What was advertised in a colonial American newspaper 250 years ago today?
“A General Supply of the most modern BOOKS.”
Like many modern booksellers, James Foster Condy sold books and more at his store on Union Street in Boston in the early 1770s. In a lengthy advertisement that ran in the November 23, 1772, edition of the Boston-Gazette, he highlighted several aspects of his business, promoting his merchandise, his prices, and his customer service.
Condy began with an announcement about a new publication, “A POEM, Entitled, the GRAVE. By Robert Blair.” That volume also included “An ELEGY written in a Country Church-Yard. By Mr. Gray.” In addition to listing the price, just one shilling, Condy appealed to colonizers who considered themselves refined consumers of literature, assuring them that the “Pamphlet will fully recommend itself, to the best Judges and Lovers of Poetry.” The bookseller had a particular interest in this pamphlet, having made arrangements with a local printer to produce a new edition.
The portion of Condy’s advertisement that hawked the poems could have stood on its own as a separate notice, but the bookseller determined that it served as a good introduction to an overview of his wares. In addition to the poetry, printed in Boston, he also stocked a “General Supply of the most modern BOOKS” imported from London. Rather than list any titles, Condy highlighted various genres, including “Law, Physick, History, Divinity, and every Branch of polite Literature” as well as bibles and other devotional materials. He even had “Books for the Amusement and Instruction of Children.”
The bookseller also carried an assortment of stationery and writing supplies. That portion of his advertisement occupied almost as much space as the portion about the poetry and more than the portion about other books. Condy listed everything from “Writing Paper of every Sort” and “Account Books of every Size and Quality” to “various Sorts of Penknives” and “Quills,” to “Glass Ink Potts” and “red and black Sealing Wax.” In yet another section of the advertisement, he called attention to other kinds of merchandise, some of it related to the books and stationery he sold. Condy stocked “reading Glasses” and “Glasses for near-sighted Persons” as well as “Diagonal Machines for viewing of Prints” and “a Convex Glass for drawing Landscapes.”
The bookseller concluded with a pitch that extended beyond his merchandise. He proclaimed that he offered the lowest prices that consumers would encounter not only in the city but anywhere in the colonies, asserting that “All those Persons who please to purchase at said Store, may depend on buying as cheap as at any Store in BOSTON or AMERICA.” He was so confident in that claim that he declared its veracity “without Exception.” In addition, his customers would be “used” or treated “in such a Manner as will leave no Room for Complaint, but give entire Satisfaction.” In other words, Condy considered customer service an important aspect of his business.
With all of the books, stationery, writing supplies, glasses, and other merchandise, the inventory at Condy’s bookstore looked much the same to consumers in eighteenth-century America as modern bookstores appear to customers who browse an array of goods. Condy did not rely on a single revenue stream. Instead, he marketed and sold a variety of wares, using price and customer service to further entice prospective clients.
What was advertised in a colonial American newspaper 250 years ago today?
“Buy worth a Dollar, when you come, / And you may drink a Glass of Rum.”
Lydia Learned received some free advertising in the July 15, 1771, edition of the Boston Evening-Post. She distributed a handbill that listed a variety of items available at her shop “Near the Sign of the Punch-Bowl” in Brookline. Intrigued by the advertisement, Thomas Fleet and John Fleet, the printers of the Boston Evening-Post, inserted it in its entirety along with a note advising, “The following advertisement, copied from one in the Punch Bowl Tavern in Brookline, we publish for the Amusement of out Poetical Readers.” Indeed, the poetry, not the assortment of goods offered for sale, attracted their attention. Few advertisers attempted to transform their inventory into poetry in newspaper notices or on broadsides and handbills, helping to make Learned’s advertisement more memorable.
