Transcriber’s Notes:

In the html version of this eBook, links to larger scale illustrations have been provided where details are not easily visible. Please see the detailed [transcriber’s note] at the end of this text.

COLLECTING AS A PASTIME

Bronze Statuette for Gas. Circa 1850.

Plate I.

COLLECTING AS A
PASTIME

BY

CHARLES ROWED

With 68 Half-tone Illustrations

CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD
London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne
1920

TO THE MEMORY
OF
C. H. R.

RAISON D’ÊTRE

This book is written, and the illustrations prepared, mainly to inspire, inform and amuse Amateur Collectors. In this I trust it will be successful, but I further hope that it may arrest the attention and stimulate the interest of many other readers.

The Author.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

COLLECTING AS A PASTIME

REFLECTIONS

There is a cause for everything. Are antique collectors born or are they made? Is the craze inherent, or do circumstances or environment create the craving? How in later life do early associations influence our peculiar fancies? Possibly my seven years as a choir-boy at Winchester Cathedral attending services and practices there fifteen times weekly, being boarded at the Bishop’s Palace, and playing games under the shadow of the ruins of Wolvesey Castle may have laid impressions which tended to render me susceptible to the mediæval. My reflections bring to mind my singing at the enthronement of Bishop Samuel Wilberforce, and seeing the bones of King Rufus taken out of his tomb and laid in skeleton form on the floor of the chancel. In those times a man was not considered too old at forty, as the Dean was doing his little bit at ninety. To go back still farther, when quite a small boy I lay for weeks with a broken leg, which had to be broken a second time owing to poor setting, in a room out of which there was a secret chamber for hiding those “wanted” in the good old days. This ancient home with its pointed gables and windows was suitably named “Gothic Lodge,” and is near Southampton, close to a house in which Lord Jellicoe’s grandfather resided.

Anyone knowing Winchester will be familiar with the picture of “The Trusty Servant,” and illustrative of the extraordinary things a collector may come across in his rambles, I found a good print of this in a nice old maple frame hanging in a dark shop of a dingy street in a drab town in the North of England, and, of course, I purchased it ([Plate II], facing p. 14).

The rostrum shook under the thud of the fist of the reformed prizefighter, and the hall reverberated with his stentorian exclamation. “Ah-h-h-h, my friends, what will the drunkard do for drink?” Allow me just to whisper, “What won’t the collector do for curios?” It is generally understood that there is honesty among thieves. This may be so—not being a member of that fraternity I cannot vouch for its accuracy. That this desirable attribute prevails amongst the majority of antique dealers and collectors is to my mind open to question. You know you cannot do yourself justice unless you know more than the other fellow, while he in his turn, if you are a stranger, treats you with suspicion, and so you both play Brer Rabbit.

I was once going through a collection acquired by a professional gentleman, and he called my special attention to a very good figure of Nelson, which he informed me he had obtained at a bargain price. The figure was in a shop run by an alien, probably now a naturalised Englishman, who asked fifteen shillings for it. On its being pointed out that the figure only possessed one arm the alien said he had not noticed that and dropped the price to eighteenpence. I suppose, after all, this question of honesty resolves itself into a matter of conscience, and we must realise that this is a commodity liable to degrees of elasticity which can be regulated without a great deal of effort to suit the demand requisite for the occasion.

Did you ever know a collector give away anything from his special line? I once had a little Leeds Pottery cottage (impressed mark) pressingly offered me out of pure good will by a dealer, who although he was only half a collector was a whole-hearted Christian, and I wish he were still in the flesh to read this fond reference to his genial urbanity, but he has gone aloft.

Open confession is good for the soul, and I feel at this point I must unburden my conscience after alluding to others whose feelings may have been disturbed by my theories. On one occasion a very old and valued friend was giving a charity bazaar at his residence, so he asked me to contribute some of my old pewter. My friend and I had much in common, but he little knew what he was asking of me then or with what pangs of heart-burning those twenty pieces were selected, packed, and forwarded, with a lying letter expressing the pleasure I felt.

One other outstanding instance of generosity comes vividly to my mind. Early on, when I could talk of nothing but old pewter, I spent an afternoon with a friend who still resides in a hamlet, the name of which I Aughton’t to disclose. He specialises in old porcelain and young pullets, together with rare bits and roses. At the time I was almost in despair because I could drop on no pewter dishes. Imagine my delight when I received anonymously three good marked specimens from the residential district aforesaid. On meeting the donor and overwhelming him with my profusion of gratitude, he remarked, “Look here, old man, you needn’t make such a fuss about it. The fact is my wife came across these dishes when spring cleaning, and she asked me to get them out of the way, so I sent the bally things off to you.”

I have alluded to the influence the collecting craze may have on the conscience, and on the gift of charity. The bump denoting the latter varies very considerably in individuals, as in some cases it is reported to be undiscernible by the most gifted phrenologist, yet we each think our own so abnormally developed that we wonder how we keep our hats on. As an instance of the way in which the mania may take hold of the common sense contained in a brain occupied with big undertakings, and large financial questions, let me give you an instance.

