Her Majesty's Furniture: The Wakefield Tapestry Chair, C. 1750

Part of an impressive suite which consisted of at least five armchairs and a sofa, this tapestry armchair was designed to show off the taste and wealth of the owner, and would probably have been displayed prominently in a drawing room or ornate reception room.

The suite was sold by Richard Wright and Edward Elwick of Wakefield, Yorkshire, who were working between 1745 and 1771--the pre-eminent firm of cabinet-makers and upholsterers in Yorkshire at that time. The chair's gilt frame is adorned with carved fish scales and acanthus leaves.

It was made for William Wentworth, 4th Earl of Strafford (1722-1791), for Wentworth Castle, Yorkshire. The Duchess of Northumberland wrote that she saw "French chairs emb'd [embroidered] with flowers upon Brown by the famous Mr Wright" upon a visit to Wentworth Castle in 1760.

Treat of the Week: Buttermilk Pie

Long thought to be a traditional dessert of the Southern United States, the origins of Buttermilk Pie (sometimes called Chess Pie) are a matter of some debate--often the case with beloved desserts.

Some insist that this silky, sweet pie has roots in England while others contend that it is purely a Southern delight. Regardless of who thought of it first, this beautiful pie with its firm, crusty top layer and smooth custard-like filling is a true treat.

We had never tasted Buttermilk Pie before this weekend when my mother tried a new recipe and presented us with this delightfully creamy confection adorned with whipped cream rosettes and raspberry coulis.

History's Runway: A Velvet Court Suit, 1899

Curiously, though fashions had changed considerably for daily attire by the late Nineteenth Century, "court suits" still resembled the type of clothes a late Eighteenth-Century gentleman might have worn. As the curators of the V&A describe court clothes, "They were cut in the style of fashionable 1790s men's dress, with waistcoat, tailcoat, knee-breeches worn with silk stockings, buckled shoes, a sword with a cut-steel hilt and a bicorne hat."

Thankfully for the men of the era, these uncomfortable suits were not worn very often. Court suits were worn for important cermonial occasions and at the Monarch's court.

This suit belonged to one Sydney Vacher who wore this court suit for the laying of the foundation stone of the Victoria and Albert Museum on May 17, 1899. Vacher presented the suit to the museum in 1918. He wrote, "It has just struck me would the Museum accept my Civic costume I wore at the laying of the foundation stone of the Museum. It is the ordinary civilian's black velvet with steel buttons ... I don't see that I shall have any further use for it. The material is English Silk Velvet and I had it made up for me."

This court suit is actually an example of the "new style" which had introduced in 1869. Though still very much Eighteenth-Century in look, the new style included a black velvet tailcoat which was worn open as opposed to the "old style" which consisted of a velvet frock coat with fronts sloping back from the waist, stand collar and black silk wig-bag.

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 375

The longer Agnes Rittenhouse waited, the more furious she became.  Not only had Odo left her with the child much longer than he'd promised, he had not yet returned with her payment--namely that wonderful blue diamond that she had so long wanted.

Thankfully, both babies slept peacefully despite the fact that Agnes had left them on the floor with nothing to comfort them.  Had they made the slightest noise, Agnes' irritation would have only been compounded.

To distract herself, she thought of the moment when she would be reunited with Lady Barbara.  The first thing she would do, Agnes decided, would be to insist that her lady leave that awful house and Iolanthe Evangeline, next, she would remind Barbara of her birthright, telling her without question that she could stop calling herself Barbara Allen and once again use her proper name. After all, Agnes thought, Arthur was dead.  Barbara was no longer under his tragic influence.  She should reclaim what was rightfully hers.

Yes, Agnes smiled to herself, that's what she would do.  And, when Lady Barbara agreed to it--for surely she would see the sense in her old nanny's words and once again act like a lady--Agnes would give her a new child.  Would Barbara notice that it was a different baby?  Would she care that he was not the one that she bore?  The new child--the one belonging to the Halifaxes-- was certainly more robust and alert than the one that Mr. Cage wanted.  And while the new baby had no Fallbridge blood per se, Agnes thought that might be a good thing.  After all,  thus far, the Fallbridge blood hadn't done anything to improve the Duke.

