Valentines Day

[Huck]

Wondering if there is any period reference to this day?

[Miche_Todd]

Re: Valentines Day

Wondering if there is any period reference to this day?

I found the following mention of a plate in Godey's magazine Feb. 1864.


Godey's Arm-Chair.






FEBRUARY, 1864.






IN pursuance of our design to make this a great year of the Lady's Book, we present this number as an illustration of the fact. The February number is one that publishers do not usually make any demonstration with, having depended upon the success of their extra numbers in December and January to secure subscribers for the year but faithful to our promise to make one number as good as another— always excepting the title-pages that are in December and January— we have done our best to make the February number as good as that of December or January.


OUR ILLUSTRATIONS IN THIS NUMBER ARE AS FOLLOWS:—



St. Valentine's Day, engraved by Illman and Brothers— that fraternal household. It contains fourteen figures, and is a splendid illustration of the Feast of St. Valentine. See the admirable story by Miss Annie Frost.

And here is the story....

ST. VALENTINE'S DAY.

BY S. ANNIE FROST.



IT was a clear, sunny morning this fourteenth of February about which I write, and the postman of Longwood looked for a busy day, for Longwood was a cosy, old-fashioned town where lovers still clung to time-honored customs, and Valentines had not become miserable daubs or vile caricatures. Many a tale of love was reserved for the yearly time when the silent adorer might pour forth his hopes and fears on paper, or by some well chosen gift win his way to the heart he coveted. Many a rude rhyme, with limping feet and well-worn similes, was treasured as the studied task of a loyal heart, and made bright eyes moisten or pure hearts throb where Milton's peer might have sued in vain.



The morning sun was not very high, when Maggie Lossing, one of the acknowledged belles of the little town, sat combing out the rippling waves of her dark hair, and building her air-castles. It was a double holiday for the pretty girl, her birthday and St. Valentine's day, and Maggie knew that on this eighteenth birthday there was not likely to be any lack of the tributes laid yearly at her feet. She knew where two for her wee brother and sister were securely hidden, and she was wondering what Lizzie and Hattie, Willie and Laura would receive from the postman, and whether her mysterious lover who for five years had remembered her would be forthcoming on this her eighteenth birthday. She was still dressing when her two elder sisters, bright, pretty girls of nineteen and twenty, came in.

“Now, Mag,” said Lizzie; “I would not for the world be suspected of hinting; but there is a collar at K.'s that is the object of my profound admiration, and Hattie has confided to me that she thinks a head-dress of moss buds would suit her new tissue dress to a charm.”

“Perhaps it won't come,” suggested Maggie.

“Perhaps it will!” said Hattie. “O, it is too delightfully mysterious. Do you know, Maggie, I am furiously jealous, and should be worse if you were not so generous?”

“It seems so funny,” chimed in Lizzie, “and if papa was not so willing for you to accept it, and mamma so smiling, I should doubt its propriety.”

“The breakfast bell, and I am just ready. Come, girls;” and off Maggie darted to answer the summons.

Speculations were plenty as to the number of valentines expected and the senders thereof, but many allusions were made to Maggie's certainly coming, and various hints were thrown out about wants and desires. At last the double rap at the front door gave the signal, and as the sound rang through the ball Dr. Lossing's eldest son, Albert, came down the stairs to breakfast. Every one of the children, except the wee baby, was in the hall: Lizzie and Hattie hidden by the door, Laura beside Betty, and Willie peeping behind her skirts. Maggie was kneeling to draw from under the stair-mat the envelopes addressed to Louis and wee Amy, while even John, the doctor's errand-boy, made the boots an excuse to appear on the scene. The doctor looked up from his paper with an air of interest, and mamma left her second cup untasted till the important letters were delivered.

“One for Lizzie and one for Maggie, that's all by the first post,” said Hattie, coming in, followed by all the others. “Yours always comes early, Maggie; there it is.”

Maggie broke the seal. For four years before a crisp bank note for $500 had fallen from the envelope, but this year there was, with the usual offering, a letter, and inside of that a smaller envelope addressed to Dr. Lossing.

“A proposal, and here a note to ask papa's consent,” cried Lizzie. “Too bad, and you younger than Hattie or I!”

