The Velvet Coat: 1883

The Velvet Period

A Notable Season in the life of Every Young Man.

A couple of old fellows were standing in front of the Plankington House, smoking five cent cigars, one evening, when a young fellow passed along with a velvet coat on, and before he had got out of sight, an old fellow about sixty years old passed the same place, and he had on a velvet coat. One of the two old fellows knocked the ashes off his cigar, and said: “It catches them all, sooner or later.’ ‘

“What do you mean?” asked the other, as he borrowed his friend’s cigar to light his own.

“Why, the velvet coat period,” said the first man, as he took his cigar back, and puffed on it to keep it going. “Every man, some time in his life, either as boy or man, sees a time when he thinks the world will cease to revolve on its axis if he does not have a velvet coat, and he is bound to have one if he has to steal the money to buy it. It is bad enough for a boy to have the period come on, but it is infinitely worse to escape it in youth and have it attack a man in middle life, but it always hits them, some time. Now, you wouldn’t think, to look at me that I ever had the velvet coat fever, but I had it once in its most violent form.

“About twenty years ago, at the time of the oil excitement, I made a little money in oil, and I got to thinking how I could show how I was no ordinary son of man, and all at once it struck me that a velvet coat could do it for me, and 1 had a surveyor measure me, and had a velvet coat made. I was anxious to have it done so I could put it on and go around among the boys, but when it was done and had been brought home, I all at once lost my grip, and could hardly get up courage to put it on. I let it lay for a week, until my people got to making fun of me about being afraid to wear it, and finally I put it on and wore it down town after dark. Only a few people saw it, and I went home feeling satisfied that the worst was over. What I wanted was to have the community get accustomed to it gradually.  After a while I wore it to my office on days that I was to be busy, so I knew I wouldn’t have to go around town. After the boys in the office got so they could witness my coat without going behind a partition to laugh at me, I concluded to wear it on the street.

“Well, there was an organ grinder with a monkey, out on the sidewalk, when I went out, and the beastly Italian had on an old velvet coat, like mine, only soiled. The monkey was jumping around, picking up pennies, and all at once he saw me. I shall never forget the expression on that monkey’s face. He seemed to take me for his master, and clearly realized that his master had procured a new coat without asking the consent of his little brother. There was a look of pain, as though the monkey felt hurt that such duplicity had been practiced on him, and then the monkey would look at the clothes in which he was dressed up with contempt, and then he would look at my coat with envy. I never felt so sorry for a monkey in all my life. I could stand it to hear strangers say, as I passed by, ‘What fool is that?’ but to see that poor monkey grieve over the style I was putting on was too much, and I resolved if I ever got that coat home I would put it where it could never be seen again. The organ-grinder became alarmed at the actions of the monkey, and jerked on the chain, causing the monkey to tum a back summersault, and the poor animal came up standing in front of his master. He looked at him, and seemed to be at once reassured, and to feel that the apparition was only a horrid dream, and then he looked over his shoulder toward where I had stood, to make sure, and there I was in all my glory. Then the monkey was mad and began to make up faces at me, and I got out of there and went home, with shouts of the monkey’s audience sounding in my ears, and I took off that coat and gave it to the man that took care of my horse, and I never see a velvet coat, either on a boy or man, but I think of what a confounded fool I made of myself in my Oscar Wilde days. If you have a boy, teach him to go through the velvet coat period young, and he will thank his stars.’–Peck’s Sun.

The True Southron [Sumter, SC] 6 November 1883: p. 1

Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire: “Oscar Wilde days,” indeed. Mrs Daffodil has known two gentlemen who went through a velvet coat period: one was an elegant professor of French, whose students all sighed for him; the other was a fair young man with the pale tresses and long nose of a borzoi. The garments are undoubtedly becoming to their owners, and young ladies seem desirous of petting them, but too often a velvet coat brands a young man as “artistic,” with all the opprobrium so frequently directed at that species by doting Papas. Still, many gentlemen remember their velvet coats fondly. Mrs Daffodil appends a poem of nostalgia for such a garment:

My Old Coat

Mortimer Collins

This old velvet coat has grown queer, I admit,
And changed is the colour and loose is the fit;
Though to beauty it certainly cannot aspire,
’Tis a cosy old coat for a seat by the fire.