At a shop on Blackpool Pier I noticed an oak pulley-block partly gilded, and learnt it had belonged to the rigging of the Foudroyant, which was wrecked there in 1897. Although I did not want this myself I knew a friend who would like to have it. He was very keen on Nelson relics, and had shown me with pride the room he devoted specially to the display of these, which he had accumulated regardless of cost. I purchased the block for a guinea, packed it up, sent it off to the South of England by passenger train, and wrote saying what I had done. What gigantic schemes matured or what h.p. pressure was required to keep his powerful brain under control, I do not know, but in the evening of the following day I received an urgent telegram saying the pulley-block had not yet arrived, and would I trace it forward? Now why could not a man of his experience and resource have waited more than twelve hours after getting my letter for a thing like that to come 250 miles by train, without giving me extra trouble, when I had already put myself out of the way to give him a little pleasure? I forgave him when I received his note of thanks, and he never met me afterwards without referring to my thoughtfulness on his behalf.

Soon after I started I had the advantage of comparing notes with a medical friend, who had a decided penchant for antiques, and he diagnosed collecting as a disease on which he considered himself an authority, if not a specialist, as his knowledge had been acquired by constant practice. His faculties were so acute that on one occasion while feeling the pulse of a patient he lost count of the beats through catching sight of a Bartolozzi print hanging near the bed. He was pleased to say the patient recovered her health, and he obtained the Bartolozzi.

Further evidence in support of this theory is the case of a minister who, after seeing my collection for the first time, could not sleep, but lay awake wondering in which of the houses in his parish he had seen any pewter. May I not carry this a step further without giving offence, by suggesting that when thoughts require to be concentrated on less worldly things, while paying his consoling visits he should spend much of the time with both eyelids closed? Be this as it may, he has secured a number of bargains.

Another instance came under my notice through seeing a letter from a wealthy merchant, the ramifications of whose business are world-wide, in which he stated he had been poking about slums, and had picked up two pepper-pots for a few coppers. Consequently he could not see his way to offer more than three shillings for two which had been advertised for four shillings.

I have discovered among my press cuttings an article which appeared in the Times, August 12, 1910, and I should like you to read the following extract:—

ON COLLECTORS

“The collector’s instinct seems to be a curious by-product of the human mind; and not only of the human mind, for magpies, monkeys, and even dogs, sometimes have it. When a dog makes a store of bones, old and entirely fleshless, he is like the collector who keeps obsolete things just because they are obsolete. A used postage stamp is to a man what a bone without flesh is to a dog; but the collector of postage stamps goes further than the dog, in that he prefers an old postage stamp to a new one, while no dog, however ardent a collector of bones without flesh, would not rather have a bone with flesh on it. Yet there is more method in the human collector, since he always has before him the ideal of a complete collection, whereas no dog, probably, ever dreamed of acquiring specimens of all the different kinds of bones there are in the world. This ideal of a complete collection is the usual spur of the human collector; and often he will collect the most out-of-the-way things in the hope of attaining it. But there is also the spur of rivalry, and because of that there are not many collectors of things that no one else collects. Every collector likes to have at least one rival whom he may out-do, and from whom perhaps he may steal; for the collector’s instinct is sometimes too strong for the most honest of men, so that they come to regard stealing as only a bold and skilful kind of collecting. They would never steal anything except what they collect; but in stealing a fine specimen they are only rectifying the iniquity of chance which has given that specimen to an ignoramus who does not deserve it. For them collecting is a game, and stealing is not a breach of the rules. Indeed, there is only one breach of the rules, viz.:—forging. But even forgeries make collecting more exciting; and perhaps they are not really a breach of the rules, but only an added complication in the game, a new kind of bunker, so to speak, which tests the skill of the player.”

Great minds think alike! Oh, thank you!

In my numerous calls I have only once been openly treated with suspicion, and that happened in a county town which boasts of an imposing jail. Possibly the existence of that massive pile with its undesirable inmates had given cause to the local antique dealer to be ever doubtful of his visitors. My friend and I had left the motor at the hotel, found a small shop crowded with antiques, opened the door, which was of the stable pattern in two sections, and walked in. After a few minutes, during which we were examining curios, and making audible comments, the proprietor came out of the back, and demanded to know how we got in.

“Through the door.”

“Yes, but why didn’t you ring the bell?”

“Perhaps the bell is out of order.”

“No, that won’t wash, I know your sort.”

He was irate, so we left him in possession. My friend was very indignant, and was not appeased when I hinted that the unpleasant incident would not have occurred if I had been by myself.

I do not envy those who go to auction rooms or large antique premises, buy a cart-load in one afternoon, write out a cheque, and have the goods kecked at the door like a load of coal. I have always been pleased that I started and have kept on buying my finds in penny numbers, and now I am able to put them in volume form I am well rewarded for my persistence.

