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Tag Archives: Reading and Writing

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Before I get to the smutty talk, let me apologize for last Wednesday. I was sick with the ague. Ick. Anyway, this week’s post is about another book although it might be fairer to call it a pamphlet. The Georgian Bawdy House, by Emily Brand.

Here with, my by the moment review:

Oh my god. No. Way. Ewww.
One sexual myth of the early part of the Long 18th Century: amorous embraces could revive the dead. Right. How is that not necrophilia?

Viper-Wine. OK. That’s awesome. Drink viper-wine and you get frisky, even if you’re ::coughcough:: older.
Of course I googled it. Here.

Vinum Viperinum
Viper juice
of dried Vipers two Ounces
of white Wine three Pints
Infuse with a gentle Heat for a Week and then strain the Wine off
There has been some Dispute whether living or dry’d Vipers are best Viper Wine or whether a cold or hot Infusion is preferable. The college here has preferr’d dry’d Vipers and a warm Infusion; but the medicine is not of Consequence enough to be worth disputing about. I believe the Virtues it is pos’d of are very inconsiderable. A Medicine has been advertis’d in Town the Name of Viper Wine which is said to have had very extraordinary Effects such as might be from a Tincture of Cantharides which upon Examination I find it really to be.

Okayyyy.

:::Boggle::: There is a picture of ladies examining dildos, with testicles and hair. Ohmygod.

Oh. Hey. The Duke of Wellington. Boxing. Plenty of Regency era stuff here.

Kitties!!! (It’s a print with fighting cats.)

Oh….. I get it. Very funny. Snort.

My sweet honey, I hope you are to be let with the Lodgings!
No. Sir. I am to be let alone.

Boy, I wish this was on my iPad. Because the font is TINY!

Themed amatory entertainment. Hoo boy. Really? All righty.

Mollyhouses were meeting places for homosexual intercourse.

A lot of this makes me sad. The average age of a London prostitute: 16-24. As with everything, some women were wealthy — while they were still young, but so many other women were just trying to make ends meet.

I will continue with this next week, I think.

Believe it or not, that’s the actual title of a book published in 1824. There are at least three remarkable things about this book.

First, allow me to share the title page with you.

WINE AND WALNUTS ;
OR
after Dinner Chit Chat
BY
EPHRAIM HARDCASTLE

CITIZEN AND DRY SALTER

SECOND EDITION
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL I
LONDON
PRINTED FOB LONGMAN HURST REES OEME BROWN AND
GREEN
PATERNOSTER ROW
1824

Chit Chat.I don’t think I knew chit chat was period.

But this: this kills me: Citizen and Dry Salter.

You OWN it Ephraim! Is it just me, or does that strike you as highly amusing?

More Words

If ever a man possessed a particular bent of mind from some inherent feeling I verily believe I may claim credence on asserting that I have experienced such an extraordinary faculty. But lest the assumption may appear proudly egotistical— nay savour too strongly of vanity, in this modest age be it known that my pretensions to notoriety for this singular gift are but on an humble score being neither more nor less than for possessing an inherent love for the PICTURESQUE. Now having said this much I will endeavour to show how this marvellous faculty had birth– call me egotist if it be your pleasure, for I am of the old school, and save a world of circumlocution…

Now, I would have sworn that ego-anything was not period. But apparently it is. And yet, if I had a heroine call someone an egotist, everyone would think of Freud.

Translation please?

And now, what the hell is this guy saying? My brain got all twisted up about ten words in. Allow me to translate:

I feel things more than most, and it’s gone all up in my brain and made me super smart. I’m serious. Not that I’m not vain or anything. Not compared to some of the blowhards these days. Everyone who knows me knows I’m smarter than any of those dodos from Oxford. Here’s my secret; I like pretty things. True statement. Now, listen up, because that’s why you’ll LOVE my stories. I am older than you. Hell, I’m older than your father. I know things you young hipsters don’t.

And that, my friends, took a LOT longer than I expected. That guy’s been in the wine. But then, as he goes on to say. He’s eighty years old.

I may just translate the whole damn book. This guy is funny.

From that nut, Ephraim Hardcastle of Walnuts and Wine

It is yet a maxim with some remnants of the old school of curmudgeon ledger-men, that to buy a picture is to “hang your money on the wall.” The same narrow notions applied to books — “What, lock your money up in calfskins!”

Editorial note: 1820: Calfskin. 2013: my iPad. I wonder what Mr. Hardcastle would say about that?