II.

When I first put it on, it was awfully swell,
I went to a pic-nic, met Lucy Lepel;
Made a hole in the heart of that sweet little girl,
And disjointed the nose of her lover, the earl.

III.

We rambled away o’er moorland together,
My coat was bright purple, and so was the heather;
And so was the sunset that blazed in the west,
As Lucy’s fair tresses were laid on my breast.

IV.

We plighted our troth ’neath that sunset aflame,
But Lucy returned to her earl all the same;
She’s a grandmamma now and is going downhill,
But my old velvet coat is a friend to me still.

V.

It was built by -a tailor of mighty renown,
Whose art is no longer the talk of the town;
A magical picture my memory weaves
When I thrust my tired arms through its easy old sleeves.

VI.

I see in the fire, through the smoke of my pipe,
Sweet maidens of old that are long over ripe;
And a troop of old cronies, right gay cavaliers,
Whose guineas paid well for champagne at Watier’s.

VII.

A strong generation, who drank, fought, and kissed,
Whose hands never trembled, whose shots never missed;
Who lived a quick life, for their pulses beat high,
We remember them well, sir, my old coat and I.

VIII.

Ah, gone is the age of wild doings at Court,
Rotten boroughs, knee-breeches, hair-triggers, and port;
Still I’ve got a magnum to moisten my throat,
And I’ll drink to the past in my old tattered coat.

Modern Merry Men: Authors in the Lighter Vein in the Victorian Era, William Andrews 1904

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.

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Happy Easter from Mrs Daffodil

Easter Greeting, Mela Koehler, 1917 http://www.mfa.org/collections/object/girl-with-a-brown-bunny-577645

Mrs Daffodil wishes all of her readers the happiest of holidays accompanied by spring-tide flowers, chocolate eggs, a fetching head-dress, and fluffy animal companions.

 

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.

 

The Mechanical Puppy: 1911

 

The New Mechanical Puppy

A toy dog that literally walks when one gently tugs on its leash is the fashionable fad among American maids and matrons just now. Several of these fascinating little bow-wows have made their appearance at Atlantic City and other seaside resorts, where they may be seen toddling by the side of their mistresses in absurdly amusing fashion.

The fad is of European origin, and has caught on as amazingly in the Continent as it promises to do here.

Some male critics are likely to aver that the mechanical puppy is an improvement over that of flesh and blood for a whole lot of reasons. The question now is, whether the axiom, “Love me, love my dog,” stands as good with the wheels and springs canine as it did with the one of bone and muscle.

Lexington [KY] Herald 8 July 1911: p. 7

Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire: It is again one of those whimsical holidays when Staff does not get the day off:  “Puppy Day.”  One does indeed feel that it would be far easier to “Love me, love my dog,” with a clockwork creature that did not soil the carpets, jump upon the  furniture, or howl in the night.

An earlier canine automaton had not the soft fur and big, puppy eyes of the 1911 model, but was designed for more utilitarian purposes:

THE MECHANICAL DOG.

A Meriden (Connecticut) man has invented a mechanical watchdog for the protection of buildings. A small lamp illuminates the eyes, and, by a simple arrangement, the tail pumps a quantity of compressed air into a cylinder, which is concealed in the body of the animal. This air escapes slowly through the dog’s vicious-looking teeth in such a manner that when the animal is placed on the front porch and duly “touched off,” it growls all night in a most alarming manner.

A boarding-house keeper in Meriden experimented with the inventor’s working model, and “set” the automatic guardian inside her front gate at the hour “when churchyards yawn,” The next day it was discovered that out of eighteen of her boarders who had latchkeys sixteen slept at a hotel that night, except one inebriated sixth floorer, who indignantly smashed the model with a brick at about 3.30 a.m.

