[Posted by Sally Dickinson, Associate Curator]

These large musical scores were printed in 1851 on “White & Potter’s Steam Press—4,000 impressions per hour—Spring Lane, Boston.” As a printing feat they are impressive—rich black notes, easily seen at a distance.  Lowell Mason’s Musical Exercises for Singing Schools promotes the use of the large printed score as a way to speed along the teaching of music in the classroom.  They were meant to free the teacher from drawing scores on the blackboard. The exercises accompany Mason’s Manual of the Boston Academy of Music.  Mason and George James Webb established the Academy to promote music education in general and to raise the standards of church music.  The academy had enrolled 3,000 students by its 2^nd year.  Mason was credited with introducing music education in public schools.  His influence on church music was equally felt, promoting classical European music rather than the American music of the revivalists, such as Joshua Leavitt’s Christian Lyre.

Here is our intern Dahlia Romanow (from Smith College) demonstrating the beat: Demonstration

[Posted by Glenda Goodman, a visiting researcher on a fellowship sponsored by the Bibliographical Society of America]

“It is now translated to America”: British Hymns in the Revolutionary Era

The Watkinson Library at Trinity College has an impressive collection of manuscript music from the late eighteenth century. Thanks to a grant from the Bibliographical Society of America, I spent a few weeks in June on a research road trip in New England, and Trinity was my first stop. Although I was focusing on musical commonplace books and copybooks, at the suggestion of librarian Sally Dickinson I also worked with their collection of annotated hymnals. It was while perusing these volumes that I came across something I hadn’t seen before: a hymnal in which every reference to Britain had been crossed out and replaced with the word “America” or related terms (New England, Western States, United States, etc.) As the assiduous penman noted at the bottom of one page, the entire volume had been “translated to America.”

This volume, owned by one Alexander Gilles, is a copy of Isaac Watts’s Psalms of David Imitated in the Language of the New Testament.[1] Isaac Watts is a major figure in early American music history. His psalm paraphrases and hymns were sung to existing sacred tunes throughout the British colonies from the time they were published in London in the early 18th century (1707 for his Hymns and Spiritual Songs, 1719 for The Psalms of David). Decades after Watts died in 1748 his poetry exerted a strong influence on musical trends, inspiring the New England psalmodists who were America’s first homegrown composers to write more elaborate and demanding music in the 1770s and 1780s.

Yet while Watts’s poetry remained immensely popular during and after the American Revolution, his frequent references to “Northern Isles,” Britain, and kings were awkward for patriotic church-goers. In 1781 Newburyport printer John Mycall brought forth a new edition of Watts’s psalms from which all references to Britain had been scraped away by a committee of ministers. Four years later Joel Barlow released a “corrected and enlarged” edition of Watts’s psalms. Barlow had been commissioned by the General Association of Connecticut, which decided in June 1784 that they needed a version that omitted all references to Britain. In 1797 Timothy Dwight was asked to make a new revision by that same General Association. From 1781 to 1832 there were nine distinct revision projects that yielded at least 75 different editions or printings of Watts’s psalter.[2]

Alexander Gilles’s patriotic enthusiasm for revising Watts surpassed the official revised versions. His corrections are largely based on Mycall’s 1781 edition, but Gilles added further changes wherever he felt Mycall’s ministers failed to be thorough or go far enough. In more than one instance where Mycall’s edition left “islands” or “islands of the Northern sea” Gilles wrote “nations” or “Western lands.” Bound in with Gilles’s copy of the psalter are a 1772 Boston edition of Watts’s collection of Hymns and Spiritual Songs and a collection of hymn tunes by the Connecticut composer Andrew Law, and Gilles made adjustments to the language throughout those materials as well. Even the index is redacted.

Occasionally Gilles contributed entirely new poetic lines that highlighted his patriotic and anti-British sentiment. For example, in Psalm 147 he wrote corrected the subtitle and first line of lyrics based on the Mycall edition, but also suggested changing the lines “He bids the ocean round thee flow / Not bars of brass could guard thee so” to “He bids the seas before thee stand / To guard against yon distant land.” It’s not hard to imagine that “yon distant land” is Britain, against which Gilles summoned God’s protection for the young nation.

