shop to be established in the U.S.
  • santeclaus_text~The publishers used lithography as an inexpensive alternative to engraving and avoided the expense of multiple presses by lithographing both illustration and text (you can see that the text looks handwritten).
  • ~The color, added by hand after printing, suggests the pamphlet was expensive to buy.

*Historian Stephen Nissenbaum discusses The Children’s Friend and explores the transition to a family-oriented holiday in The Battle for Christmas (New York, 1996). Nissenbaum did much of his research at AAS  as a long-term fellow.


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