Otago Witness 10 July 1880: p. 27

 

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.

A Grateful Little Owl: 1880s

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The Little Owl, Albrecht Durer, 1508, Albertina, Vienna

A Grateful Little Owl.

“The dining-room opened on a little courtyard under the Trinta dei Monti steps, transformed by me into a sort of infirmary and convalescent home for my various animals. Among them was a darling little owl, a direct descendant from the owl of Minerva. I had found it in the Campagna with a broken wing half dead of hunger. Its wing healed, I had twice taken it back where I had found it and set it free, twice it had flown back to my carriage to perch on my shoulder, it would not hear of our parting. Since then the little owl was sitting on her perch in the corner of the dining-room, looking lovingly at me with her golden eyes. She had even given up sleeping in the day in order not to lose sight of me. When I used to stroke her soft little person she would half close her eyes with delight and nibble gently at my lips with her tiny, sharp beak, as near to a kiss as an owl can get, Among the patients admitted to the dining-room was a very excitable young Russian lady, who was giving me lots of trouble. Would you believe it, this lady got so jealous of the owl, she used to glare at the little bird so savagely, that I had to give strict orders to Anna never to leave these two alone in the room. One day on coming in for luncheon, Anna told me that the Russian lady had just called with a dead mouse wrapped in paper. She had caught it in her room, she felt sure the owl would like it for breakfast. The owl knew better after having bitten off its head, owl fashion, she refused to eat it. I took it to the English chemist; it contained enough arsenic to kill a cat.”

The Story of San Michele, Axel Munthe, 1929: pp. 431-432

Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire:  It is, Mrs Daffodil is reliably informed, one of the days of the “International Festival of Owls.” Mrs Daffodil is fond of the night-flying creatures despite (or perhaps because of) their folkloric reputation as an Omen of Death. And, like Mrs Daffodil, they are so helpful in keeping down vermin.

Axel Munthe, while he was an admirable doctor, is perhaps best known for his skill as a raconteur and for being a passionate advocate of animal rights. His passions also ran to the ladies; he seems to have fascinated a largish swath of the English aristocracy as well as at least one of the crowned heads of Europe. Plus a Russian lady and a little owl.

Mrs Daffodil has previously written of a pair of pet owls. You will find the first section of the two-part story here.

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.

The Hog Pen: 1840s?

Pigs at a Trough, Thomas Rowlandson, c. 1790 http://collections.britishart.yale.edu/vufind/Record/16686781887 sewing machine lady

Talk about Hog Pens.

The dirty, disgusting things! but they must have some place in this world that God made so beautiful, so there is no use grumbling about it.

When I was a girl we used to have a model pen of great model hogs right before our door, and when the neighbors all wondered how farmer E. happened to raise such big hogs, my Pa would tell them with an air of satisfaction, it was because they were so near the house that they got a taste of most everything to eat. When we began to grow civilized, the hog pen didn’t look pretty to us, for the trees in the yard grew large and drooping, and their brown and yellow leaves could not fall upon the green grass and wither and rustle as the great spirit of Poesy designed, but they could shower down in eddies into the dirty pen, and the old hog “Savage,” would nose them into a heap and nestle her plump, bristled sides down among them and grunt like the gladdest hog in the world. Sister loved her vines and posies and neat yard, and I loved poetry and pretty things, and we used to get our girl-heads together and grieve, and guess how it would look all grassy and green where the hoggery was. Then we set our little woman’s wits to work, and coax, and plead, and said our yard might be fixed nicer than Uncle Timothy’s because it was gently sloping, and our kind Pa consented at last, though he said, after that he could not hope to excel his neighbors in any thing except poor hogs, but he was willing if we would let him leave the great big swill trough (hollowed out of a giant chesnut) right under the twin peach trees. I looked at sister, and she looked at me I read hope in her eyes, but in mine she did not see its reflection. I said w-e-l-l, but my lips lingered over the little word like a tardy spinner’s lingers over a knot of soft flax. Sister, hopeful girl, said we could put a wide cover on the trough and hide it all over, and then some of our pots and boxes of plants that were sitting around in the yard could be placed on it, and she thought it would be making something rather pretty out of an old, unsightly swill trough.