Her poetry featured three stanzas of four lines each, the second and fourth lines rhyming. Learned devoted the first stanza entirely to her wares: “FLOUR, Raisons, Rice, Molosses, Spice, / Good Indigo and Wire, / Knives[,] Combs, Fish-hooks, Verses and Books, / And Paper by the Quire.” In the remaining stanzas, she used the final line to make appeals to prospective customers. In the second, for instance, she listed “Sugar[,] Bisket and Chocolate, / Tinn, Glass and Earthen-ware, / Pins, Needles[,] Thread and Ginger-bread, / As good as any where.” Her shop may have been humble compared to the larger enterprises operated by other entrepreneurs, but Learned assured prospective customers that the size of her business did not negatively affect the quality of her merchandise. In the final stanza, she offered an additional incentive to shoppers. “Salt, Allum, Coffee, Tea, and Snuff, / Crown-Soap and Candles, cheap enough / Buy worth a Dollar when you come, / And you may drink a glass of RUM.” Perhaps the nip of alcohol as much as the poetry amused the Fleets and convinced them to reprint Learned’s handbill in their newspapers.
Learned was not the only entrepreneur to have the text from a trade card or billhead also printed in an eighteenth-century newspaper. On May 5, 1768, Mary Symonds, a milliner in Philadelphia, ran a lengthy advertisement in the Pennsylvania Gazette. In it, she listed dozens of items among her inventory. She also distributed a trade card that reiterated, with minor variations, the text from the newspaper advertisement. In October and November 1770, she recorded a receipted bill for items purchased by the Cadwalader family on the reverse, suggesting that Symonds kept her trade card in circulation for some time.
Symonds seems to have made a more intentional effort than Learned when it came to deploying advertisements in multiple formats. All the same, Learned demonstrated creativity in devising a billhead that distinguished her business from her competitors. If prospective customers did not appreciate the poetry, then the promise of a glass of rum offered as a premium for making a purchase may have convinced them to check out her merchandise.
What was advertised in a colonial American newspaper 250 years ago this week?
“[The following was paid for as an Advertisement.]”
Newspaper editors selected which articles and letters to print or reprint in their publications, but that did not exclude others, especially advertisers, from shaping the contents and messages disseminated to readers. In the era of the American Revolution, for instance, many advertisers enhanced their notices with political commentary, encouraging consumers to graft politics onto their decisions in the marketplace. Aggrieved husbands regularly published advertisements warning others not to extend credit to wives who had the audacity to resist the patriarchal authority husbands were supposed to exercise in their households. In the process, husbands gave details about marital discord and the misbehavior of their wives. On occasion, some of those wives responded with advertisements of their own, painting less than flattering portraits of abusive or negligent husbands. Other advertisers disputed land titles or pursued personal grudges. Editors temporarily transferred editorial authority to advertisers who paid for space in their newspapers.
That seems to have been the case concerning a poem that ran in the May 15, 1771, edition of the Essex Gazette. Many eighteenth-century newspapers featured a poetry corner, often positioned in the upper left corner of the final page, but that was not the case with this poem. Instead, it appeared at the bottom of the last column on the third page. Given the production process for a standard four-page issue, that meant that the poem was the last item the compositor inserted into that issue. Perhaps Samuel Hall, the printer of the Essex Gazette, had second thoughts about including it at all. An editorial note preceded the poem, suggesting that Hall decided that its appearance in his newspaper required some sort of explanation: “[The following was paid for as an Advertisement.]” In other words, Hall did not select it for the edification or amusement of his readers. He might not have even fully understood its purpose or meaning, but a customer paid for the space. The poem very well may have bewildered Hall and most readers. A preamble declared, “The folloing lines were Presented to A lat skull mistres in this town by 4 of her skolers the morning after her mareg.” The misspellings continued throughout the poem, suggesting that the “skull mistres” (school mistress) achieved only partial success with these “skolers” (scholars) who sent tidings following her “mareg” (marriage). The poem was an inside joke not intended for all readers of the Essex Gazette.
Hall could have refused to publish the poem, exercising his prerogative as editor and proprietor of the Essex Gazette. He was not obligated to publish anything submitted to the printing office, even if accompanied by payment to appear as an advertisement. Yet that payment justified temporarily surrendering editorial control to an advertiser. Indeed, Hall abbreviated an advertisement from Nathaniel Sparhawk, Jr., explaining that “[Want of Room obliges us to defer the Particulars till next Week.]” Hall could have given Sparhawk the space devoted to the poem, but instead opted to collect payment and insert the poem with a disclaimer. The four “skolers” then found their ode to their “skull mistres” in the public prints.