The American Revolution and its aftermath receives plenty of attention at the blog I write for, The Junto, particularly with our coverage of The American Revolution Reborn conference in Philadelphia. Yet much remains to be said about the Revolution’s cultural reverberations, particularly when it comes to sacred music. Gilles’s annotations bespeak a man of diligence and creativity who committed to aligning his religious practice with his patriotism. One wonders if there are more annotated hymnals out there that display other attempts to reconcile sacred worship to patriotic politics. Moreover, further examination could reveal musical consequences from the changes to the psalms and hymns. Last week Roy Rogers suggested we need more sources on the intersection of Christianity and the Revolution. Gilles’s volume seems like a great example of such a source, leading me to wonder if we should be paying more attention to how sacred music responded to and was affected by the Revolution.

________________

[1] Isaac Watts, The Psalms of David: imitated in the language of the New-Testament (Boston: J. Hodgson, 1772). Watkinson Special BS1440 .W3 1772

[2] Louis F. Benson, “The American Revisions of Watts’s ‘Psalms’,” Journal of the Presbyterian Historical Society 2, no. 1 (1903): 18-34.

[Posted by Brent Bette for AMST 838: America Collects Itself: From Colony to Empire]

With the warm weather and sweet smell of green grass in the air, one of my favorite “rites of spring” is to take a walk on the well-known Farmington Canal Trail.  The path is long and straight with very little in the way of hills, making it ideal for the long-distance runner or the young ‘un who wishes to cast off his or her training wheels.  However, I often wonder how many people actually know why such a walk exists? Where would I find my answer?  At the Watkinson, of course!

The New Haven and North Hampton Railroad was built alongside the original 78-mile Farmington Canal.  In 1836 a Southport man by the name of Joseph Sheffield became the primary stockholder.  Realizing canals were far less efficient than railroads, Sheffield hired Professor Alexander Twining of Yale to survey the line from New Haven to Plainville.  What Twining found was that the paths created for the animals to tow the barges up and down the canal were an ideal roadbed on which to lay tracks.  However, the question remained, what would be the northern terminus of the railroad?

In the towns of western Massachusetts, where politicians and businessmen alike realized the construction of a railroad would yield instantaneous prosperity (and perhaps reelection!), a flurry of lobbying began.  Westfield was no exception.  On April 9, 1849, the town held a meeting where a resolution was passed stating two points.  First, the town publicly acknowledged the suffering of its citizens who made sacrifices (giving up land, etc) to allow for the building of the canal.  Unfortunately, the canal never produced the type of economic prosperity promised by the company, leaving Westfield with nothing more than an artificial river. Therefore, restitution needed to be made in the form of a railroad.  The resolution further states “that while construction of the proposed Railroad to Springfield could add little or nothing to the prosperity or business of that town…the Legislature, whenever it is possible, [should] encourage the establishment and growth of other such centres of activity and business.” In other words, Springfield already received their share; it was time to spread the wealth.

The pamphlet goes on to explain that a letter had been received from Mr. Sheffield in which he remarked, “We are pleased to learn that you are awake on the subject of Railroad extension.” The town was then asked to provide the amount of tonnage local industry could provide year-to-year. This was seen as an obvious positive sign that Westfield could indeed become the northern terminus of the railroad. However, as was typical of railroad tycoons (often known as robber barons) of the late 19^th century, Sheffield was stacking the deck. The data provided by the town was used as a means to determine which would be most profitable for the company.  Towns throughout central Massachusetts, whether they knew it or not, were being pitted against one another as a means of getting the “best deal” for the railroad.

Westfield, perhaps due to this resolution, did in fact get its railroad.  However, it would not be the northern terminus. Northampton was chosen instead as it would interchange with the Troy and Greenfield railroad.  In 1887, the New York, New Haven and Hartford railroad began leasing the line and would eventually purchase it outright.

You can still travel on the New Haven and Northampton railroad, albeit only on foot (or bike).  Great progress has been made to convert it to a rail-to-trail, with 72% complete in Connecticut and 47% in Massachusetts.  So, the next time you are out enjoying the trail, impressing your companions with your knowledge of historic facts about the line, be sure to say, “And I found it all out at the Watkinson!”

[Posted by Jenn Brasfield for AMST 838: America Collects Itself: From Colony to Empire]

Like Alice’s journey down the rabbit hole, the descent into the stacks of the Watkinson Library is a journey filled with wonder, confusion and excitement. Where will you end up? How far down is the bottom? And what curious items will be waiting for you when you get there?  I found the Dodgson family waiting for me at the bottom of the stairwell hidden between books on shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings.  What I thought was going to be a simple journey just enjoying a childhood favorite opened the door to a much more exciting find.