“Like putting a gossamer robe on a dirty plow boy,” said I, pouting; but she said we must be thankful for small favors and bide our time.

Pa grew dearer and better every day, and often after a hard day’s work he would put his big arm chair under some of the shady trees on the site of the banished hoggery and read, and look very happy. At last he said he thought some day he would move that stinking trough clear away, and then we waited the next morning until he was plowing on the other side of the hill, and we hurried and opened the big gate and laid rollers all the way from the trough across the street, and then ladled out the contents, and after a little rest we worked with hand spikes until we trundled the old nuisance off on the mission it was meant for. Our Pa laughed heartily because he had two such able girls who could help to make their humble home prettier and pleasanter.

Rosella.

Daily Ohio State Journal [Columbus OH] 20 December 1854

Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire: Yesterday was International Pig Day, hence to-day’s focus on the porcine. Mrs Daffodil really does not care how “dear,” “hard-working,” or “better” Pa was; he should have moved the pen, trough and all, at the first hint from his daughters. Girls before swine….

Mrs Daffodil understands that “Pa” was fond of his hogs, but that did not require that the family should cast table scraps before them just outside the back door. Most unhygienic.

In 1818 an English traveller and agricultural reformer, William Cobbett, observed of American farmhouses there was “a sort of out-of-door slovenliness…You see bits of wood, timber, boards, chips, lying about, here and there, and pigs tramping about in a sort of confusion.” It was not until the 1840s that the tidy farmhouse with white picket fence and “dooryard” to keep domestic animals at bay became the standard.  It obviously took “Pa” a bit longer to thoroughly grasp the idea.

 

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.

Dandy Dogs: 1896

Dandy Dogs.

William G. FitzGerald

When you hear a man say he has “led the life of a dog,” it is pretty safe to assume he has not been dandled in the lap of luxury for some time anterior to his plaint. But surely, after the publication of this article, the popular significance of the metaphor will lose its force—if, indeed, the meaning be not completely reversed, so that inclusion in Dandy Dog-dom will represent the Alpha and Omega of epicurean splendour. . The fact is, mere ordinary folk have not the remotest notion of the extravagant extent to which canine pets are pampered nowadays by their highly-placed mistresses; and so utterly astounding and fantastic are the details, that I propose giving chapter and verse, so to speak, for every statement made.

 

The first photograph reproduced shows the reception-room of the Dogs Toilet Club, in New Bond Street—an institution certainly beyond the wildest dreams of the Battersea pariahs It was started by an enterprising and cultured lady, who had noticed the righteous wrath of the average domestic on being asked to give a pampered pet its daily bath. Everything about this club is of the daintiest; the very prospectus is in blue and gold, with a delicate bow of green ribbon at one corner. The reception-room—as one may judge from the illustration—is quite a sumptuous apartment; and the ordinary man on entering it may stumble over a costly occasional table, or occasional dog, as the case may be. For many ladies leave their pets here while shopping; others bring the little creatures to be shampooed, brushed, combed, clipped, and attended to by a professional chiropodist. Expensive sweetmeats are provided as a temporary solatium for the absence of the mistresses. The pictorial art of this handsome apartment is distinctly canine; so, too, are the contents of the glass-topped table seen on the left. This contains an interesting—not to say surprising—collection of requisites for fashionable dogs. There are morning, afternoon, and evening coats; mourning outfits, travelling costumes, and bridal dresses—for woe unto the canine aristocrat that hath not on a wedding garment when occasion demands. But more of this hereafter. The lady on the right has taken up the very latest sweet thing in dogs’ driving coats—the “Lonsdale”—made to measure, in fawn cloth, lined with dark red silk; it has a cape of the same that falls upon the pet’s shoulders, and a frill round the neck. This ornate garment is finished off with two gold bells; and the full collar is edged with fur to match that on the dress of the mistress.