But, looking at the face that was bent over the sheet, she paused, to ask in a quieter tone:


“What is it, Maggie dear?” And Dr. Lossing, with a glance at his wife, echoed the question.

“Read it, and tell me what he means,” said the young girl, handing the doctor the letter, which he read carefully.

“Come into the library with me, dear, and I will tell you. No, none of you,” he added, waving his hand to the others who crowded round him; “I must see Maggie alone.”

The deep gravity of his manner, the mysterious letter, filled Maggie with a vague dread, and she trembled violently as she followed him. Even his kind arm around her, his loving kiss on her face could not quiet her agitation, while his face was so grave and his voice so sad.

“I cannot tell you why this letter was written,” said Dr. Lossing, gently, as he placed her in a comfortable chair, “until I open my own, and this he has requested me not to do yet. Read his letter to you again, Maggie.”

With a trembling voice the young girl read:

MY OWN DEAR MAGGIE: At last, after eighteen years of cruel separation, I am hoping to see the dear face whose baby features, pictured by my loving heart, have been the comfort of my lonely exile. I am trembling with joy at the thought that the eyes now scanning these lines will rest lovingly on my face, and the clear voice I have heard in dreams will fall in music of affection upon my waking ears! I am coming home, shall be with you on the day when you receive this, to clasp you in my arms, never again to let you go from me. Go to Dr. Lossing, and ask him to tell you the story of my life, then read what I inclose to him, and oh, my darling, my treasure, open your heart to the weary wanderer who looks to you as his haven of love, of joy, after years of bitter exile. Listen to my story, love me, and welcome me. HERBERT ARUNDEL.

“Now, dear father, tell me what all this means.”

“It means, Maggie, that you are to leave; but no, I will tell you the story as he requests. Years ago, when these gray hairs were brown, and this peaceful home a dream of a far off future, Herbert Arundel and I were old college friends. I would not pain you by the recital of our life, but it is necessary to make you understand what follows. We were what indulgent parents call 'wild boys,' what sterner truth-tellers call 'dissipated young men.' Young, and with ample means at our command, we ran the career that borders closely on vice and crime. We were as criminal in our intoxication when it came from champagne suppers that cost us half our quarter's allowance, as the lowest drunkard who reels from the miserable tavern we despised. For three years we continued this miserable course of folly, keeping our positions partly by family influence and partly by exerting our powers of intellect at intervals to redeem past idleness or misspent time. The fourth year we really devoted to study, and passed creditably through the necessary examinations, but after leaving college old habits resumed their sway. Plunging recklessly into the amusements of the large city where we lived, we became involved in debt, and made our lives one lone course of fashionable extravagance and dissipation. To dress with taste, to be acknowledged leaders in fashion, to drive the fastest horses, give the best suppers, and flirt with the gayest belles, seemed the height of our miserable ambition, till we both became conscious of loving truly and fervently. The ladies whose fair faces became the light to show us the wicked folly of our lives were good, pure women, one the daughter of a leading physician, the other the orphan niece of a wealthy banker.

At first, a false shame kept us both silent, but in some moment of better feeling we mutually promised to amend our lives, and try by steadiness and rectitude to become worthy of the love we coveted. Frankly and without one reservation I laid my case before Dr. Lee, the father of my Amy, and he held out to me the helping hand I sought. Making my reward depend utterly upon my own merit, he admitted me among his students, and allowed me to visit in his family, where for five years my present wife waited for me to prove my love.

Herbert was not so fortunate. His addresses were treated with scorn, but he won the lady to consent to a clandestine correspondence. Meantime, he obtained the situation of clerk in the bank over which her uncle exercised some control as a director. With a resolute determination to win the esteem he had perilled by his former career he kept his head clear and his hand busy with his new duties, striving earnestly to overcome the evil desires that still clung to him. We still met frequently, and as the folly and vice of the past became more vividly real to our minds, we sought with penitent and earnest hearts the Divine aid to persevere in the path of rectitude. Three years after Herbert had entered the bank, it was discovered that extensive frauds were being perpetrated, and large sums stolen from the institution. With bitter malice, Mr. Wallace, the uncle of the woman whose love was given to Herbert, fastened this crime upon him. He was followed, and watched, and among his private papers were found letters and part of the stolen money, the letters containing proof that he had spent larger sums than his salary would cover. He was imprisoned, tried, found guilty, and sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. Two weeks after his trial, the prisoner escaped, and no trace was ever discovered of him, but the malice of Mr. Wallace was thwarted, for Margaret fled from home on the night when the prisoner escaped. They were married in New York, and sailed for California the next day.

