Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Fonthill: A Castle In the Bronx

This beautiful castle is in New York City, in the Bronx neighborhood of Kingsbridge. This part of Kingsbridge is now technically in Riverdale. Its modern address is 6301 Riverdale Avenue at West 263rd Street.

Actor Edwin Forrest (1806-1872) purchased farmland overlooking the Hudson, in Kingsbridge, in 1847 and had this castle built for him to live in with his wife Catharine.

Forrest was a well-known Shakespearean actor who was also famous for the messy and sensational divorce case that he became embroiled in.I am going to write about the Forrest case in a future post - it has been in my to-do file for some time, and it was pure serendipity that I decided to write about this building.

Forrest named the property Fonthill, after writer William Beckford's Fonthill Abbey in England. Beckford (1760-1844) is best known for his Gothic novel Vathek (1786). The original Fonthill was nicknamed Beckford's Folly. Beckford lived there alone in one of the 12 bedrooms. The doors were 35' tall and it took 500 workers several years to build. Twice the 300' tower on the abbey collapsed and had to be rebuilt.

Forrest sold his Bronx Fonthill to the Sisters of Charity and the College of Mt. St. Vincent, in 1856. This was doubtless part of the fall-out of his divorce in 1850. In 1849, Edwin and Catherine separated and Forrest had moved back to his native Philadelphia.

Fonthill has been a beautiful part of the Mt. St. Vincent campus ever since 1856. In 1912 Stephen Jenkins wrote that it was being used as a combination chaplain's residence, library and museum.

The stereoscopic picture of Edwin Forrest's Fonthill is from NYPL Digital Gallery and dates from the 1860-1915 period. The Mathew Brady photograph of Edwin Forrest is from Wikipedia, as is the picture of Beckford's Fonthill.

Hermalyn, Gary and Robert Kornfeld. Landmarks of the Bronx (1989), p. 27.
Jenkins, Stephen. The Story of the Bronx (1912, 2007 ed.) p. 325.

Monday, September 28, 2009

The Great Glass Coffee Experiment

It may look like an elegant Victorian chemistry experiment, but Friday's mystery contraption is actually a coffee maker from the mid-1850s. And a lot of you were totally on the right track. However, many congratulations and cups of fine coffee to ceemee and Caroline who were absolutely right!

This type of coffee maker was known as a balance siphon, and was a form of vacuum coffee maker. All of which requires a little explaining. The vacuum coffee maker has two containers, usually one on top of the other, connected by a tube. The water is heated in the bottom. The expansion caused by heat forces the water up through the tube into the upper container, which has coffee grounds in it. When all the water is at the top, the heat is turned off, which creates a vacuum and the brewed coffee drips back down into the lower part of the coffee maker.

The balance siphon coffee maker has the two vessels side by side on a platform but works in the same way. The platform contains a counterweight attached to the heated vessel. The counterweight activates a mechanism (usually a snuffer) which turns the heating element off when the coffee and water have combined. The heater was, in the Victorian models, usually a spirit lamp. In this case, the white porcelain water boiler is on the right, with a glass spirit lamp under it. The glass coffee vessel is at the left, and has a copper top. The rod in the center is brass and has a spring-loaded bracket (which turns off the spirit lamp).

My favorite Victorian balance siphon coffee maker, however, is Jefferson Davis' locomotive coffee maker, which Jack Finney writes about in Forgotten News. French friends of the Confederacy gave it to Davis in the 1860s, and later it came into the possession of President Andrew Johnson, who (Finney writes) did actually use it in the White House. It had a music box inside which played "Dixie" as the coffee was being brewed.

Finney includes pictures of it, but I thought I had better not get in trouble scanning them right out of the book. The water heats in the steam engine and a whistle tells you when the water is hot. The charming little pink locomotive coffee maker above is very similar, though. It dates from about 1864 and was made in France like the Davis coffee maker. The image is from Earlytech, and I hope that they do not mind me sharing it with you here. There is an excellent article about this coffee maker at Earlytech, too.