Agnes bit her lip and considered what she would say if Barbara noticed that the child was not the same.  Should she bother to confess?  No.  She could simply say that the child had grown since last Barbara saw it.  That was the best tactic.

Agnes was momentarily soothed by what she perceived as the utter genius of her plan, but that brief happiness faded quickly as she remembered that she could do nothing until that horrible Odo returned.

As she felt strange surges of angry energy race through her arms, she looked around the room for something she could mangle, break or smash.  A knock on the door made her exclaim--first from fear, and then with relief.

Opening the door, she expected to see Odo, but was not pleasantly surprised to find a panting Iolanthe Evangeline, holding what appeared to be injured hands in front of herself.

"Get away from me," Agnes moaned, trying to shut the door, but Iolanthe forced her way in.

"Look, just give me Edward Cage's boy and I'll be on my way."

Agnes considered what Iolanthe said, chewing her own dry, scaly lips.

"Odo sent me," Iolanthe said, half-honestly.

"Very well then," Agnes shrugged.


Did you miss Chapters 1-375, you can read them in the Chapter Archive.

Unusual Artifacts: A Silver Bottle Ticket, 1840

Items such as this are actually quite fashionable again today. Here, we see a bottle ticket with the word CLARET in pierced lettering. Made to be suspended from a bottle or decanter to identify its contents, this ticket is made of silver decorated with a vine leaf with branch above. A silver chain is attached.

Gazettes of the era began to refer to "labels for bottles" in the 1770s and by the 1790s, these tickets were made for specific wines and spirits.

Silver bottle tickets tended to reflect fashionable designs and allowed metal workers to showcase their skills, often in miniature.

Object of the Day: The Clichy Claret Jug, 1867

Resplendent in startling emerald green, this flask and flask stopper of colored glass is adorned with a pattern of gilding and enamels. The form of the flask is based on a traditional Venetian shape which has been adapted by French glassblowers. It is made lively with decoration which combines the Chinese floral ornament of the 1400s with Moorish arches and the Naturalistic motifs that were fashionable at the time.

This is the work of L. Joseph Maës of the Cristalleries de Clichy in France.

A Message from Mr. Punch and Bertie

Hullo, hullo. It’s me, Mr. Punch and me chum, the Bertie Dog. Our chum, Joseph, is takin’ a day of rest today, he is. So, it’s up to me and the Bertie Dog to put things on the Web site. So, here we go. I figure we’d start with something nice and shiny like what our chum likes to write about.

The Victoria & Albert Museum

This here is a necklace from the Victoria & Albert Museum what was made in 1880 in someplace called Austria. It’s got an enamel picture of cherubs what are really just fat, flyin’ babies in a gold frame on a chain of gold, turquoise and diamonds. It’s very pretty, it is.

The Victoria & Albert Museum

But, here’s something I like more. This here is a puppet. It’s a bunny rabbit made of wood and dressed in fabric clothes. It was made by the famous Pelham Puppet Company in England around 1950. Bertie Dog likes it, too.

The Victoria & Albert Museum

Here’s more things. This one’s about me! See, there I am at the top of the arch—flyin’ cuz me professor got himself into a fight. This is a printed cover from sheet music printed in the late Nineteenth Century for a song called, “The Punch & Judy Man” as sung by some bloke what’s called George Leybourne. I like it. Bertie Dog, he don’t care too much.

The Victoria & Albert Museum

What else we got? Bertie Dog and me both like this printed label from a 1928 package of Crawford’s Four O’Clock Biscuits. Look at that happy human with tea and lots o’ sandwiches. Coo! That’s fine!


Joseph will be back at his station on Monday. Presently, he’s somewhere in the house, doin’ God knows what. All I know is that he ain’t makin’ us sandwiches and we ain’t too happy ‘bout that.



Clubs and Hisses…



Mr. Punch



Woof, woof…



Bertie Dog