The doubt of Herbert's perfect innocence of the charges brought against him never crossed my mind, never for one instant dimmed Margaret's faith in him, and she accompanied him as cheerfully on his flight as if friends and relatives had sanctioned her marriage with the noblest of the land. Under a feigned name Herbert again tried to win a position, and aided by Margaret's possession of a large sum of money he started in business in San Francisco.

Five years later, when my own marriage had been blessed by two crowing babies Albert and Lizzie, and worldly prosperity was smiling upon me, I again saw Margaret Arundel. Herbert had lost everything by a destructive fire, and this devoted wife had come home alone to beg for aid from her uncle, and to obtain from government her husband's pardon.

It was a wild evening in February when she came to my office, weary and faint, to implore me to help my old friend. She had seen her uncle, and been cruelly taunted as a felon's wife, and refused the most trifling aid, and as the last words of her pitiful story left her lips she fainted in my arms. That same night, or rather the next, eighteen years ago at two o'clock this morning, you were born, and two hours later your mother died.

I wrote to your father, inclosing such pecuniary aid as was within my reach, and promising to fill a father's place to his child till he could claim her. Maggie, dear, you can best judge if I have kept my word.”

But Maggie's voice, broken by sobs, had no word, only her clinging arms round his neck, her face lifted to his told how truly she felt that he had indeed fulfilled his trust.

“For two years I heard nothing from my old friend; but then he wrote. He had again obtained a foothold among the merchants, and was winning his way to affluence, but he implored me to keep his child, never to let the taint of the felon's name rest on her life. From that time he has sent me yearly more than sufficient for your support, still imploring me to make no difference between you and my own children. Wishing, however, that you should enjoy what was truly your own, I proposed to him to inclose a portion of your income to yourself, and have contrived to drop it in the post-office so that you receive it on St. Valentine's day. Your own generosity has still kept the balance even, for I am sure that but a small portion remains after your gifts to all have been selected.

And now, my dear child, before we open this envelope, let me say to you that no father's love was ever stronger than mine for you. Your gentleness, frank, loving heart, your obedience and intelligence have been to me as great a joy as the gifts of my own children, and the separation will be as painful as if Lizzie or Hattie were about to be taken from me.”

Quieting her own emotion, Maggie watched the doctor as he broke the seal of his letter. Only a newspaper scrap fell from it, but upon this was printed:—



“The murderer of L---- J----- to-day in open court confessed his crime, pleading the heat of passion as his excuse. Following the long confession which we give in another column, the prisoner made another one almost as important. Twenty-three years ago he was clerk in a large banking-house in B-----, and in love with the niece of one of the directors, Lemuel Wallace. Being favored by this gentleman, now deceased, he was anxious to be rid of a rival, and with the aid and consent of Mr. W. contrived to fix the crime of the celebrated bank robbery of that year upon him, secreting in his desk forged letters and some of the missing money, and swearing to acts and words of the accused which would make his guilt appear certain, but of committing or uttering which he was perfectly innocent. He begged that, as some atonement for the crime which he has just confessed, Herbert Arundel's name may be cleared before all the world, as he was innocent of the crime laid to his charge. During this recital one of the jurymen, Henry Atherton, a merchant whose name is one of our most honored among merchants, was observed to be violently agitated, and as the prisoner concluded, he rose from his seat and stood erect, facing him.
“'Look at me, John Davis!' he cried.
“'John Davis! that is my own name, said the prisoner trembling, but obeying the request.
“'Look at me,' repeated Mr. Atherton, 'and say if I am not the Herbert Arundel whose good name you swore away twenty-three years ago.'
“The prisoner gave him a long searching gaze, and then trying in vain to speak be fainted on the floor.
“Mr. Atherton, or Arundel, has been besieged by congratulating visitors; but it is rumored that as soon as he can arrange his business, and collect his vast wealth, he will return to B-----.”



