The Unsupervised Tailor's Apprentice & the Christmas Coat for a Cat, c. 1775

Isabella reporting,

Most memoirs written by veterans of the Revolutionary War concentrate on glorious battles won, comrades lost, and patriotic fervor. But the memoirs of James Potter Collins (1763-1844) also include this entertaining anecdote from his days as a twelve-year-old tailor's apprentice with a bit too much unsupervised time.

"I had been at work about two months when Christmas came on – and here I must relate a little anecdote. The principal [the tailor] and his lady were invited to a party among their friends...while it devolved on me to stay at home and keep house. There was nothing left me in charge to do, only to take care of the house. There was a large cat that generally lay about the fire. In order to try my mechanical powers, I concluded to make a suit of clothing for puss, and for my purpose gathered some scraps of cloth that lay about the shop-board, and went to work as hard as I could. Late in the evening I got my suit of clothes finished; I caught the cat, put on the whole suit – coat, vest, and small-clothes [breeches] – buttoned all on tight, and set down my cat to inspect the fit; unfortunately for me there was a hole through the floor close to the fireplace, just large enough for the cat to pass down; after making some efforts to get rid of the clothes, and failing, pussy descended through the hole and disappeared; the floor was tight and the house underpinned with brick, so there was no chance of pursuit. I consoled

myself with a hope that the cat would extricate itself from its incumbrance, but not so; night came and I had made on a good fire and seated myself for some two or three hours after dark, when who should make their appearance but my master and mistress and two young men, all in good humor, with two or three bottles of rum. After all were seated around the fire, who should appear amongst us but the cat in his uniform. I was struck speechless, the secret was out and had no chance of concealing; the cat was caught, the whole work inspected and the question asked, is this your day's work? I was obliged to answer in the affirmative; I would then have been willing to take a good whipping, and let it stop there, but no, to complete my mortification the clothes were carefully taken off the cat and hung up in the shop for the inspection of all customers that came in."

–– Autobiography of a Revolutionary Soldier, by James Potter Collins, published 1859

With his own master away from the shop for the holiday, Michael McCarty, above, a tailor's apprentice in the Historic Trades program, Colonial Williamsburg, was inspired to copy Collins' achievement, and make a miniature red hunting coat for his own cat. The coat was made to measure like every 18th c. gentleman's coat would have been, and cut and sewn entirely by hand of fine red woolen, trimmed in black with tiny covered buttons and gold-thread buttonholes. And just like young Collins' cat-coat, Michael's handiwork was on display in the shop window throughout the Christmas season, below left – although someday I'd really like to see it on the cat, too.

Photographs by Susan Holloway Scott. More photos on the Tailors Shop Facebook page here.

Fashions for January 1827, with White Wedding Dress

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Loretta reports:

Well, how could I resist this promenade dress?  Meant for walking or driving, it makes some concession to the January weather, with the chinchilla trim and muff. Oh, and the hat!  But equally interesting, I trust, is the white wedding dress.  As we've discussed before (including here and here), white wedding dresses were not at all uncommon before Queen Victoria’s wedding in 1840.

View online here

Read online here

Read online here

Fashions from Ackermann's Repository, January 1827, from the Internet Archive, courtesy Philadelphia Museum of Art