Like the lady who never made her tea the right strength, because she had a poor eye for measuring distances, I attempt no estimate of the miles I have travelled in pursuit of the game. I have motored as far north as Dunbar with success, made discoveries in Dover, found dishes in Devonshire, turned up treasures when touring the Lakes, and been over to Ireland for pewter. Reflections on these journeys are constantly arising as my eye lights on one or other of the numerous specimens which adorn my home, and I am truly thankful that I turned my attention to the collecting of antiques in the way I have done, thereby providing myself with a pastime which has been beneficial to the body and mind of a busy man.

In my narration I hope I may not cause the reader to conclude that I am egotistical, desirous of creating the impression that I know it all, make no mistakes, and pick up nothing but bargains. I must plead guilty of having on more than one occasion when homeward bound thrown rotten purchases out of the train, taking care, of course, not to hit any resting man working on the line. There have been times when on closer scrutiny I have discovered an “antique” purchase to be modern, and I have turned it over to the hazards of everyday use, feeling sure that its existence among the household effects would not remain in evidence for a lengthy period to remind me of my lack of acumen.

By giving some of my experiences the amateur who, like myself, has essayed to go cautiously will, I feel, enter into the spirit which has pervaded my search after antiques to get what enjoyment there was to be obtained in pursuit of the elusive bargain. An ounce of practice is worth a ton of theory, and a few mistakes are the best school for the student.

I hope in the contents evidence of originality may occur, and that the touches of humour may not be considered misplaced, even by those who take their collecting very seriously. I have the good fortune to number among my friends one who for half an ordinary lifetime has been so keen a collector of antiques that he has gathered together a host of treasures which have not only filled his house from ground floor to garret, but have partly stocked the local museum as well. He must have read nearly everything published on his beloved subjects, and when he heard I had decided to write this book, in an encouraging letter he said, “I shall, I know, be very much interested. I love to read a ‘spicy’ article. I always think it sinks deeper than the heavy and often cumbersome accounts we sometimes get.”

I have not enquired just what my friend’s definition of the word “spicy” may mean, but as he knows half my pleasure in collecting is the fun of the thing, and that it is my natural bent to find humour whenever it chances to come my way, I trust he will not be disappointed with the result of my efforts to enliven what he might otherwise have considered another addition to heavy material.

I hope the illustrations will give satisfaction. Long before I started collecting I was possessed of a good half-plate camera, with a fine lens, which I used out in the open on any occasion as I felt disposed, consequently this experience came in most useful when I desired to photograph specimens of my collection indoors. I have therefore not only the satisfaction of knowing that all the subjects exhibited have been gathered together by my initial effort, and are all under my own roof, but that I have taken most of the photographs myself. The result of taking all these on half-plates has allowed me to keep uniformity running through the book, and enabled me to present the pictures the right way up. The arrangement in so many volumes which compels each reader to twist the book every time he wishes to study a picture, will be found practically absent in this. As the smartly set up autocratic adjutant commands his regulars “Right-turn” and “Left-turn” so does the short-sighted conservative author compel his readers to “Read-turn” and “Lift-turn.”

I take no credit for the developing, printing, or toning of the photographs, for I have a detestation of shutting myself in the dark room, and a dislike for the tedium of the remaining part of the process. By arranging a set of shelves for the groups, and fixing the camera at the most suitable distance I have maintained the same proportion of size throughout, a point which should be borne in mind as one which has saved the necessity of giving more than a few measurements. The times of exposure for the photographs have varied from two minutes to two hours.

Collecting, therefore, has livened up my photography; and it is fresh in my mind that photography has livened me up on two occasions while I have been on this work. The first when, after hanging about for twenty minutes while a “grandfather” was reflecting his face, I found I had omitted to take the cap off the camera. Secondly, when another “grandfather” was supposed to be undergoing the required operation, I discovered after the lapse of a similar period, which seemed to be about double the time, that I had forgotten to pull up the slide, and this happened just when the necessary light for that day had finished. Such incidents as these are by the way, but the linking up of photography with the still life that is depicted is a further justification for the title “Collecting as a Pastime.”

FIRST COURSE
Grandfather Clocks and Old Furniture

The First Plunge—The Clock and the Chest—Varsity Blue—The Statuette—A Weird Arrival—Faked Chairs—Foudroyant Oak—More Clocks—Study the Chart—Making Converts—Lacquer Clocks—Barometers—The Elusive Mercury—Welsh Dressers—Chinese Chippendale Chair—Spinning Wheel—Spindle-backed Chairs—More rushed Seats—Gate-legged Mahogany Table—Buying Worm-holes—Bureau and Bookcase—A Revelation—Oak Cupboard—Four Corner Cupboards—Dated Furniture—Mahogany Inlaid Tables—A Surprise—Chests of Drawers: Small, large, and a Combination—Just in Time—Bureau—How not to Auction—The Tea-caddy.