Many thanks as always to you all for playing this week:

Daisy the Curly Cat
Fresh Hell
Caroline at The Quack Doctor
Susan Helene Gottfried at West of Mars
wngl at Zeitheist
Bethany at Beppycat and Co.
John at English Wilderness
Norkio at Past Periods Press
ceemee at cazzapoeia
Lisa at Alterity Antique and Vintage Button Jewelry
Pam Walter at Satisfied Sole
Hairball at Hairballs on the Carpet of Life
Jude at Mature Not Senile
filmtub at filmtub
Debbi at Debbi's Random Thoughts
Annemieke (no link)
Auntie E at At Home With Auntie E
Anonymous (no link)

Here at CoffeeGeek you can see a reproduction of a similar coffee maker from the 1840s - on sale for $600. And here are more at Espresso Vero.

Next Friday, I will do something different - not sure what, yet. I'll probably space out the Mystery Objects so that we don't get tired of doing the same thing every week, because that is no fun at all.

Friday, September 25, 2009

The Curlicued Thingamajig

I was able to make this picture a decent size this week, which is a good thing since it has all sorts of decorative detail on it.

You might be able to guess this one. I don't know if I could have guessed it, but knowing what it is - I can see that you might.

This is Victorian, not surprisingly. Some Fridays we'll definitely delve into other eras but so far all the detective work has been in the 19th century.

Answers forthcoming on Monday, as usual!

Thursday, September 24, 2009

The Flying Hat

This most uplifting object is a Flying Hat, the subject of a late Victorian trick photograph (although the trick is not that astonishing - if you look closely you can see three wires attached to the hat).

It was taken by Eli W. Buel, a Pittsfield, Massachusetts photographer, about 1870. But why? This is the sort of picture that makes you wish you knew more about the photographer. Did he like hats? Did he long to be a magician instead of a photographer? Did someone ask him to make a portrait of their favorite hat?

We may never know.

From the collection of George Eastman House at Flickr, link here.

And tomorrow: the weekly History Mystery...

******

Thank you to Silly Willy and Fluffy for the Friendship Blog Award!

******
And also: I have disabled Entrecard ads. I'll let the already-bought ones run and then I am leaving Entrecard. I am not a fan of the sponsored ads. How about you? Do tell in the comments.

I'll be bookmarking and subscribing to lots of EC friends. Let me know if you want to keep in touch. I'll have more time to visit, comment and - you know - actually write stuff.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Magic and Matrimony: The Dark Doings of Madame Prewster

Mrs. Prewster, from Philadelphia, tenders her services to the ladies and gentlemen of this city in astrology, love, and law matters, interpreting dreams, etc., by books and science, constantly relied on by Napoleon; and will tell the name of the lady or gentleman they will marry; also the names of the visitors. No. 59, Great Jones Street, corner of the Bowery. Ladies 50 cents, gentlemen 1 dollar. --Advertisement, 1854


"Who has not heard of Madame Prewster?" asked Henry Morford in his 1863 novel, Shoulder-straps. She was famous, Morford wrote, for predicting the future spouses of both ladies and gentlemen, and for being able to tell the names of her clients before they introduced themselves.

Caroline Prewster was a fortune teller in the 1850s and early 1860s in New York. She lived at several addresses in this period, all in the neighborhood of the Bowery: 59 Great Jones Street, 76 Madison Street, 411 Grand Street and 373 The Bowery. By 1860 she had moved uptown to 251 Third Avenue (between 20th and 21st Streets). Her name was familiar to most New Yorkers of the time; out of the two hundred or so fortune tellers working in New York then, she was arguably the most famous.

Unfortunately, though, this was because she was infamous for the sinister business she ran on the side. This was ostensibly a matrimonial bureau, but she was not so much a matchmaker as she was a procuress.

The journalist Fitz-James O'Brien wrote about a visit to Prewster in the early 1850s, entitled "Magic and Matrimony." He inquired about her matrimonial services and she said that for ten dollars she provided matchmaking services, introducing gentlemen to young lady school-teachers and shop-girls, on receipt of ten dollars from the gentlemen. Why, she had made over 300 successful matches. "Sometimes singular things happen," she said (as indeed was quite true, but not in the sense she meant). She told O'Brien that once a rich man had asked her to represent him as poor to the young lady, and that once they were married "he landed her to her great astonishment in a new house of magnificent splendour."