Where did all this originate? In Paris, the city of eccentric, extravagant modes. Perhaps I cannot do better than reproduce the business card of Madame Ledouble, whose sumptuous establishment in the Palais Royal (Galerie d’Orléans) may be described as the Eldorado of Dandy Dog-dom. Not only does madame make dogs’ coats and fripperies generally, but she also publishes a canine fashion-book, of which an excellent notion may be gathered from the illustrations on this and the next page. These animals are stuffed specimens; all the others portrayed in this article are “from life.”

But let us consider for a moment these chic canine fashions—which, by the way, were photographed in Paris specially for THE STRAND MAGAZINE, thanks to the courtesy of M. Henri Durand, the agent for “Spratt’s Patent” in the French capital, and I must number the “models” in order that each may be briefly described.

No. 1 is a splendid wedding toilet of white broche silk, trimmed with satin ribbons and orange blossom.

 

No. 2 shows an imposing winter visiting costume with a Medici collar of chinchilla. Other furs can be had, such as sable and ermine.

A gorgeous theatre dress is No. 3; it is made in rich broché velvet, with a collar trimmed with sable.

Next comes the array of dainty lingerie (No. 4). The dog on the left, with the “mutton-chop whisker” appearance–(reminding one of the club waiter), is clothed in a dressing gown of thick silk, which protects him from the matutinal draughts; and his fellow-dandy is seen in a spotless chemise de nuit, which leaves uncovered the paws and tail. In the same group are seen a few other assorted night-shirts in silk, gauze, and flannel, together with dogs’ handkerchiefs suitable for various occasions, and india-rubber boots, laced and buttoned.

An appropriately lugubrious mourning toilet is depicted in No. 5. This is made in black cloth, velvet, or mousseline de soie, with a nice full collar. Of course, the handkerchief is en suite. 

No. 6 shows a lovely yachting “gown” of navy blue cloth, with an anchor embroidered in white, red, or blue silk, matching the uniform of the crew. The name of the yacht always figures on these coats.

No. 7 is a distinctly striking group. The dog behind on the left is wearing a visiting costume of green cloth trimmed with fine astrakhan. Next is seen a white flannel coat with hood, for travelling in Switzerland; then come the two dogs on the right, one of which is clad in a spring coat of light cloth, and the other in a bright red and white garment, from whose pocket peeps a silken mouchoir.

No. 8 is a substantial travelling costume in Scotch tweed, with a pull-over collar, and pocket for railway-ticket, which latter is also shown.

Of course there are also bathing-dresses for Brighton, Dieppe, and Trouville, And it is not necessary for Madame Ledouble to measure the dog herself. You just write for patterns and fashion plates, and on choosing the outfit you receive careful instructions as to the measurement of your own pet, which instructions are carried out with surprising alacrity and splendour….

In the next photograph is seen an expert lady tailoress at work upon some stylish dog-coats. She is putting the finishing touches to the “Warwick.” This is a promenade costume in fine brown cloth, shot with pink, lined with rose-colored silk, fastened with a 15-carat gold clasp, and further ornamented with a double ruching at the neck like a lady’s cape. The coat on the machine is in dull red velvet, lined with white moiré. Observe the large scent-bottles near the seamstress ; for these dainty garments must be perfumed, otherwise the captious canines might (and do) evince a sudden dislike to the expensive garment selected.

But the aristocratic dog’s wardrobe also contains outfits for special occasions. I have seen a yellow satin coat trimmed with Honiton, and priced at ten guineas. An old favourite, seventeen years of age, was shown to me, and on being requested to examine his coat (of fine cloth lined with costly sable) I found a small electro-magnetic appliance sewn between the cloth and the fur lining. This dog was a bit of a hypochondriac—always fancying he was ill; he did, however, occasionally suffer from pneumonia and backache.