“The oak tree was an acorn once,” and so was the case of my first grandfather clock. Quite by chance in 1902, I noticed in a shop window a brass dial bearing the inscription “John Burgess de Wigan,” with well-engraved numerals, and fitted with quaintly cut brass hands. On enquiry I was told they had a case for it, and this was found propped up, for its feet were groggy. As 17s. was the price asked for the lot, I plunged. To my amazement an old clockmaker soon had the works going and he assured me they would see me out, but I have some anxiety about the original wrought iron hinges, which I compute will have swung, back and to, nearly 90,000 times.

The minstrel (Moore and Burgess) sang that “the grandfather clock was too tall for the shelf, so it stood ninety years on the floor.” My old gentleman had evidently been in more confined space than this one they made such a song about, and as the owner could not bend its back he knocked off the feet. I fitted him out with new understandings made of very old timber, which suited him down to the ground. When the case was renovated the venerable timekeeper was placed in my hall, where he has ticked away regularly except on those days when his rope has not been wound up, or when a new rope was necessary. I found, by starting a correspondence in the Wigan Observer, that Burgess was one of the earliest clock-makers in Wigan, and that my clock was made about 1690.

The first long-case pendulum clock was made by Thomas Tompion in 1681 and the prefix “de” to names was dropped about 1700, so it would be interesting to know how many clocks are still in existence bearing the “de” in front of the surname. I have had clocks offered to me said to be 300 or 400 years old, while one man thought his would be at least 500; when I stated that I had read in my clock book that 240 years was the limit he disdainfully brushed that opinion aside with the remark, “Oh, books! Do you believe all you read?”

This was the antique seed that has spread from hall to room, and from room to room, until there is no room for more. Strange to say, within a week I had found a companion to “old Burgess” in the form of a very ancient oak Ecclesiastical chest, bearing four locks without wards, but with each key-hole a different shape; the keys to correspond would be in the hands of the parson, two wardens and sexton respectively (See [Plate VIII]). The clock and the chest have stood vis-à-vis since their introduction, and if the regularity of the former and the complacency of the latter had been emulated by the occupants of the house, what a model home they would adorn!

It is believed that on one occasion “old Burgess” forgot to strike, for which he may be forgiven. On the newel post there is fixed a fine old bronze female figure, bearing a light, and on the occasion of a young cleric spending the night with us this statuette was found draped in a Varsity blue wrap (the owner of which has since served as an Army Chaplain throughout the War)—truly a sight to set any decorous time-server off his balance! ([Plate I].)

This model of the female form divine deserves an artistic treatment, to which I do not feel competent to do justice, but I opine the modeller, L. V. E. Robert, who was doing his level best about sixty years ago, intended it to be a representation of “Summer,” or “Hygeia,” and that he was proud to impress his name thereon. It stood for years in a mansion, and was turned out into the cold when the premises were altered on changing owners, so I then found it a home.

I was very proud of “old Burgess” (and am still) and, of course, called the attention of all our visitors and the piano-tuner thereto. This musical fiend struck a discordant note when he piped out, “I see it’s only a 30-hour. I have one that belonged to my wife’s great-aunt and it has an eight-day movement, which is so much more convenient.” There are some people who seldom do, and never say, the right thing. That set me on looking for an eight-day grandfather, and I looked in vain, and for fear I might strain my sight I confided my absolute requirement to a friend who knocked about the country, and he assured me at once he could soon fix me up, “but what price will you go to?” As I wished to give him as little trouble as possible I said, “Oh, I’m not particular, say fifty shillings.” One morning not long after this the commissionaire announced in my office that two gentlemen wanted to see me in the hall—a marble hall, mark you!—and here I found my friend looking very worried, with a man who touched his forelock, but to whom I was not introduced. They had with them something that bore resemblance to a coffin with a dirty shroud, the latter having apparently twisted itself round the former, a state of packing that no estimable undertaker would undertake. They then proceeded to unshroud and prop up the outer shell, which had three sides and a bit.

“The Trusty Servant” (Print, circa 1830).

Plate II.

[Large illustration]

Plate III.

“The case is the nearest match I could get to your thirty-hour; and the dial and works are in the box there.”

“But where is the back?”

“I can’t exactly say; some is on the Birmingham platform, some at Stafford where I changed, there is quite a lot on the platform here, and I noticed pieces kept falling off as I followed this man wheeling it from the station; but whoever looks at the back of a clock? You can easily fit in another without anybody being the wiser.”

I then saw the dial and works, and found I was face to face with Grandfather Philip Smith of Barton, which Barton I cannot say, but probably near Nottingham. I did my best for him, and he has done his best for me, so I am recompensed for the expense I was put to in renewing his youth.

“Sergeant, just sweep up that dust in the hall.”

“Yes, sir.”