O'Brien asked if the ladies were not in some danger from these introductions, which led not to matrimony but rather to "unfortunate [results] as regards the female." Madame Prewster, "visibly swelling like a hen whose brood has been outraged," said:

No, Sir! Never, Sir! I will and am able to purtect all the ladies who confides themselves to my charge. Nothing of the kind have ever occurred to me. I would never introduce the gentleman no more to ladies, and he would lose his ten dollars. That's the way I'd serve him.

The sad story of one of these young ladies is told in a letter which her mother wrote in 1853 to the Mayor of New York, Fernando Wood. It was printed in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. Her daughter, the lady wrote, was almost 15 and had answered a gentleman's advertisement for a wife in the New York Herald. Her mother had had no idea of this, "or it would not have happened." The girls "were directed to Mrs. Prewster's, Great Jones St., corner of the Bowery" to meet the man. Prewster said that for $5 she would tell the girls all about him and to come back the next Friday:

She thought at first she would not go, but the other girl had been there, and found a beau to her liking, and been to Coney Island with him, and she told [my daughter] such a story that she thought she would go and see Madame Prewster again. When she went in she saw a man, who said, 'Mrs. Prewster, what a charming girl that is! O, my dream is completely out! That lady has been in my midnight dreams for months past.' 'O ho!' said Mrs. Prewster, 'did I not show this man in the cards, with such black eyes.'

The man told the girl not to tell her parents and he would not tell his father "where he got his wife from" - and that they would "keep company until winter came on" and then marry. They would meet at Madame Prewster's "when convenient." Unfortunately the girl became pregnant and this is when her mother noticed, of course, that all was not well:

She said that she had gone away from her home, with a very bad man and lived with him in a very bad house...The man that made her [pregnant] is a married man, with a wife and four children. He had deserted them and ruined my child. If I expose him I shall also expose my whole family...Do, Sir, all in your power to send those fortune tellers away, or make the press not advertise such people's business. This is the first letter I ever wrote to an officer in my life. I am so worried I do not know what to do or say.

Enclosed with this letter were Prewster's ad (very similar to the one quoted at the beginning of this post) and the matrimonial ad from the Herald. The latter stated that the gentleman is a 38 year old widower "of some wealth" wishing to meet and wed a "well-bred lady" but that he is not particular about her age. His mailing address was in Jersey City; Prewster's reputation was not limited to New York City, it seemed.

The journalist Mortimer Thomson, who wrote under the name Q.K. Philander Doesticks, also visited Prewster in the 1850s. Like O'Brien, he considered he to be "one of the most dangerous" fortune tellers in the city. She had been known to the police for at least 14 years (he wrote in 1858) and that "the amount of evil she has accomplished in that time is incalculable."

Prewster was certainly in New York City by 1850, in which year she is listed in the census with daughter Caroline. Prewster seems to have been born in Philadelphia* about the year 1811, and possibly first practiced fortune telling there. She may have known Madame Morrow, who was from the same city and roughly the same age. She was still in New York in the 1860 census but I have been unable to trace her beyond the year 1863, when she is listed in a New York directory.

Note: Madame Prewster's actual fortune telling exploits, as described by O'Brien and Thomson, are worthy of a separate future post - as this one is already quite long.

*Additional Note: In the 1860 census Prewster is listed as being born in England, but this is contradicted both by the 1850 census and by John Netten Radcliffe, who says that she is from Philadelphia.

Sources

Caroline Prewster household, 1850 US Census, New York City Ward 13, New York, NY; #481/1317, Roll M432_550, p. 368.
Caroline Prewster household, 1860 US Census, New York City Ward 18 District 3, New York, NY; #223/277, Series M653, Roll 813, p. 735.
"City News and Gossip," Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Feb. 7, 1855, p. 3.
"Fortune Tellers and Fools," New York Times, Nov. 23, 1855, p. 4.
Doesticks, Q.K. Philander [Mortimer Thomson]. The Witches of New York (1858), pp 29-50.
Morford, Henry. Shoulder-straps: A Novel of New York and the Army, 1862. (1863), p. 184.
O'Brien, Fitz-James and Wayne R. Kime. Selected Literary Journalism, 1852-1860 (2003), pp 70-75.
Radcliffe, John Netten. Fiends, Ghosts and Sprites (1854), p. 66 [advertisement quoted at top of post]

Images

The illustration "Faces In the Fire" is from Arthur's Illustrated Magazine, Vol. 44 (1876), p. 191
Postcard scene of the Bowery from NYPL Digital Gallery.
Bowery old clothes shop/street scene (1871) from NYPL Digital Gallery.