Lewis Carroll’s classic masterpiece Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland has been a favorite of children and adults for the 148 years since its initial publication.  His nonsensical story of the “exactly seven-and-a-half-year-old-girl” who tumbles through a rabbit hole has been translated into thousands of languages around the globe including rare aboriginal dialects, and has never been out of print.  One of the most quoted novels of all time, Carroll’s heroine, Alice, finds herself in the world of nonsense where you take advice from a hookah smoking caterpillar, you’re bombarded with riddles at a mad tea party, you play croquet with the queen and you can grow taller or smaller with cookies and mushrooms.

Originally set for publication in 1865, the release of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland was held because of both Lewis Carroll and John Tenniel’s disapproval of the poor printing quality of Tenniel’s illustrations.  The original run of Alice was supposed to be sold as scrap paper but instead the unbound copies ended up in New York where it was issued by D. Appleton and Company in 1866.  In November of 1865 with “very far superior” illustrations and “in fact a perfect piece of artistic printing,” Alice was published by Macmillian and Co. with an 1866 publication date and she was finally available in England.

Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, the man behind the legend, used the pen name Lewis Carroll to author his Alice books and much of his other nonsense, poetry and children’s literature.

Dodgson was born 1832 to the Reverend Charles Dodgson in a small village in Cheshire England.  In 1843 the Dodgson family moved to Croft, a town in Yorkshire where they remained until 1868 when the elder Dodgson died. Living at the Croft Rectory provided the Dodgson family with more money and a better lifestyle than they had in Cheshire. Among the benefits of this new position was being able to employ servants for the family.

The Watkinson has several copies of Alice ranging in publication, but the 1866 edition is truly a special find. This copy of Alice is listed in the Watkinson’s online catalog with the note “Presentation copy from Lewis Carroll and his family to Emma E. Vine, a nurse in their home, Croft Rectory.” I had to know more.  Upon inspection of the book, I found the inscription on the inside, which reads, “Emma E. Vine / A New Year’s Gift / For 1866 / From her friends at Croft Rectory / With their best wishes.”  I was getting curiouser and curiouser.

In the Watkinson’s bibliographical files I found a note from Louisa Dodgson, the eighth of the eleven Dodgson children. Louisa’s note, dated April 5^th, 1920, said:

“I am so sorry to be so long in replying to y[our] question- but have been laid up and unable to write. Emma Vine was an old & most valued servant of ours- coming to us ab[ou]t 1846 as nurse remaining on as sewing maid until our home was broken up at Croft Rectory in 1868. – Her copy of the book must have been a very early edition – without seeing the card I cannot of course tell the writer of it. L. Dodgson”

Almost 22 years with the Dodgson family made Ms. Vine an important part of the family. The next item in the file is a photograph of the book inscription and on the back is another note from Louisa:

“This is photographed from the inscription I wrote in the copy of “Alice” which we gave to our old nurse in 1866 – Louisa F. Dodgson – April 20, 1920”

So there it was, the connection I was looking for. This book was in fact the presentation copy to the Dodgson family nurse. Not only does the Watkinson have the book but it has the priceless notes from Louisa that verifies the gifts provenance and unique history, and clues the world into a bit of the Dodgson family’s history.

What started with a childhood favorite turned into uncovering a story from the Dodgson family and their one of a kind gift to their family’s dear servant.  What a rare find that exists only in the rabbit hole that is the Watkinson Library.

[Posted by Len Banco for AMST 838: America Collects Itself: From Colony to Empire]

The election of 1800 was pivotal in American history, ultimately resulting in the first democratic peaceful transfer of power between two opposing political groups – the Federalists of John Adams who was the sitting President, and the Republicans of Thomas Jefferson, who was the sitting Vice President.  What I searched for and found at the Watkinson were two issues of a 4-page Connecticut newspaper, the Norwich Packet, published on February 24 and March 3, 1801.  My purpose in finding those newspapers was to understand what an ordinary American citizen of the time would be reading about the election and its immediate aftermath.  We began our search the old-fashioned way, using a card catalog, and after a bit of hunting, found a cache of original newspapers unbound as readers over 200 years ago would have read them.  I wondered if anyone back then could have possibly anticipated that a newspaper they used one day and threw out the next would survive for so long.