What was advertised in a colonial American newspaper 250 years ago today?
“He hopes his kind Cust’mers will once again call, / And for their past Favours he thanketh them all.”
Benoni Pearce, a shopkeeper, frequently advertised in the Providence Gazette. His commercial notices usually incorporated some of the advertising strategies most popular in eighteenth-century America, including appeals to price, quality, and consumer choice. Such was the case in a new advertisement that first appeared in the final week of December 1767, though Pearce gave the method of delivery a twist that surely attracted notice from readers of the Providence Gazette. A series of rhyming couplets and a final tercet comprised the advertisement.
Pearce certainly was not the first or only advertiser to promote his wares or his business in verse, but such efforts were infrequent enough that they retained a novel quality when they appeared in newspapers or on broadsides. Their format likely garnered greater attention from prospective customers who would have merely glanced through a list of familiar merchandise but instead carefully examined Pearce’s rhymes. The short poem entertained even as it sought to stimulate consumption, making it – and Pearce’s shop – all the more memorable.
In just half a dozen couplets, Pearce moved through a series of appeals. After reminding readers of his location “upon the West Side,” he announced that he stocked “fresh Goods” selected with care. He made nods toward quality (“the best Kind”) and price (“as cheap as any you’ll find”), before thanking former customers and encouraging them to “once again call.” He concluded by lightheartedly addressing two aspects of commerce and consumer culture that colonists increasingly associated with contemporary political debates.
While other shopkeepers starkly stated that they sold their wares “For CASH” (as Thompson and Arnold did in the advertisement immediately below), Pearce pledged “To take the March Money* for what it was made.” A note at the end of the advertisement, the only portion not in verse, clarified that the “March Money” had been issued in 1762. Paper currency tended to depreciate, so Pearce indicated the current rate: “6 s. equal to a Dollar.” This method of naming a particular currency then in circulation in Rhode Island cleverly addressed the same issue that J. Mathewson raised in the advertisement immediately above. Mathewson plainly stated that he “takes lawful Money, of any Date, equal to Dollars.” Discussions of how to pay could be troublesome, but through his witty rhyme Pearce attempted to make that awkward part of potential transactions at least somewhat amusing.
Finally, in the tercet that concluded the advertisement Pearce weighed in on questions about what kinds of goods should be bought and sold in order to best serve the political and economic welfare of the colonies. An imbalance of trade between Britain and the colonies contributed to a recession. The imposition of new taxes on certain imported goods when the Townshend Act went into effect in November 1767 further exacerbated tensions. Residents of Boston, followed by other towns in New England, had pledged to limit their consumption of imported goods in favor of purchasing local products instead. Pearce endorsed these efforts and indicated that he did his part when he acquired merchandise to sell to his customers because “the Good of his Country doth near his Heart lie.”
Benoni Pearce made several appeals to customers in his advertisement. He had previously made the same appeals in a series of advertisements in the Providence Gazette, but a creative new format – a short poem – enticed readers to take note of this particularly memorable advertisement. Once he had their attention, Pearce increased his chances of making sales.
The American Antiquarian Society sponsors a robust series of Public Programs each fall and spring. I was especially interested in the most recent entry, last week’s “The Citizen Poets of Boston: A Collection of Forgotten Poems” by Paul Lewis (English, Boston College), because it originated as a class project that relied significantly on digital humanities resources. Lewis was joined for the evening by Harrison Kent and Alexandra Mitropoulos, former students who worked on the project as undergraduates.
The title for the evening’s event came from the recently published The Citizen Poets of Boston: A Collection of Forgotten Poems, 1789-1820 (University Press of New England, 2016), an anthology of mostly anonymous poems published in literary magazines in the era of the Early Republic. The book, however, was not the original goal of the advanced undergraduate seminar that located and identified the poems; instead, it evolved out of an exhibition, “Forgotten Chapters of Boston’s Literary History.” Lewis and his students originally sought to examine “poems so bad they were delightfully amateurish” that still managed to make their way into print in the decades immediately after the Revolution and ratification of the Constitution, but their research took them in new directions as they discovered a treasure trove of forgotten and overlooked poetry that was good, interesting, and told local stories.