Monday, September 21, 2009

The Curious Case of the Pleximeter

This object is so decorative, it's hard to believe that it is a medical instrument - but that is exactly what it is. The Friday mystery object is a silver and ivory pleximeter, dating from about 1850.

And what, you ask, is a pleximeter?

Austrian doctor Leopold Auenbrugger (1722-1809) invented a diagnostic technique called percussion in the mid-18th century. He got the idea from remembering how his father tapped beer kegs and then listened to see how full they were. Medical percussion was similar: tapping on a patient's chest, thorax or abdomen. A duller sound indicated a blockage or mass, whereas a lighter, more reverberant sound indicated health - clear unobstructed lungs, for example.

Pierre Adolphe Piorry invented the pleximeter in 1826, as a percussive aid. One used it as a platform to tap on with fingers or another instrument, and it would improve the conduction of sound. David Francis Condie noted in the 1850s that one could strike harder on a pleximeter than on the bare skin, and thus get "a more decided sound" - and, presumably, a better diagnosis.

Percussion did not become a popular technique until the 19th century, after Napoleon's physician, Jean Nicholas Corvisant, wrote about Auenbrugger's innovative methods. By the mid-19th century pleximetry was a popular method of diagnosis, and pleximeters were made - first of wood, but later of glass, ivory, gutta percha and silver. They were often marked with gradations to help the physician locate the precise area the sound was coming from. Pleximeters came in a variety of shapes and sizes and could be used in conjunction with the fingers, a stethoscope (first invented in 1816 by French physician René Laennec), or a small hammer.

Many thanks to all who took part in this round of Guess the History Mystery. And I apologize for not being able to show this from different angles or bigger - the sites I find these on have only one picture of the object, as a rule. When I tried to enlarge the image, it got blurry - so I didn't.

Thank you so much to all:

Kristine at Dr. Mom's Spot
Pinaybackpacker
P.L. Frederick at Small and Big
John at English Wilderness
Daisy at Daisy the Curly Cat
FreshHell
Jude at Mature Not Senile
Roschelle at Inconsequential Logic
Wendy at November Obscura and Gothic Tea Society
Shinade at The Painted Veil
Amanda at Time Machine to the Twenties
Hairball at Hairballs on the Carpet of Life
Beth at Margie and Edna's Basement
Pam Walter at Satisfied Sole
The Writing Nag
Lisa at Alterity Button Jewelry
RE Ausetkmt at Recycled Frockery
Dr. Lauren at The Ancient Digger
Auntie E at At Home With Auntie E
LiLu at Live It, LOVE It
Arlene DeWinter at Gothic Faery Tales

Fabulous guesses all - please check out Friday's comments for them!

More to come this week, and of course another mystery on Friday...

Sources

Aitken, William. The Science and Practice of Medicine, Vol. 2 (1866), p. 525, link here.

Condie, David Francis. Lectures on the Principles and Practice of Physic (1855), p. 524, link here.

Soiferman, Erik and Eric Rackow. "A Brief History of the Practice of Percussion," at antiquemed.com.

The Civil War era ivory and silver pleximeter (with the ivory in the middle) is from this eBay page - if you happen to have $1300, you might want to bid on it (!).

The small (it is only 2" long) all-ivory pleximeter (also dating from the mid-19th century) is from prices4antiques.

Friday, September 18, 2009

A Silver Mystery

What do you think this is? It is made out of silver and evidently very nicely decorated.

And it is Victorian.

And I will tell you all about it on Monday. I'm going to post the follow-up on Monday so that you can (a) have a bit more time to guess and (b) have something interesting to start the week with. And it will also give me a little bit more time to research and write something interesting!