In a section headed simply, “Election of a President” the results of the election of 1800 (as reprinted from the Philadelphia Gazette of February 14) were officially recounted thus – “According to the rules of the proceeding established by the House, they proceeded to the Senate chamber where….the votes were counted and the result declared by the Vice President [Thomas Jefferson] as follows:  Thomas Jefferson 73, Aaron Burr 73, John Adams 65, C.C. Pinckney 64, John Jay 1”.  The tie vote between Jefferson and Burr required the House of Representatives to determine the winner through a process prescribed by the constitution, with each state having one vote and it being necessary to have a simple majority of the states to win.

In that same issue, the repeated indecisive votes in the House of Representatives were relayed – “Eight states for Jefferson, Six for Burr, 2 divided” along with a description of the actual method of balloting.  One of the representatives from Maryland was so ill he was unable to go to the House chamber, “and had a bed prepared for him in one of the committee rooms to which the ballot box was carried to him by one of the tellers appointed on the part of the state”.  The deadlock continued for days.

In the issue of March 3 it was related that on the 35^th ballot taken on Tuesday, February 17, the deadlock was finally broken, resulting in the election of Thomas Jefferson as president with 10 states for him, only 4 New England States for Aaron Burr, and two states with blank ballots.

In a small “Public Notice” on the third page of the paper there appeared a notice that “A Day of Thanksgiving is to be kept in Wallingford on the 11^th day of March next”…and “at 6 in the evening on the same day an oration will be delivered by Abraham Bishop esq, of New Haven” . “All real friends to our happy constitution and to our illustrious Thomas Jefferson, President-elect, and to Aaron Burr, our patriotic and worthy Vice-President, elect, are invited to attend”.  Interestingly, the transcript of Mr. Bishop’s remarks was subsequently published in New Haven that same year, an original copy of which also resides at the Watkinson Library.

This is what a citizen of Norwich, Connecticut would have read in 1801, two weeks after the actual event.  They would not have known yet how or why the change in vote occurred that ultimately resulted in Jefferson’s election.  The political intrigue and bargaining that resulted in the final outcome has taken over 200 to understand and ponder and the debate continues to this day.

[Posted by Samuel Crompton, Professor of History, Holyoke Community College]

Where else but the Watkinson would I find original, bound copies of the little-known newpspaper THE WAR, printed in New York City between 1812 and 1814? Where but the Watkinson could I examine it in the original, crumbly form, and see the occasional pencil mark made by an owner? Only at the Watkinson!

[Curator’s Note: The below was created by the staff of the Lilly Library at Indiana University; their copy is digitized here]

The War. New York: S. Woodworth & Co., 1812-1817.  Samuel Woodworth is better known today as a poet and playwright, but he published a number of newspapers and journals. The War began publication in June of 1812, and Woodworth intended the paper to serve both as a news source and as a history. In a notice published in the first issue of volume three, the editor saw the end of the war in sight and announced plans to include a chronological index to the publication as well as his intent to publish various state documents which “want of room has heretofore excluded.”

[Posted by Amanda Daddona, a graduate student in American Studies at Trinity, for AMST 838: America Collects Itself: From Colony to Empire]

A Dancing Companion:  Thomas Hillgrove’s Practical Guide to Social Dance in America

Tucked away in the stacks of the Watkinson is a small dance manual bound in powder-pink boards, the front of which is beautifully illustrated with the image of a young woman with loose, flowing hair in a voluminous dress and delicate ribboned shoes.  The decorative script on the front cover bears the title:  Hillgrove’s Ball Room Guide and Practical Dancer.  The manual, written by the dance instructor Thomas Hillgrove, was first published in New York in 1863, though this particular version was printed in 1864, with another to follow in 1869.  The primary purpose of the book, according to Hillgrove’s note in the beginning pages, was to offer uniform instruction in the proper execution of dances, and to promote general interest and enjoyment of dancing.

The book opens with a more detailed summary of the material covered:  “A Complete Practical Guide to the Art of Dancing, Containing Descriptions of All Fashionable and Approved Dances, Full Directions for Calling the Figures, the Amount of Music Required, Hints on Etiquette, the Toilet, Etc.” The manual is divided into six parts, each of which begins with a detailed illustration of men and women in full ball dress.  In general, the majority of the book is illustrated with figures—either representations of men and women, or x’s and o’s—to facilitate the reader’s visualization and comprehension of each dance step.  The six parts cover a range of material, from proper dress and etiquette in the ballroom, to instructions for execution of steps, to proper procedures for planning balls and private dances.