I now received a welcome gift of two high-backed Lancashire Cromwellian black oak chairs from a revered friend, who was wishful to encourage my new craze, and very useful and instructive these have been. I say instructive, for they had not been in the shadow of “old Burgess” long before I compared the grain of their oak and his, with the result that while the panel in the back and front leg spindle of one was finely carved, and the oak undoubtedly 17th century, in the other they were as modern as the frames. I may here mention for the benefit of any reader who does not know that old oak furniture is seldom black with age, and that the polisher can stain it any shade preferred, that when Nelson’s flagship, the Foudroyant, built in 1797, was wrecked at Blackpool in 1897, much of her oak was made into furniture, and some fine chairs quite light in colour may be seen at the Hotel Metropole there. I have a black gate-legged table made from Foudroyant oak which is an exact replica of a good Cromwellian design with twisted legs, and which was quite light in colour until it was stained (Plates [X] and [XI]).

I now had another oak grandfather clock with a brass dial offered me, and although it had a thirty-hour movement I did not hesitate to pay the price asked. It had come from Ormskirk, where it was made by T. Helm about 1770, as in the Constable’s book of accounts for that year there is an entry “paid Thos. Helm for taking care of clock.” It stood for a hundred years in a farm opposite my house, and I got it from descendants of its original owners, so for sentimental reasons I would not part with it, even at an advance on the first cost. This clock originally was worked by a rope, but a chain was substituted before I became its possessor. I have other things to talk of than grandfather clocks, but three were not enough for me. I have from time to time provided room for others, and for the last few years have found nine none too many, as seven of them need winding only once a week. They do not all strike at once, for a few have been deprived of their capacity for music-making, by having the striking weight taken off.

By the aid of the photographs and with the following particulars the reader has a fair illustration of the evolution of the external part of grandfather clocks extending over one hundred years. I believe the dates I estimate are not far off the mark, and I hope some readers may be enabled to set their minds at rest if they have been in doubt as to the age of their own grandfather.

Plate IV.

Plate V.

So far as I know the nine clocks are genuine. I could find no trace of any material repair before I got them, and I have been most careful in the renovating which was necessary with some of them. I ought to explain in regard to “Phillips” that I fell in love with him in an auctioneer’s stock-room because his style seemed just to agree with my oak dresser and I bought him, although he was fitted with a 30-hour movement which was quite worn out. Having obtained the works of an old eight-days by buying a white dial in a case I cared nothing about, I had two holes drilled in “Phillips’” face and so converted him. It was a simple thing to do, as the centre of the dial is matted without engraving and the centres could be made anywhere to correspond with the requirements of the winding arrangements. This is an example of what may happen to old clocks when in the dealer’s hands. I have been in places where a number of old grandfathers have been in stock, and changing a good dial which would suit a better case was considered quite the proper thing to do, but consequently the grandfather would in future bear a wrong cognomen, while the case might be quite of a different date from that indicated by the maker’s name.

“Former Clock and Watch Makers,” by Britten, was my text-book for this department, and I must have given my friends the impression that I was an authority on horology, for on reflecting I find I purchased, selected, or had a hand in the choosing of about thirty grandfather clocks. Narrow cases and brass dials were my usual stipulations.

LACQUER CLOCKS

Lacquer clocks have increased greatly in value recently on account of their scarcity. About twelve years ago I had one offered me for £4 10s., but as I did not admire it, and had no idea where I could get the needed repairs executed, I left it alone. I have just seen one sold by a dealer to a dealer for £37. On my last visit to see a collector and dealer, whom I respect for his straightforward dealing, I found he had parted with his lacquer clock, which I had seen in his room for many years, and was told a dealer had tempted him to sell it for £50, and that he now realised he had practically given it away at this price.

BAROMETERS

Having provided for reliable time-keeping, my next requirement seemed to be something experienced in ruling the weather. I found my first antique barometer hanging outside a tall warehouse, when out cycling with a friend. This emporium was a three-storeyed building, filled with all kinds of “rubbish,” valuable and otherwise. While my friend studied the old books I poked about and made my first purchase of old china and old pewter, but these will be dealt with on other pages. I made further visits to this building, which now forms a portion of the offices of a very large soap works, and think if I had known anything about old engravings I might have found something worth while. I feel sure there were many fine works hanging promiscuously on the walls, for they comprised some of the ugliest and most weird things in pictures I have come across.

That barometer has been a tried and trusted indicator, and I was so pleased with its usefulness that I thought it would be a good idea to get another, and fix it in the precincts of the kitchen, so that the laundress might know the right time to hang out the clothes. Having bought another of the good old type, and having found just the place for it, I next gave careful instructions to the female mind which had to cope with the laundry department as to the reading and the adjusting of the indicator, so that the fine drying days could be intelligently anticipated, and I figured out the saving of coal effected would soon pay the modest cost of the barometer many times over, but the affairs of men and mice and charladies aft gang agley. I was not long in noticing that barometer No. 2 did not work in accord with No. 1, and I worried about it, in fact at the time of writing I am still worrying about it. There is a cause for everything, and when things go wrong it is necessary to find out the reason before they can be put right, and when the discovery is made you can fix the blame where any may exist. Imagine the shock I experienced one day when I found that the maid had been in the habit of taking the instrument down, and laying it flat on the table to give it a good polishing. Where the mercury slipped to is a mystery, but I must admit that I never gave her warning that an antique barometer when charged must be kept perpendicular. The instrument went to be refilled with mercury soon after the War started, and has not been returned to me yet!