I'll aim to write a longish post for midweek, most weeks. And in-between, if I find something amusing and quick, like an ad or a photograph (I have one in mind for next week already) I'll post that, too.

Happy detecting!

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Dr. Wolcott's Pain Paint

In the late 1860s, a Dr. Chatham in New York City came up with one of the strangest ideas I have ever come across: Pain Paint.

It inspired all sorts of poetry, such as this ballad found in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, which reads in part:

"My Dear Wife!"

"What! grunt with pain and never try
Pain Paint in every store!
I blush to see you pout and cry,
When Paint will quick restore.

Our Bridget shall a bottle bring;
Then bathe your ankles well;
Wolcott's Pain Paint is just the thing
For crippled Joe or pouting Nell.

...Why, Wolcott's Pain Paint never fails
When properly applied;
To cure disease and all the ails
Soak full of paint outside.

An ounce of bread can never fill,
Or quench the appetite;
Small bottles! No, a pint is still
Too small, a quart is nearer right.

A quart of Pain Paint cost $8 - a tremendous amount of money in 1868.

A man named Peter Minck wrote most of the Pain Paint poetry, including the epic "A Hundred Years Ago," at right. He signed the piece entitled "My Wife Had An Ulcer" which is a tribute to the Paint which "the Doctors told me was humbug." Minck's verse concludes:

I am well known in this city,
And any person
Can make further inquiry
At 101 West Street, New York,
At the Hanover-House
Of which I am proprietor.

Peter Minck is listed on the 1880 US census at FamilySearch: he was a Hanover-born restaurant owner, hence the name of his establishment. Minck was 53 years old in 1880, so was writing his poetry for Pain Paint in his early 40s (circa 1868).

So what was this astonishing mixture which wiped out all manner of aches and pains, and made restauranteurs wax poetic? A Dr. Crull in the Medical World, quoted in Charles Wilmot Oleson's Secret Nostrums (1892) gives his recipe: dried mint leaves soaked for a few days in oil of peppermint, dissolved in alcohol and diluted with water.

Dr. Wolcott also made an Instant Pain Annihilator (1867 ad at left).

Image with poem "A Hundred Years Ago" from Harper's Weekly, November 1868, at HarpWeek's 19th Century Advertising History. The wonderful Dr. Wolcott dollar bill is from the Bowers Merena auction site, link here to see both sides of the bill. And the color ad for Wolcott's Pain Annihilator is from the Library of Congress; I've already used it in a previous post, but it's worth showing here, too. You can get the large version over at LOC.

Additional Sources

Advertisement, Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Sept. 21, 1867, p. 6.
"A Dangerous Man," Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Nov. 29, 1867, p. 3.
Oleson, Charles Wilmot. Secret Nostrums and Systems of Medicine: A Book of Formulas (Chicago 1892), p. 194.
Sampson, Henry. A History of Advertising from the Earliest Times (New York, 1875), p. 592.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

An Uplifting Device

If you were a lady in the Victorian era, and you wanted to go for a walk - whether in the country or the city - there was a problem. The problem was the interaction of your long and trailing skirts with rural mud or dirty city streets (full of heavens know what sort of filth). But a solution was no farther away than a loop attached to your belt or chatelaine.

A chatelaine, from the French word for "chain," was a belt hook with chains attached to it, worn by ladies. Each chain held a useful object, such as scissors, thimble, watch and keys. This picture of a chatelaine is from the National Park Service.

And here is the solution to the problem of mud versus skirt: the skirt-lifter! The tonged part held the bottom of your skirt up and kept it clean. The Friday one was fairly plain. Some of them were quite fancy looking, as you can see. The seashell-shaped lifter is from Victoriana Lady; the gold one is from GoAntiques. The latter was attached, as you can see, to a finger ring. The skirt lifters were popular from about 1870 to the early 1900s. The one featured in Friday's post dates from about 1880. Once again, I won't tell you my source, since I'd like to use it again in future.