It is absurd to suppose that all kinds of dogs wear these garments; for example, no one would think of putting a coat on a Chow-Chow. On the other hand, dachshunds are sometimes provided with warm coats, and sealskin waistcoats also, mainly because they are apt to run through pretty long grass, and in this way, being short-legged, get their precious little stomachs wet, thus inducing various parlous canine ills. Wedding garments are always attractive; and of course, on such festive occasions, her ladyship’s pet is very much en suite. The little animal’s interest in the function may be infinitesimal—he may even regard the whole business with fierce loathing; still, he is dressed. The Maison Ledouble turns out wedding coats in white, – yellow, and crimson satins trimmed with orange blossom at the neck, and with white satin leaders; these coats cost about £5 each.

Should the newly-made bride wish to take her darling with her on the honeymoon trip, the dog-maid (no sinecure, this) swiftly changes Fido’s garments, replacing the gorgeous wedding outfit with a neat travelling suit of box-cloth, complete with hood and pockets for handkerchief, railway ticket, and biscuit—the latter by way of refreshment en route. If you think the toy dog is hustled into the guard’s van, you are grievously mistaken. He is carefully placed in a travelling kennel, such as is seen in the photograph.

This is really a beautiful hand-bag of cow-hide or crocodile, silver-mounted, and costing from four to ten guineas. It is well ventilated, and supplied with lambs’ wool mats. The wire grating is heavily gilt, or plated; and there is a leather flap which may be let down at the dog’s bed-time, or when the sun is too powerful for his eyes. Now, consider for a moment the group of costly canine trifles seen in the accompanying illustration.

I will describe each briefly, commencing with the top left-hand corner: (1) dress collar of pure white ivory, in imitation of that affected by the human genus dude, it has a neat, black tie; (2) collar of different shape, with tie, gold bell, and white silk leader; (3) dainty lace-bordered dog’s handkerchief of soft white silk; (4) three gold collars; (5) packet of 24 tiny hairpins, specially made for the toilet of lady poodles; (6) neat gold bracelet or bangle; (7) gold collar; (8) ditto; (9) collar of golden rings, price £15; (10) dress bracelet for lady poodle, consisting of purple satin bow with diamond buckle, valued at £45; lastly, we have a fine cambric handkerchief, and a silver collar.

These were photographed by our own artist at Barrett’s, in Piccadilly—a gorgeous establishment, whose proprietors make a special feature of catering for dandy dogs. It takes a lot to surprise Mr. Henry Barrett —to whom I am indebted for several photographs.

Dogs’ coats range in price from one to three guineas; collars from a sovereign to £60, some being of 18-carat gold fastened with a diamond brooch. Dogs with small heads and fat necks wear “harness.” This is an elaborate arrangement of straps with gold and silver mounts, whereby the pet is led from a ring on its back. Messrs. Barrett recently carried out an order for a certain noble lady, who wanted a gold-mounted tandem and four-in-hand harness—technically perfect—so that she might “drive her (canine) team afield” down Bond Street and in the park.

The mistress does not carry her pet’s handkerchief ; this would be an unpardonable breach of canine etiquette. The perfumed cambric or silken square is coquettishly stuck in Fido’s own coat pocket, so that it may be available for use on wet days, when those low omnibuses, carts, and cabs splash so horribly.

The little Maltese here shown is called “Dandy”—appropriately enough ; and he is dressed quietly and neatly, but in the best of taste—as these things go. His coat— colour photography is still a thing of the future—is of crimson velvet lined with white silk; and he has a nice curb-chain bracelet, worth five guineas, on his left paw. In winter Dandy wears a fur coat; and I may say that these garments are usually lined with seal and sable, their cost ranging up to ten or fifteen guineas.

Dogs’ bracelets or bangles cost, in gold, from two to ten guineas each; and in silver from 15s. to 3os. In Paris, these ornaments are frequently seen studded with precious stones, rendering the pet a most desirable piece of portable property. And the gems used vary according to the breed of dog.

Why, the very combs and brushes used on canine toilet-tables are as costly as choice of materials can make them. The hair-brushes are specially designed so that the hairs stand at a certain angle, thus facilitating the treatment of tangled (natural) coats. Three or four large brushes are first used ; then come the finer kinds, and lastly the combs, which are made in steel, silver, buffalo-horn, and tortoise-shell. The brushes cost from 5s. to 10s. 6d. each (dog’s name in gold or silver extra, of course); and the cheaper kind of combs are sold at Barrett’s for 3s.6d. and 5s. 6d.