Lewis, Kent, and Mitropoulos explained that 427 magazines were published in the United States during the early national period. Most magazines incorporated at least some poetry as a standard feature, but many did so quite extensively. More than 30,000 poems appeared in those magazines. Lewis and his students were especially interested in Massachusetts (and primarily Boston, the center of magazine publication in the commonwealth during the period), combing through 59 magazines to identify and examine over 4500 poems.
This is a project that would not have been possible even a decade ago, at least not as a collaborative research project in an upper-level undergraduate seminar. It relied on intense archival work – digital archival work using the American Periodical Series and similar resources. The American Periodical Series includes digitized images of magazines printed from the colonial period to the turn of the twentieth century. Gathering digital surrogates for the original magazines together in one place eliminates several of the obstacles that researchers in earlier generations faced. Images of each page are readily available, making it unnecessary to travel to distant libraries and historical institutions. In effect, digital sources bring the archives to researchers, including students who otherwise would not have such extensive access to primary sources. (This assumes that an educational institution has the funds to purchase a subscription to the American Periodical Series and similar databases of early American primary sources. Many smaller colleges and universities do not, but that digital divide is a topic for another time. Still, I want to be clear that although digitized sources make new projects and pedagogy possible, unequal access means digitization is not a panacea.)
Lewis and his students were able to consult the 59 magazines printed in Massachusetts in the early national period relatively easily, though the project was still labor intensive even with the digital resources. As they identified and sifted through more than 4500 poems they decided to focus on poetry that revealed life in early Boston. Doing so required learning about publication and republication practices of the era. For instance, in efforts to fill their pages editors often inserted material copied directly from British periodicals in the absence of international copyright laws. Lewis and his students discarded those poems. They also discovered that editors frequently issued invitations to readers to submit their own poetry, invitations that anonymous poets eagerly accepted. Since magazine distribution was relatively limited during the period – most circulated primarily within the city of publication – these poems often revealed much about local culture in Boston. (Lewis suggested that other teams of scholars and students could pursue similar projects in Philadelphia, New York, and other urban centers.) In addition to inviting readers to submit original poetry, editors also solicited poems in response to other poems, creating conversations among readers from issue to issue. The anonymous poets often learned whether their work had been accepted or rejected in the pages of the magazines themselves; rather than communicating privately with these “citizen poets,” editors created a feature, “Acknowledgments to Correspondents,” in which they praised or disparaged the poems submitted to them.
Who were these citizen poets? Lewis and his students explored the democratizing effects of publishing poetry by anonymous authors in the literary magazines of the Early Republic. Although most of the authors cannot be identified definitively, many were surely women. Quite possibly some were non-whites. Anonymous publication allows – then and now – for imaginative readings of the identity of those citizen poets since their gender, race, and class remained hidden. The “citizen” in citizen poet accordingly refers to anybody who chose to participate in the conversations and debates pursued in verse rather than the more narrow confines of who was eligible to vote in the early national period. Poetry elicited broad civic participation as a variety of readers made contributions to public discourses. For instance, provocatively misogynistic poems generated responses. Lewis and his students documented poems and “anti-poems” that responded to each other over the course of several issues. Many poems expressed the hopes and anxieties of various Boston residents as they contemplated their role in early American society, including a poem about a young seamstress preparing for her marriage. She hoped that her husband would sometimes “let me wear the breeches.” Whether written by a woman or not, this poem indicates that everyday Bostonians grappled with the social roles and political rights of women in the era of the Early Republic.
Lewis and his students underscored that these forgotten poems reveal lively, open, and engaged interactions among readers. They offer glimpses of everyday life – relationships between men and women, labor and occupations, politics, family life, entertainment and pleasures – that might seem foreign to modern readers. In that regard, the poems in The Citizen Poets of Boston are a valuable resource for scholars, teachers, and students. However, I am just as interested in the process: the methodology that made that anthology possible. Using digitized sources to pursue such an extensive project helped to make possible a model of professor-student collaborative work that fulfilled some of the best ideals of scholars incorporating their own research into the classroom to create richer educational experiences. The digital revolution helps to make possible a greater array of “hands-on humanities” projects that engage both scholars and students and ultimately yield significant results.