DRESSERS, CHAIRS, ETC.

The next antique furniture I desired was an oak dresser to show off the pewter which had been accumulating, and I was fortunate in obtaining one, which originally had come from Wales, without delay. The oak proved to be elm, but I bought it without first seeing it, and I have been pleased that it turned out as it did. The inverted pediments are of holly and the doors work on pins. To get the dresser out of the farm where it had played its part for generations, the farm door jambs had to be removed, so I was informed, but it just fitted my hall, which was all that really mattered.

Another dresser was reported to me as having come from Wales, and I bought it from a Mr. Jones, and although I had not seen this until it came to me, it was good old oak sure enough. I believe the elm-made dates from early in the seventeenth century, and the oak one about fifty years after.

These old dressers were complete, but one had a portion of the back decayed, probably through standing for years against damp walls, so an obliging builder let me have some boards sawn from an oak beam he had taken out of an ancient Quakers’ meeting-house, and I was able to maintain the true character and charm of these time-worn stagers.

The Chinese Chippendale chair ([Plate X]) deserves special notice, for was it not my initial find in mahogany? Its home was in a building the walls of which were feet thick, and in generations past had formed part of a monastery, but which to-day is linked up with a more modern dwelling built of the same Scotch grey stone. It was in this house, near Dalkeith, while we were having a family holiday in the summer of 1906, and just when my soul was awakening to the mysteries of antiques, that I came across this relic. It stood in the room we occupied in the ancient part of the building, and was completely disguised by a covering of chintz, hiding strong canvas stitched over much padding. After lifting its skirt, peculiarly shaped legs were revealed, and my curiosity was aroused. Removing the chintz cover, by ripping off the canvas, and taking out about a sackful of wool, I was not only struck by the unique back, but astounded to find the original pig-skin upholstery in good condition. One mahogany arm was missing, and a very rough hard wood substitute had been fitted in its place. I was presented with the chair on the spot. A handy man from the village fetched “a wee bit o’ auld mahogany bed stock he had just sawed off to mak anither haundle for the chair.” I got him to make a case to hold it, and the “wee bit bed stock,” together with a spinning-wheel, and consigned it for home to await my arrival. I learnt “there was anither chair like it awa doon at Melville Castle.”

The spinning-wheel just mentioned was noticed by my wife when making a purchase of wool in a shop on Causewayside at Edinburgh, and she was told, “my mon had brocht it wi’ him on his last journey from Yell” (the most northern of the Shetland Isles), and although it was not for sale she “didna mind parting wi’ it, as she could aye git anither yen when her mon gaid for mair wool.”

Oak Dresser, Welsh, 17th Century, with Pewter.

Plate VI.

PLATE VI

OAK DRESSER

DESCRIBING THE PEWTER

Bottom Shelf. Pair of Tea Caddies. Cake Stand. Oval Dish with fancy edge. Wash Bowl.

First Shelf. Vinegar Bottle. Handle-less half-pint Measure. Lipped half-pint Measure. Flour Dredger.

Second Shelf. Two lipped quart Measures (one by Watts and Harton, London, 1800). Strainer.

Top Shelf. Set of seven Irish (haystack) Measures, by Austin, Cork, from 1 gal. to ½ noggin. Set of seven English Measures (Georgian), from ½ gal. to ½ gill. The gallon Irish haystack Measure is 12 inches high. The largest plate 18 inches, and the smaller ones are from 9 inches to 10 inches in diameter.

Elm Dresser, Welsh, Early 17th Century, with Pewter.

Plate VII.

PLATE VII

ELM DRESSER

DESCRIBING THE PEWTER

Bottom Shelf. Swiss Bottle. Hot-water Dish by T. Compton. Ladles by Ashberry and Coleman. Flask, 7½ inches, with screw-in cap.

First Shelf. Barber’s Pot. Milk Mug. Quaich. Moustache Mug. Hot-water Jug.

Second Shelf. Early Quart. Hot-water Plates by John Home (1760) and Henry Little (1755). Milk Jug (sold as a pilgrim’s bottle). Mulled Ale Jug.

Third Shelf. Plates 13½ inches in diameter.

Top Shelf. Chinese Tea Caddy. Jug 7 inches high. Blue-and-white Pottery Tureen by Burton, Hanley. Plates 15 inches, 16½ inches, 18 inches in diameter.