Fastidious folk sometimes design collars in silver or gold for their own dogs; and big dogs often have solid silver collars made for them; notice two of these in the next picture.

The fact is, money is literally no object where aristocratic pet dogs are concerned.

Mr. Barrett tells me he has often made muzzles in gold and silver—as though such would be more tolerable than the “regulation patter” ; also leaders consisting of long chains of fine gold, and golden couples for promenading with pairs of dogs. A number of gold and silver couples and pretty bracelets are shown in the above illustration; it will be seen that the last-named ornaments lock on the dogs’ paws, thus obviating to certain extent the annoyance of periodical loss of valuable jewellery. By the way, anyone who has seen a lady trying to lead two playful pet dogs in the West-end will at once appreciate the use of the couples.

In the accompanying photograph is depicted a dog-basket or drawing-room lounge. It is lined with seal-skin and trimmed with bright red satin to match the decorations of the apartment. These baskets are also made by Barrett’s, lined with satin, plush, and brocade. Baskets are now being ordered which can be attached to cycles, so that the mistress can take her own daily exercise and give her beloved pet an airing at one and the same time.

The well-being of these toy dogs is studied to a truly amazing degree. What could possibly be more comical than the fully-equipped canine dandy here shown? This black-and-tan terrier is dressed for a morning call with his mistress, who will leave her pet’s card as well as her own, this extraordinary custom being considered necessary if there happens to be a toy dog at the house about to be visited.

Look at the little animal’s quaint tie and collar; and his card-case, sticking out of the front of his coat. The fair Parisienne, on hearing of ordinary sober English customs, is contemptuously amused, and probably exclaims: “Mais c’est drôle.” But the leaving of her dog’s card on a fellow-pet during the morning drive—this she considers in no wise funny.

And yet this fashion is now fairly with us; and, absurd as it is, there are still more outrageous canine modes to follow.

Here you have a good view of wet weather dogs’ boots: pretty little rubber goloshes, with black studs or buttons. Our artist photographed the set at Messrs. Atloff and Norman’s, in Bond Street. The boot for big occasions, however, is that shown in the next illustration; you may see the original for yourself at Barrett’s, in Piccadilly. This boot is of soft brown Russia, with a nice silk lace to match; the set of four is made to measure for two guineas. The rubber goloshes are sometimes worn by rheumatic dogs; others wear them because, while in London, they suffer from a foot complaint caused by the metallic grit on the roads.

The Strand Magazine 1896

Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire: Mrs Daffodil can hardly think what to add to this exhaustive catalogue of luxury for dandy dogs, except that she has previously written about dog calling cards.

 

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.

 

What To Name Your Dog: 1875

 

Dog collar given by the citizens of Fairbanks, Alaska, in 1923, to “Laddie Boy,” President Warren G. Harding’s Airedale terrier.

DOG’ S NAMES.

It seems as if nine-tenths of the dogs in the world were named ‘Sport,’ ‘Jack,’ or ‘Maje,’ but there is really about as much variety in dogs’ names as in the names of persons, as any dog-license book would show. Of the first hundred and fifty dogs licensed this year in a New England town, which is a pretty good sample of the common run of dogs every where, ‘Jack’ and ‘Prince,’ or “Prinny,’ were the names that come oftenest; next in number were the ‘Majors;’ fourth, ‘Pink’ or ‘Pinky’ (the idea of a pink dog!) fifth, ‘Fanny;’ sixth, ‘Spot;’ seventh, ‘Tiger’ or Tige; eighth, ‘Rover.’ If you want to find an original or uncommon name for a dog, don’t select either of these. There was a sprinkling of Skip, Ned, Victor, Grip, Beauty, Carlo, Watch, Spring, Hero, Fido, Sport, Billy, and Dick, which are rather common dog names.  The dog that led off the book was named John Thomas and the next was Jim Thomas. some of the odd names are Muff, Sailor, Vivat, Richard the III., Spider, Satan, Aebah, Toix, Ned, Berty, Delphi, Fooley, Ruff, Lee, Robin, Commodore, Beno, Crib, Tigertown, Dandy, Smoke, Benjamin, Pussy, Victory-Joe, Chess, Crill, and Ventor. It don’t seem to be very hard to find names enough for a dog