Breakfast Links: Week of December 30, 2013

Happy new year! We're back with a bountiful collection of Breakfast Links for you - links to all our recent fav web sites, blogs, articles, and images, gathered for you from around the Twitterverse.
• Early circulating libraries and Jane Austen.
• Saving face: beauty for women workers during the First World War.
• Is the famous 19th c. painting Washington Crossing the Delaware obscene? Some schools have thought so.
• Rare 18th c. "Incroyable" male fashion doll displayed new styles to gentlemen.
• How humans made squirrels part of the urban environment.
• Another point of view: squirrels as symbols of Satan, of spite, and of saving.
• Michelangelo's handwritten (and illustrated) 16th c. grocery list.
• "You are certainly a very bad woman": the case of Mary Moriarty, a regular of the 1830s magistrates' courts.
• Before drivers' licenses and SSNs, some 19th c. civilians used the equivalent of commercial dog tags for ID.
• Image: Women in the dissection room, Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania, 1892.
• New Years gifts to the "deserving poor" from Queen Victoria, 1853.
• Animal crackers: the long English tradition of keeping exotic animals.
• Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, as translated into Latin and set in plainsong: amazingly beautiful, too.
• Victorian adventures and terrible tales, all part of the Illustrated Police News.
• Paws, pee, & mice: cats among medieval manuscripts.
• Making up Hollywood: makeup maven Max Factor, who created the "cupid's bow" lips and made Rudolph Valentino a heartthrob.
• Image: Two stones thrown by Suffragists at Buckingham Palace 100 years ago.
• Here come the brides! Behind-the-scenes blog leading up spring installation at the Victoria & Albert Museum of wedding gowns from 1775-2014.
• The most boring thing on your plate is about to get amazing: parsley, the herb of death.
• Christmas in prison in 1839.
• In the background: art you may never notice in museum dioramas.
• Jewish boxes as "enforcers" during the Covent Garden Old Price War of 1809.
• Electric corsets, the very thing for ladies c. 1890.
• Image: Sentimental or grotesque? Charles Dickens' letter opener, made from the taxidermied paw of his beloved pet cat, Bob.
• To make Lemon Cheesecakes: 18th c. recipe plus modern version.
• Weeping sailors: British manliness, 1760-1860.
• The snooty Astor Place Opera House in New York City is ruined when a rival secretly rents the house for a dog and monkey show in 1852.
• Be merry and drink perry, a popular 17th c. pear wine - even in Puritan Massachusetts.
• Human trophies: the skull is a familiar memento mori, but during the Second World War, it also became a controversial souvenir.
• New Years' gifts for Queen Elizabeth I, 1599-1600.
• Domestic cats enjoyed village life in China 5,300 years ago.
• Models on 1920s postcards labelled with the names of the real-life lovers who sent cards.
• Pitchcocked eels: English tavern dining in the 18th c.
Hungry for more? Follow us on Twitter @2nerdyhistgirls for fresh updates daily.

Friday Video: What the Janitor Saw, 1902

Isabella reporting,

Here's a silly, short film clip that must have been quite racy when it was new. Called Par le trou de serrure (What Happened to the Inquisitive Janitor), it's exactly that – a nosy hotel employee spying on guests.

It's the work of director Ferdinand Zecca (1864-1947) for the Société Pathé Frères of Paris, the largest film equipment and production in the world in the early twentieth century. In 1902, Pathé had recently acquired the patents of the Lumiere brothers - we've shared examples of their pioneering films here and here - and were swiftly expanding into the international market by showing their short silent films in their own movie theaters around the world, from Paris to London to New York to Moscow. Regardless of the language of the patrons, short films like this one must have been immensely popular.

This particular film is also considered noteworthy for its first known use of the "keyhole matte" technique. The audience gets to see exactly what the peeping-tom janitor sees - even the keyhole through which he's spying.

Dangers of 1836 Diving Apparatus

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Loretta reports: 

A while back I wrote about an early submarine and the perils of underwater travel devices in the 19^th century.  Given the state of technology in the early 1800s, one might expect trouble—but not the kind described in this entry in the Annual Register's Chronicle for 1836.*

~~~

JANUARY

2.  Escape From Suffocation.— A tradesman in Blackman-street, named Caston, carrying on the occupation of a "general dealer," had a narrow escape from suffocation a few days ago, under singular circumstances. Amongst some articles he had purchased at a sale was a diving apparatus, to enable the wearer to remain under water for a considerable time. Never having before seen a machine of a similar construction, Mr. Caston determined to try it in the first instance on terra firma, and for this purpose drew the helmet or cap over his head, and then adjusted that part which fitted the lower extremities. He, however, omitted the most essential part of the apparatus — namely, the valve which admitted the air into that portion which fitted over his head and face. This neglect nearly cost him his life; for when one of his servants entered the warehouse, Mr. Caston was discovered rolling about on the floor, enveloped in the diving apparatus, apparently in great agony. The servant entered just in time to extricate his master.

~~~

View online here

 These illustrations are later, although, apparently the basic setup didn't change very much until the 20th century.  You can see more images of early diving dress here.

*Google Books thinks it's 1837, but they've been confused before.