It was in vain that Maggie tried to speak in answer to the doctor's kind words of encouragement and congratulation. The old gentleman, himself elated by this good news of his friend, was almost vexed at the white face and quivering lip the young girl turned to him.

“Maggie, think of it! After twenty-three years of lonely exile, he is coming home a free, cleared man, to establish his innocence and claim his child. My poor child! all this agitation has been too much for you. Shall I leave you alone for an hour or two while I tell the others?”

“Yes, yes, let, me think! It is all, so strange to me.”

Strange indeed!— to part from all these dear ones, whom she had always believed to be her own relatives, and go away with a stranger who was really her father! With yearning, pitying love she longed for him, to repay the generous love that had starved itself so long to give her a happy home, and yet she shrank from this bitter parting before her. Lizzie, Hattie, and the children had never seemed so dear, and Albert— how could she leave Albert? From the time when he had shared his marbles with her, and refrained from breaking her doll, she had always been his pet sister. Lizzie and Hattie were together constantly, and Albert became very fond of the baby whose brightest smile was for him, of the child whose first word was his name, of the young girl who turned to him ever for protection and companionship. Belle as she had been, she preferred brother Albert for an escort to any of the adorers who begged the office, and while the two older girls were always provided with “beaux,” Maggie always kept the place for Albert? And he was not her brother! she had no claim upon that tender love, so precious to her! The strange father would carry her away from home, sisters, father, mother, and brothers. Worn out with conflicting emotions, the young girl carried her sorrow to the Source from whence she had always looked for support, and kneeling down by the doctor's chair she prayed fervently for counsel in her new duties, strength to bear its trials, gratitude for its blessings; prayed for the dear unknown father, for the tenderly loved home circle she must leave, and as the whispered words fell from her lips, she felt the painful agitation quieted, and the troubled throbbing of her heart growing calm again.

She had risen, and was standing by the window waiting the return of the doctor, when the door opened; and a tall, handsome man, with iron gray hair, and a kindly look in his dark eyes, came forward. It scarcely needed his open arms and tender call of “Margaret, my child!” for Maggie to know her father, and the tender clasp of his arms, the loving words he poured out upon her, told her that he would keep his word, “never again to let her go from him.”

The whole morning passed, and the long separated father and child held uninterrupted converse, the one seeming too happy only to scan again and again the features of his daughter, to hear the music of her voice to take into his heart the timid but warm assurances of her sympathy and comfort, while she, already, opening her heart to take in the patient noble nature that was leaning so trustingly on her love, was happy too, as a woman always is when she stands as comforter.

At last the dear mother of her childhood came to break Maggie's long morning of loving intercourse with her father, and take her back to the home circle.
For some weeks, Mr. Arundel was content to stay at Longwood, and wean his darling gradually from the dear ties of her life, but the parting came at last; and Maggie left her old, home to preside over her father's large house in B-----.

The petted darling of the wealthy man, whose sole object in life was her happiness, she had every comfort, every luxury at her command; but money could not fill the great house with the music of home voices, could not lessen the painful home sickness of the loving little heart.

Her father never dreamed of this pain. For him her face wore its gayest smiles, her voice rang out its music in tenderest welcome, and while he was near her the hours flew by iii music, reading, and familiar conversation.
She loved him truly, but she was learning in absence another lesson of love, learning to recall a voice that had always been tenderest for her, a brother who was fast becoming remembered and loved with a stronger affection than even a sister gives. So, with threads of joy and pain interwoven, a year glided by.

“Maggie dear,” said her father, as he sat playing with his coffee cup, “next Wednesday week is your birthday, and we are to have a grand party. Everybody is to come, and Miss Arundel is to enter society. Now I want you to write to Longwood and invite them all here, as many as can come. The doctor's family must come for a long visit, and you must ask all your old friends for the party. It is only four hours' ride from here, and they can stay all night. I may have been wrong in not having them here before, but I was jealous of the old affections. You have not been unhappy, Maggie?”

“Not for a moment! I have missed them all, dear father, but I have never doubted your love, never wished to change my position. Yet if they could come sometimes for a visit”—

“As often as you will. Have one or the other always with you, dear, if it will make the hours when I am away less tedious.”