Congratulations to Laane of Laane Loves, who knew exactly what this was, and was the first to post a correct response. Laane was the first, but kudos also to everyone else who agreed with her:

Robin (no blog link listed)
Bill (ditto)
Kittybriton at The Nonce
Jude at Mature Not Senile
Shinade at The Painted Veil

And a huge thank you to everyone else for your creative and entertaining guesses:

P.L. Frederick at Small and Big: dog leash with earmuffs, early iPod holder or possibly spaghetti tongs
FreshHell: something medical involving electro-shock therapy or gynecology
Jennifer at some rabbits: some sort of scale
Daisy the Curly Cat: dog leash with handy pooper-scooper tongs attached
Dr. Lauren at The Ancient Digger: possibly a torture device
John at English Wilderness: weird candle snuffer or tapestry hanging device
Kirsten at The Soccer Mom Files: elephant nose tweezers
Grace at Hugz Before You Go
Joanne at Poetic Shutterbug
Hairball at Hairballs On the Carpet of Life: a pickle grabber with a wrist strap
Babette at Babette Feasts: an ice grabber with a wrist strap

Thank you all, you make it so much fun! More to come in the next weeks: more Friday mysteries of course, and posts involving Victorian ghosts, Victorian fortune tellers, a strange tale of the Mexican War, and one of the oddest medical ads I have ever seen.

[The picture of the 1870s ladies is from the NYPL Digital Gallery.]

Friday, September 11, 2009

The Mysterious Tonged Object

It's Friday and it's mystery time again. This one does not look like anything 'normal' like a vase or a pocket watch so I'm hoping it will be a little bit more mysterious and fun.

I had absolutely NO idea what it was when I first saw it.

Have fun guessing and I'll tell you all about it on Sunday!

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Old Hat, But Modern


The Umbrella Hat is a seemingly modern summer convenience (you can get the Wacky Umbrella Hat, at right, through Amazon, for example) - but in fact, a Victorian New Yorker invented it more than a hundred years ago.

Now Stephen Bartine of Tottenville, Staten Island, though he patented an 1883 improvement on the Sunshade Hat the subject of the wonderful picture at the left) - did not invent it. Gonsalvo R. Gray of Brooklyn improved the Sunshade Hat, too, in 1881, see here. Others, such as George W. Ross of Marquez, Texas, patented improvements on the hat - which implies that it had been in existence at least as far back as the 1870s. Bartine's version of that hat seems to have been the most popular one, though.

Stephen Bartine was 46 years old in 1883, and a boat builder (so he was out in the sun a lot). The 1880 census lists him with his wife Matilda and children Ulysses, Thomas and Bertha, living at Westfield, Staten Island (Richmond County, New York).

The Sunshade Hat image is from the NYPL Digital Gallery and is dated 1890.

******
Many thanks to Don at Beyond Left Field for the Superior Scribbler award and to John at Make Nothing Online and English Wilderness for the Zombie Chicken award!

Sunday, September 6, 2009

An Ornament To The Table

Congratulations are in order to Bill Nelson and to Caroline, who guessed Friday's mystery object: a Victorian celery vase.

Celery was a luxury item for most of the 19th century, though it became cheaper, and thus more common on dining tables, from about 1885 on. By 1900, celery was more often served on a flat glass tray than in a vase.

Why was celery so expensive? And why did people like it so much? It was expensive for much of the 19th century because it was difficult to grow. Wild celery or smallage, native to Britain, had to cultivated by hand, coddled along really, in order to produce a tender, edible vegetable. Smallage in the wild is bitter and earthy-tasting; the French use it is stews and soups sometimes for a flavoring, but it cannot be eaten out of hand.

Celery was prized at the Victorian table both as a delicacy on its own, or as an ingredient in sauces, soups and salads. It was harvested in early spring, and was regarded as cleansing both the palate and the entire digestive system after a winter of stodgy meals.

A writer for The Field wrote in 1871 that "One of the greatest luxuries of the table is good celery - white as driven snow and brittle as a rod of glass." By 1886, Arthur's Home Magazine stated that celery was easily found in some parts of the US (not specifying which parts, though) - and that that was good, because everyone loved it. The ad above and to the right, which suggests that a celery dish would be an excellent Christmas present, is from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle (Dec. 21, 1871, p. 2): "Celery is a luxury, and when placed in such a receiver, is an ornament to the table."

