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.

I took a little break after Christmas, I hope that you’ve had a splendid holiday and that 2010 has been treating you kindly thus far.

I’m in the midst of excavating some of the old Victorian Valentine’s Day content that had been on this site before the “Mid-Web Crisis” of last January. Look for these gems from the past to be posted in the days leading up to Valentine’s Day. I also hope to share with you the transformation of my white (a first for me) Christmas tree into a Valentine’s Day tree.

I had purchased three sets of their ready-to-stitch acrylic coasters,  and then set upon stitching, confident that the coasters would provide an inexpensive finishing touch for what I hoped would be special Christmas gifts.

Unfortunately, I only glanced at the coasters prior to finishing the project .  The acrylic, which one would expect to by crystal-clear, was not. Most of the coasters shared the same flaw, along one edge of the hexagon. This edge was rough and opaque, with a wave-like, almost finger-print like pattern near this defect. As if the acrylic had dripped?

Then there were scuffs on the top surface of a few. And when something is supposed to be crystal clear, any blemish becomes very noticeable.

Looking at the shrink wrap, it could be that the coasters could possibly have been damaged during the shrink-wrap process (at the factory, or at Herrschner’s?). The shrink wrap was sealed with heat (or so it appeared), and it could be that whatever the source of the heat was, that it melted an edge of the coasters.

Whatever the cause, as I was under the wire for gifts, I managed to put together a set by salvaging what I could from all three.

I would return them, of course, but I suppose that I could use the remaining coasters to mix paints. Not their intended purpose, but I have no idea what happend to the receipt or the shipping box.

I still like the idea of coasters, they had such potential. But in the future, I will spend the extra money and go for a Sudberry House product. Or, with a few pieces of glass, some copper foil, and cork, just encase the stitchery myself.

I should also mention that the coasters were not secured in the box–they were accompanied by a wadded up piece of brown packing paper. But the cardboard box was thick, and although the packing seemed rather careless, I believe the coasters were defective from the beginning, and not damaged in transit.

I hope that you have a very Merry Christmas, and look forward to sharing more forgotten treasures with you in 2010.

Cheers!

Miss Mary

Colorful and comical postcards from the 1940s, currently for sale in my Etsy shop. Take a look!

These old postcards make wonderful fodder for your family scrapbook. Popular in the 1940s and early 1950s, these postcards would look great paired up with vintage photographs of your family.

From where I sit this afternoon, the first snow of the season is touching down and just that quickly, it’s suddenly Christmas time! And if my oven was not on the fritz, I would certainly be baking up some cookies. There is only so much one can achieve with a toaster oven, as I am finding out.

But good news, I’ve found a few interesting Candy recipes that I published to a long-defunct website back in 2002, and have republished them to a new section, The Victorian Cook Book.

There are more gems from the archives coming soon. Especially since the snow will more than likely prevent me from wandering far from my PC this evening.

Cheers,

Mary