The Christian Recorder [Philadelphia PA] 14 October 1875

Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire:  It is, Mrs Daffodil is given to understand, the beginning of the Chinese “Year of the Dog.” It behooves us to give our canine friends names both dignified and reflective of the animal’s character.  But just as there are trends in baby names, fads in dog names come and go.

NAMING THE DOG.

It is fairly easy to find a name for a baby. But ingenuity, judging by results, often fails hopelessly before the task of finding a name for the new pup.

What a rush there will be in the Dog Star when the roll is called, and Spot hears that it is time to wag his tail. There are a dozen Spots in every street, and the funny things is, half of them are not Spot at all. I know a black Spot, and a snow-white one. Jacks are legion. I think many dogs are born Jack; good, honest, clumsy fellows who never resent a whacking or turn away from a bone. There are Rovers who wouldn’t dream of roving. Rover is usually a large, patient, obedient person. Scamps and Rascals are hard, scrabbling little scraps. Tinker is always a fighter. Nell is—well. Nell is Nell; not much at morals, but a good one for a rabbit. The really correct way to name your dog, of course, is to make a portmanteau word or a pun out of his parents’ names. Thus the son of Luffin and Sarah might called Sally Lunn, but many poor dogs have worse names than these.

Hound names go by initials. All the litters from one dam keep to their own letter. It is almost an impertinence to choose traditional hound-names for the house dog, though Dexter, Bluebell, Farmer, Bugler, and the rest are tempting to borrow. But it is better to call the dog Spot and be done with it than to let yourself in for the ignominy of yelling some absurd freak of originality in public thoroughfares. Would any self-respecting dog be seen to come to heel to the mortifying call of ‘Fatty-boy, good dog!” or “Bunty-Boodles!” or “Baldwin! —which I actually heard the other day, whether in compliment to a statesman or an apple I can’t decide. Whichever it was Baldwin took not the slightest notice.—Daily Chronicle.

Otago Daily Times 7 May 1926: p. 15

Baldwin, Mrs Daffodil notes, was Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin. Heroes were often the inspiration for dog names, such as “Balto,” “Dewey” and “Togo.”

There are certain English names for dogs that have meanings that might be given when appropriate. Alan means a hound; Ashur, black; Blanco, white; Crispin, curly; Duncan, brown; Julius, soft haired; Leonard, lionlike; Linus, flaxen haired; Rufus, red; Vivian, lively; Clara, bright; Constance, loyal; Joyce, sportive. Such names as Scud, Rover, Dart and Patter are suggestive in themselves. Two classic names suitable for dogs are Biteou and Lixus.

St Albans [VT] Daily Messenger 23 February 1907: p. 6

Of course, there will always be owners who insist on unusual or “joke” names. President James A. Garfield, of the United States, for instance, had a Newfoundland dog named “Veto” in honour of an 1879 veto by President Hayes of which Mr. Garfield had approved.

“Fishing?” inquired a man as he passed.

“Yes,” answered the boy.

“Nice dog you’ve got; what’s his name?”

“Fish,” replied the boy.

“Fish? That’s a queer name for a dog. What do you call him that for?”

“’Cause he won’t bite.”

Evening Star 31 December 1910: p. 6

 

Yet, sometimes one hits just the right note:

“What is the name of your dog?”

“Macbeth.”

“That’s a curious name for a dog.”

“He howls a great deal at night. Got the idea from that quotation, ‘Macbeth doth murder sleep.’”

The Greensboro [SC] Daily News 16 July 1916: p. 15

 

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.