St. Valentine's day found the doctor, his wife, Lizzie, and Hattie, Maggie's guests, while Albert was to come in the evening. Every preparation for the great party was completed, and Mrs. Lossing bustled about full of the importance of mistress for the nonce, and chaperon for her dear adopted child, Maggie.

Late in the afternoon Maggie received the only Valentine offered her that day. She was in her room, preparing for the evening, when the white envelope was handed her, and she let it lie unopened while she finished dressing. As she broke the seal, the mirror before which she stood threw back her figure, in its glossy white silk; its fleecy lace folds, and the pure pearl ornaments, her father's gift. The rich dark hair, braided low on the neck, contrasted well with the pearl sprays there resting, and the beautiful face bore the test of full dress bravely. She looked very lovely, and as she read the words before her, the deep flush that mounted to her cheek was not unbecoming.

Inclosed in folds of soft paper, the letter contained a ring— a circlet of pearls, with one bright diamond in the centre. She took all in her hand; and softly went down stairs to her father's library, he was alone there, and greeted his darling with fond words and proud praises, but she put in his hand the letter and the ring.

He sighed as he read, but the blushing face before him gave added force to every word of this petition:—

“Maggie, Maggie, I cannot live apart from you. The brother's love, for so many years part of my very being, was nothing to the earnest devotion I lay now at your feet. I love you fondly, truly, as a man loves but once, and I implore you give me one word of hope that you will return my love. If you can give me the precious boon I crave, let me see the inclosed ring on your finger to-night, the sign of betrothal to one who will make your happiness the hope and study, of his life. ALBERT.”

Studying Maggie's face earnestly, the young girl's father read there her answer to the petition.

“He must come here, Maggie; I may take a son, but I cannot lose my daughter.”

She clung to him, whispering: “Nothing shall part us, father!”

Long, long he held her closely in his arms, then with a fervent kiss and a whispered blessing her father put Albert's ring upon her finger.


It may not be exactly what you were looking for, but I thought I would share it. :wink_smil :wink_smil

[bqbowden]

Re: Valentines Day

Wondering if there is any period reference to this day?

Virgina Mescher has wrote a short article about the Valentine's Day during the CW period. Go to http://www.raggedsoldier.com and go to Virginia's Veranda. There is a link to archived articles and there you will find the Valentine's Day article.


Candace Rose
Citizens of the Bonnie Blue
(too lazy to sign Barry out and sign Miss Anna Mae in)

[Amtmann]

Re: Valentines Day

My wife has an article (complete with color pictures) on period Valentines Day Cards, coming out in this month's Citizen's Companion. :p

Rick Bailey

[roundshot]

Re: Valentines Day

Yes. In the book "One Battle Too Many,"by Richard P. Galloway, which contains the letters of Simon Bolivar Hulbert of the 100th New York Infantry, Hulbert notes on 2/14/64 from Morris Island, SC:
"Sammy Burgess says this is Valentines day. He says Fourteenth of February, Fair and fine.
'As I sat musing over the ditch
I thought of you, you ugly bitch.
I chose you from a dozzen
Because you are the Devils first cousin.'
This is his [Burgess]poetry, what he repeated last night when I spoke of Valentines Day."

Classic. This book is a great read. Hulbert died at Andersonville later that year.

Bob Williams

[PvtRoland]

Re: Valentines Day

John G. Earnest, 60th Tennessee Infantry, mentions Valentine's Day in his diary. He states that it is Valentine's Day and he wonders if any of the men will receive Valentine's in the mail.
Nicholas Roland

[Yankeeboy]

Re: Valentines Day

My wife has an article (complete with color pictures) on period Valentines Day Cards, coming out in this month's Citizen's Companion. :p

Rick Bailey

Yes Sir;
It is a very fine article too . My wife has a heart shaped pasteboard candy box , its hand painted with a floral motif' from a confectioner in London cir ;1862. When you take the lid off there is a paper lace edging around the inside lip of the box, it's about an inch wide and scalloped and signed by the maker on the back. Also a paper lace Valentine was with the box. the Valentine is very similar to those described in the Citz comp. Even then Candy was a good gift :tounge_sm