When wanting more chairs I noticed a set of spindle-back rushed seats with pony feet, and on enquiry was told they had “one arm and six ordinary.” Ere learning the price I was asked, “How many do you want?” The idea of splitting a set of chairs over a hundred years old, and in perfect condition! Yet this is an indication of the value placed on this type fifteen years ago, while to-day dealers are scouring the country-side to make up sets. I gleaned that these were made by the grandfather of our local house furnisher; he (the grandfather) had six sons, and kept a farm, also a wheelwright’s shop in the country; that the chairs were made in the dark evenings for a few shillings each, so I got them at about their original price; that the wood used was oak from an adjoining park, and after dressing it was stained mahogany in a bath, that the spindles were driven home with the wheelwright’s hammer, and that “Uncle Richard was the finest rusher in Lancashire.” This is undoubtedly true, for there is not a spindle loose or a rush out of place. ([Plate IX])

After buying the spindle-backs, on the same day and in the same street I visited another broker’s shop, but let me direct you in case you wish to call there any time. It is situated either higher up or lower down, according to which end of the street you enter by, but if you come out of a by-street you must be careful to turn either to the right or left, and keep straight on, for if you cross over and go ahead you will be up another street. Should you be walking you will keep to the right, but in case you drive or motor you must mind and keep to the left. Trams pass the door, and if you take the one going to Liverpool you will not get anywhere near it. It is situated on the opposite side facing a shop that has been “To Let” but is now occupied by a tradesman who has done well out of the war. By the by, if you happen to come in the evening, and take the North Star as your guide you will no doubt find the place—shut up. Readers can take so much more interest in a story when they have been made familiar with the locality, and especially in a case like this where the actual house has been pointed out. I entered the shop—do you follow me? I examined a birch chair with a broken arm, an artistic back, fluted legs, and a rush seat. While I am ruminating, the broker comes out of his parlour, leaving the door open, and I see other chairs of the same pattern, which are evidently in everyday use. I remark on them, and am invited to inspect. Having done so I enquire, “Will you sell them?” and am answered thus—“Will I sell ’um, I’ll sell you every old thing I’ve got.” I did not buy every old thing he’d got, but I secured the set of chairs, two arm and six ordinary, and when re-polished the figuring of the birch looked well. I also relieved him of a mahogany pedestal circular mirror, which I “could have for seven bob, as he was tired of seeing the thing about.” ([Plate IX])

Ecclesiastical Chest. Circa 1600.

Oak Dower Chest, Dated 1702.

Plate VIII.

Oak Spindle Back Chairs, Early 19th Century.

Birch Chairs, Early 19th Century.

Plate IX.

MAHOGANY GATE-LEGGED TABLE

My having over-stocked the house that day has kept me off buying higher class chairs, but one never knows what may happen. Quite recently I bought a gate-legged Spanish mahogany square ended table. I found it most unexpectedly the first day we decided we wanted such a thing, and it happened to be just the size desired. After a brief examination without going on my knees I told them to deliver it, and when it arrived legs uppermost I thought, “what a lot of worm holes for the money.” I said nothing aloud. Having ’phoned for a cabinet-maker, and after he had laid the table top downwards he dropped on his knees, and looking up with an expression of mingled pity and contempt for my credulity enquired:

“Have you bought it?”

“Yes.”

“And paid for it?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask how much?”

“Eight pounds.”

“I’ve bought tables like this for 35s.”

“Yes, some time ago.”

At this stage I fancy he thought he had put my wind up, for he hedged by consoling me with the remark “I saw a table like this fetch £11 10s. at a sale, and it had worm holes too.”

Now take warning by this, and be sure you look out for worm holes, but don’t be over anxious to buy more than you can count, and if you should, then do not pay much extra for them. Further, if you find these pests getting busy in any of your furniture procure a solution of corrosive sublimate of suitable strength and saturate the parts affected, but as the chemical is a deadly poison it is advisable to use a long handled brush and not dab it on with the fingers.

I thank you for your sympathy, but am delighted with my bargain, as the frame only needed the inside soft wood to be replaced, and the table with its fine Spanish wood top supported by well-fluted legs makes a handsome, convenient, and useful centrepiece, for dining purposes, and can be folded and put aside any time.

Chinese Chippendale Chair, Late 18th Century.

Oak Lancashire Chairs (Faked).

Plate X.

Cromwellian Gate-leg Table (Oak). Knife-box (Shell inlay).
Salt-box, 1659. Bowl, by Copeland.

Gate-leg Table, made of Foudroyant Oak.

Plate XI.

The tables shown on [Plate XIV] are very good late eighteenth century examples. The one with drop ends is mahogany, has a striking shell-like satinwood ornamentation let in the middle, and inverted crocus inlaid legs. The table with the folding legs was in a very dirty condition when I purchased it, and was called mahogany, and it was not until it was scraped that I became aware it was made of birch, thickly veneered with rosewood, and richly inlaid with satinwood. Oh, what a prize surprise.