Several pills and tonics featured celery as one of the main ingredients. Celerina (see here for an example of an 1880s ad) was a nerve tonic made of "Celery, Coca, and Viburnum, combined with Aromatics." It was prescribed for "Nervous Conditions, Sexual Debility, Paralysis...and all Languid Conditions of the System." In 1883 Puck magazine ran a little text ad stating that Charles Guiteau, the assassin of President Garfield (in 1881), would not have been in such a rage if only he had been taking Dr Benson's Celery and Camomile Pills.

There are many examples of gorgeous glass celery containers on line. The image at the right is from the Molineaux and Webb site. The celery vase was usually set at the center of the table. The celery was placed in it roots down, in iced water. The celery was eaten towards the end of the meal, with the salad or dessert course (see here, for example).

Thank you and well done to everyone who played this week:

Jude at Mature Not Senile: a flower vase
FreshHell at Life In Scribbletown : parfait glass
Tori Lennox at Hollywoodland: spoon holder
Bill Nelson: celery vase
Alison of EleanorBlog: something to do with leeches or cupping
Catherine at Sharp Words: hat pin holder
Auntie E of At Home With Auntie E: a dessert goblet
Pam Walter at The Satisfied Sole: a vase of some kind
Caroline at The Quack Doctor (a wonderful blog which is devoted to medical history and ads): a celery vase
John at English Wilderness: the Goblet of Fire or the Holy Grail (lol, John!)
Unlikely Oilfield Wife: a vase

I'm not going to tell you where I got the original image from, because there are some other mysterious objects there, and I'd like to use it as a resource on other Fridays...

Celery illustration in color from Flora von Deutschland (1885) via Wikimedia.

The Paine's ad featuring the Before picture of the man with a headache (and racked nerves), is from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle (Dec. 16, 1899, p. 8).

Dr. Brown's Cel-Ray Tonic was (and is) a celery-flavored soda made in New York, that was supposed to be good for you in a bracing sort of way.

ADDITIONAL SOURCES

Text ad for Dr. Benson's Celery and Camomile Pills, Puck (Vols 9-10, 1883), p. 205.
Celerina ad, The Medical Brief (1883)
Andrew, Thomas. Cyclopedia of Domestic Medicine and Surgery (1842)
The Housekeeper's Friend (1880)
The Field Quarterly Magazine and Review (Vol. 2, 1871), p. 69.
"Our Useful Celery," Arthur's Home Magazine (Vol. 54, 1886), p. 76.

Friday, September 4, 2009

The Glass of Fashion

It is a fashionable, fancy-looking glass object that we have on the left. Because it's Friday once again and time for another history mystery.

This much is obvious: It's made of glass. And it is a container of some kind. But what was it used for? Like last week's sovereign holder, this is not what you might think at first glance.

I'll let you know what the answer is on Sunday. First I am going to do a little extra research, though. Because this object raises some interesting everyday-life questions, actually.

I'll tell you all about it on Sunday. See you back here then!

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Little House On the Parkway

Noted photographer Berenice Abbott took this shot of an old wooden house wedged between two apartment buildings, in 1938. I am guessing that it was built some time between 1845 and 1870.

Its street address was 542 Cathedral Parkway, between Broadway and Amsterdam Avenue. It was in the neighborhood of Morningside Heights, near Columbia University. Cathedral Parkway is the part of West 110th Street between Morningside Drive and Amsterdam Avenue. It is named for the nearby Cathedral of St. John the Divine.

Even by the early 1900s, the rural world that this house had been built for was long gone. Cathedral Parkway was being filled with large and elegant apartment buildings. The Britannia, for example, was a few steps away from this little house, at 527 Cathedral Parkway. George Gershwin was a resident of one of the apartment buildings at 110th and Amsterdam; he wrote Rhapsody in Blue while living there.

Sadly, the house was demolished in the 1980s. It had only survived as long as this because the lot was too narrow to attract developers.

The Museum of the City of New York has a page on this photograph, the image of which I found at the NYPL Digital Gallery. St. John the Divine and 110th Street both deserve their own future posts, by the way.

You might also like to read about the oldest remaining structure in Morningside Heights, the Leake and Watts Orphan House, over at Inside the Apple.