The first part of the book is devoted to proper dress, deportment, and etiquette.  According to Hillgrove, a woman should wear colors that are complimentary to her complexion, and dresses should be an appropriate length to avoid tripping on hems.  He also recommends wearing only a simple flower in the hair, if a lady should choose to adorn her head.  Introductions are not necessary unless the couple believes they will meet again outside of the ball room, in which case gentlemen are always introduced to ladies, and younger people are introduced to their elders, and not the other way around in either instance.  Other instructions regarding ball room etiquette contain a hint of humor; in particular, Hillgrove warns that “the practice of chewing tobacco and spitting on the floor, is not only nauseous to ladies, but is injurious to their dresses,” and for the more clumsy dancers, “if you cannot waltz gracefully, do not attempt to waltz at all.”  The first part ends with a discussion of ballroom shape, type of floor, and music, as well as a description of proper etiquette for the supper room.

The second part addresses rudiments of dancing, such as positioning of the head, chest, arms, back, and legs, as well as how and when to bow and courtesy to a partner. Hillgrove considers the bow and courtesy to be “the most important rudiments of juvenile education; a proper knowledge of them being indispensable,” and so describes the method for men and women to greet one another, not just on the dance floor, but in passing, as well. In general, Hillgrove states that there should be harmony at all times when dancing, among all parts of the body.  In regard to the position of the feet, Hillgrove provides several illustrations of proper placement, which are—quite interestingly—very similar to the first through fifth positions of the feet in ballet.  The chapter ends with a discussion of strengthening exercises that are also practiced in ballet:  plies and battements.

The following four segments of the book are devoted to instruction on figures, or steps, in all the major dances of the time, the most popular of which was the quadrille.  Hillgrove speculates that the quadrille was so popular because it was a social dance that allowed for conversation, as well as frequent changing of partners.  The dance consisted of five parts and was danced by sets of four women and four gentlemen who all had appointed places within their set.  As it was the most widely performed dance, there were many variations, which Hillgrove describes in detail.  In addition to the illustrated instructions on how to execute the figures, Hillgrove also made note of musical cues that dancers should follow in order to properly perform the dances.

After the lengthy segment on the quadrille and all of its variations, Hillgrove moves on to the waltz.  He begins with an assessment of a good waltz dancer, who should always keep good posture, handle his or her partner with ease and grace, avoid colliding with other couples on the floor, and “dance naturally and with no artificiality.”  As the waltz and other “round dances” were performed with only one partner, Hillgrove described the proper hand placement for both the gentleman and the lady, and encouraged dancers to maintain an appropriate amount of space between them.  The book continues with a description of waltz variations, such as La Czarine, the Russian Waltz, and the Hop Waltz, and provides some background and historical information on where and how the variations began.  He continues with the polka and other international dances, and ends the fifth segment with a rather disparaging commentary on country dances, which were then considered “rude” and “inferior in the light of modern dancing.”  Country dances, in Hillgrove’s opinion, were wild and raucous.

The book concludes with Hillgrove’s observations regarding proper arrangement for musical instruments.  For example, if only one instrument is needed, it should be a violin.  If not a violin, it should be a pianoforte.  If two instruments are needed, the most desirable combination was a violin and pianoforte; if that could not be arranged, then a harp and violin, or a violin and violincello.  He continues this list until the number of instruments is quite large, and says that he has surmised these are the best instrument combinations based on the reaction of people at balls and soirees. Hillgrove also discusses the proper procedure for hosting a dance or soiree, which includes hiring a room, musicians, and doorkeepers, as well as making arrangements for advertisements, ticket sales, invitations, and proper maintenance of all expenditures and receipts.

Thomas Hillgrove’s Practical Guide to the Art of Dancing provides the modern reader with a glimpse into the very structured world of ballroom dance, and also gives an indication of the prevalence and importance of dance in society.  It is an informative, beautifully illustrated, and incredibly entertaining book that has been useful for several researchers working on dance history.  This manual, and others like them, are not only fun to read, but they also provide scholars with a way to delve more deeply into the beginnings of social dancing in America.