The stock of literature, with those who accumulated stock, besides the Holy Bible, usually consisted of John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, the same lively writer’s Holy War, Fox’s Book of Martyrs, the Old Whole Duty of Man, a mutilated Baker’s Chronicle, some odd volumes of Jacob Tonson’s duodecimo Spectator, and Herman Moll’s Geography, commonly with torn maps, the Tale of a Tub, Milton’s Paradise Lost (never read), Culpepper’s Herbal, or Every Man his own Physician (the good lady’s book, under lock and key), the Complete Letter Writer, belonging to Miss, with Robinson Crusoe, Robin Hood’s Garland, and the Seven Champions of Christendom, the property of Jem and Jack.

Yes, gentle reader, reading has made a wonderful revolution in manners: every pretty miss can name the stars; and Newton, Descartes, and Tycho Brahe, are known to have been neither Egyptian, Roman, nor Greek; and the boys and girls may account for an eclipse, without being checked by papa with, “Such things are presumptuous, child.” In short, your magazinists and reviewists, your essayists and journalists, have brought your book-makers into vogue, until, such are the fruits of this scribbling era, “we philosophers, poets, and wits,” as a learned friend of mine has said, “no longer make a stir as heretofore in a party, like unto a stone, that, thrown into quiet water, maketh a disturbed circle from bank to bank:”—-no, “we make our entrance and our exit much like other harmless folks:” and this! in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and twenty! —” So runs the world away.”

All-righty! Reading is GOOD for you. Even if it does mean pretty girls can name the stars.

He says that almost like it’s a bad thing. Or so ironically cute. Look at the pretty girl, naming the stars like she’s not going to be popping ’em out like kittens pretty soon.

I have my curmudgeonly moments, and this is one of them.

Watch this Segue

I feel it’s only appropriate to follow that with this, taken from the front matter of an 1825 book on boxing, since, it turns out The Next Historical requires that I know something about Regency era boxing:

THE KNIGHT, THE DAEMON, AND THE ROBBER CHIEF.
A Romance. Price 6s.

THE ACTOR’S BUDGET.
In Two elegant Volumes, 12mo. Price 12s. Boards
By W. OXBERRY,
Of the Drury-Lane Company of Comedians.

In a few Days will be Published.

THE EVE OF SAN MARCO.
A Romance. In Three Volumes, Price 18s. Boards.

THE SPRITE AND THE LADY; OR, REMEMBER TWELVE!!
In Four Volumes, Price 1L. 1s. Boards.
By W. G. Thomas, Esq.

And so, we see that Romance is cheap. Alas, THE KNIGHT, THE DAEMON, AND THE ROBBER CHIEF, while listed in several Circulating Library catalogs, does not seem to be in Google Books. I found The Actor’s Budget. My God. That’s all I’ll say. The Eve of San Marco isn’t in Google books and neither is The Sprite and the Lady and the 12 whatever’s we ought not to forget. It’s MUCH more expensive that the daemon book. Interesting that it doesn’t say it’s in boards. Wonder why not? It’s their LEAD title!

In the comments, if you don’t mind, answer one or more of these questions:

1.  Name a few of your favorite historical romances. Books you’d want with you if you were stuck some place for a long time.

2. Are there types of stories you miss?

3. Duke. Pro or Con?

I’ll answer to get things started.

Mary Balogh’s A Summer To Remember is one of my all time faves. I loved Amanda Quick’s Ravished. I loved Karen Robard’s Loving Julia.

I miss the the big honking saga. I wish there were more Gothics. Once, I read a Regency-Set vampire book and I totally hated it. But now I wouldn’t mind. I can’t explain that.

Pro.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not open to non-dukes.

One of the unexpected treasures from the Duke of Wellington Tour was seeing the gatehouse of Reading Abbey.

Reading Abbey is a set of ruins in the center of Reading in Berkshire founded by Henry I in 1121. It was destroyed in the 1500s when Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries, but a few buildings remained, including the gatehouse.

The gatehouse is noteworthy in “our” era, because Jane Austen, around ten years old at the time, and her sister Cassandra briefly attended boarding school within its walls. The girls were instructed for only an hour a day in dancing, drawing, French and needlework. In contrast, boys would spend hours studying the classics. Jane’s father took them out of the school after 18 months and Jane never returned to formal schooling again.

Here is a print of the gatehouse around Jane Austen’s time:
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This is a photo I took on the trip:
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On the facade of the gatehouse were stone faces. Certainly these must have dated back to the early days of the Abbey. Here are a few of them:
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Other walls of the ruins of the Abbey were visible, but we could not walk to them. Across the street from the gatehouse was the lovely Forbury Gardens, but that is a topic for another day.

(I certainly hope you are not sick of my Duke of Wellington tour blogs!)

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