[Postted by Mario Dunkel, a visiting scholar from TU Dortmund University, Germany]

[Image: W.C. Handy in Battery Park, 1954]

I am currently working on a project that explores early jazz historiography, and I found several fascinating documents in Trinity College’s Edward “Abbe” Niles Collection. Abbe Niles was an early blues and jazz critic, mostly active in the mid to late 1920s. He was close friends with several musicians, including W. C. Handy. Since Niles was also trained as a lawyer, he would often assist Handy with copyright issues and other legal matters. In the mid-1920s, Niles became THE American blues and jazz critic. Together with Handy, he co-edited an amazing volume on blues music (Blues: An Anthology). In 1928 he wrote the Encyclopedia Britannica‘s first entry on jazz.

Some of the most interesting documents of Trinity’s Abbe Niles Collection are the letters that Handy sent to Niles in 1926 when they were working on the book Blues: An Anthology. Niles had sent Handy a draft of his preface (“Sad Horns”) for this collection of blues music, based on interviews that he had conducted with Handy. From Handy’s letters we can learn a lot about Niles’ image of Handy and his music. We also see how several parts of Niles’ manuscript conflicted with Handy’s ideas and how the preface, in the end, became a collaborative project.

The Abbe Niles Collection also includes a number of correspondences between Niles and other major musicians of the 1920 such as Irving Berlin, George Gershwin, and many more. It’s a true treasure for scholars working on 1920s jazz and blues.

[Posted by Patricia Appelbaum, Ph.D., an independent scholar from Amherst, Massachusetts who is working on a book under contract with the University of North Carolina Press]

What I found at the Watkinson was a little keepsake book for Christmas, privately printed in letterpress in 1958. I sought it out because it makes reference to St. Francis of Assisi; I’m researching a book about the ways American non-Catholics have appropriated, imagined, and represented St. Francis. This keepsake book is interesting not because it offers any startling new information, but because it confirms some things that we already know or suspect. It’s always striking when large historical patterns are crystallized in an individual, personal statement.

The editor, offering this booklet to his friends, presents it as collection of prayers for peace from many different times and places. Human beings everywhere, of all colors and creeds, he says, have “prayed for well-being, peace and brotherhood.” He thinks this impulse is especially appropriate at Christmas time, with its message of peace and goodwill.

The booklet includes the well-known “Prayer of St. Francis,” the one that begins “Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.” Although St. Francis did not in fact write this prayer, it has been closely associated with him since the early twentieth century, and has been widely used in English since the 1940s. (For a good discussion of its origins, see the articles in Greyfriars Review 10:3, 1996. My book will trace some of its later history.)

St. Francis, then, appears here in a nominally Christian context – Christmas – but also in a multifaith one. The other prayers in the book (if its attributions are correct) are Hindu, Taoist, Jewish, Japanese Buddhist, and Navajo, along with one from the Protestant Martin Luther and another from the Armenian saint Gregory of Narek. This universalistic outlook is one of the surprising paradoxes of 1950s religion. Christianity, in its mainline Protestant form, was generally taken for granted as normative; Protestants were a numerical majority and enjoyed considerable cultural power. Yet there was also a softening
of doctrinal boundaries at that time, both formally, in the ecumenical movement, and informally, in modes of popular religion that cared more about feelings than rules. And a lot of minority faiths were flourishing on the margins. Here is St. Francis in this cultural matrix. (But wait, you say. St. Francis wasn’t a mainline Protestant. True; but by this time he was widely popular among Protestants, unlike most Catholic saints.)

I wonder, though, why the editor chose the theme of peace. 1958 was not a big year for peace movements. Of course the connection with Christmas is obvious (“peace on earth, goodwill to all”). And St. Francis had been associated with peace activism since at least the 1920s. Beyond that, there was a small but growing anti-nuclear movement in the late 1950s.
Still, it would be interesting to know whether the editor had some personal interest or commitment that drew him to this topic.

Finally, I can’t help thinking of another letterpress version of St. Francis. That one, too, was a Christmas keepsake, printed in 1934. Its text was the story of St. Francis and the wolf. Although this is also a sort of peace story, the printer actually chose it because of another wolf – the one at the door of so many people in the Depression era. I’d
like to think that there is some affinity between St. Francis, Christmas, and private presses, but I have to admit that two examples
don’t really add up to a thesis. Still, there they are. Maybe the common ground is that the Christmas season starts people thinking about what they really consider sacred.

References:

[Charles Attebery], Prayers for Peace: Christmas MCMLVIII  (Georgian Press, 1958), Watkinson Private Press Collection

[August  Heckscher], The Fierce Wolf of Gubbio (Ashlar Press, 1934), Special  Collections, Mount Holyoke College.