BUREAUX AND CABINETS

When China began to come in, I bought a fine mahogany inlaid bureau and book-case in Cheshire at about one-third of the cost of such a piece if you could find it to-day. On examining the secret fittings I found in pencil in quite old style handwriting on the bottom of one of the drawers some lines headed, “Over the door of a House of Pleasure at W/Church.” Unfortunately I cannot give the context, as I fear it would not pass the Press Censorship. When the bureau was cleaned and re-polished I protected this precious indication that a previous possessor was rather a sly old boy, and so I retain this unique evidence of age. ([Plate XII])

When I commenced to write this book I found it quite impossible to get along with a rather modern light oak desk and I felt sure an old bureau would be of great assistance in carrying inspirations relating to antiques; and further that one must be obtained promptly. If you write a few hundred pages and have them typewritten in triplicate it is advisable to have somewhere to keep them, for it would be poor satisfaction to learn some morning that a few score had served the useful purpose of lighting the kitchen fire. The roomy drawers of a bureau answer admirably and find accommodation for the photographs as well. ([Plate XIII])

My first enquiry was made of a dealer I will call A, who informed me that bureaux were very scarce, but as he attended most sales he would be on the look out and do his best. I then went to another dealer and told him of my intention, and asked him would he sell my flat-top oak desk? Certainly he would, there was a mahogany bureau to be sold at a sale the very next day and he would buy it for me if I would give him a commission. I said, “Very well I will slip over in the morning, look at it and let you know.” I disturbed the auctioneer feeding his poultry, and cajoled him to come to the house, which I had found locked up. The bureau looked very weary, but I knew it could soon be put right, so I posted back to B and told him to buy it, using his own judgment about the price. In the evening B called and said he had bought the bureau, but the price was more than expected as that chap A had run him up the last £2. Then it dawned on me that I had been bidding against myself.

I may here mention I have never attended sales and that this is the only antique illustrated in this volume which has been bought at a sale on my behalf.

Bureau with Bookcase (Mahogany). Circa 1790.

Plate XII.

Mahogany Bureau, 18th Century.

Chest of Drawers with Bureau Fitment.

Plate XIII.

“There was an old woman who lived in a shoe” who was greatly perplexed as to how to accommodate so many children. I can sympathise with her, for having so much pewter and being anxious to show it off I was much worried “and didn’t know what to do.” I hunted about and advertised for an oak cupboard with glass doors but could find nothing suitable so I bought the chest shown. Then I had the cupboard made from oak taken out of a farm built in 1633 near St. Helens which had been pulled down, while the top decoration is some of the original wainscoting from Argoed Hall, Oswestry, which I had by me, and it came in suitably for the frieze. The top of the chest being in two pieces the cupboard just fits on the hind portion while the front half lifts off, and so I am enabled to stow a lot of extra pewter in the chest. ([Plate XVII])

Pewter plates and blue and white dishes needing to be displayed, I had shelves fitted in my morning and dining rooms. To provide for the china I purchased the cabinet shown in [Plate XXXVIII], and in a short time found four corner cupboards. It might take as many years to find a lot to equal these, which are mahogany made and all nicely inlaid. I bought them from the same broker who astonished me by saying, “I am a collector too—of sovereigns.”

DATED FURNITURE

Dated furniture is hard to find. I only have two specimens, of which photographs are given. The initials on the oak chest will be the initials of the first owner and his wife, but whether this dating may be evidence of a dower chest on their marriage, or whatever happened to them in 1702, there is no question about the chest being Queen Anne period. ([Plate VIII])

As regards the salt box, the carved piece of oak which bears the date 1659 has a much older appearance than the rest of the box, although that is ancient timber. Probably the seventeenth century article fell to pieces about a hundred years ago, when the owners would have this one put together. This shows how easy it may be for the amateur to be misled as to the age of a faked article in which an early date has been worked. I found it in a shop on the North Pier at Blackpool, and was informed it was bought at an old farm sale near Preston. ([Plate XI])

MAHOGANY CHESTS OF DRAWERS

When I bought the dwarf chest shown on [Plate XVI], it was fitted with black wooden knobs which could not have been on many years. On examination, marks were sufficiently clear to enable me to judge to a nicety the design of the brass plates the original handles would drop on to; so I had five cut, and looked up some old handles and fasteners. Then I was able to give the chest its original appearance.

The large chest shown on [Plate XV] really is a beautiful piece of furniture, complete with its imposing brass ring handles, original and perfect in every way just as I bought it. The workmanship is of high class, and the long secret drawer at the top has made a good hiding place for a large number of amulets. The drawers are in smooth running condition, and the oak linings are a fine example of good work, while the mahogany cannot be beaten. It came from the sign of “Uncle will oblige.”

Birch, Veneered Rosewood, Folding Table (Satinwood Inlay). Tea Caddy (Rosewood).

Mahogany Table (Satin-wood Inlay, Drop Ends).

Plate XIV.

Mahogany Chest of Drawers (Satinwood Inlay).

Dishes: Davenport, Leeds, Copeland. Bowls: Bow, Chelsea, Plymouth, Bow.

Plate XV.

The chest with bureau fitment on [Plate XIII] is, I believe, a very rare specimen; it has one small and three large drawers, and is provided with a pull-out drawer, fitted to answer the purpose of a bureau. I was passing along a street in a busy town when I saw this standing on the pavement. Out of curiosity I pulled open the right hand top drawer, and immediately I realised what happened, enquired the price. “Five pounds; Mr. Smith is after it.” I paid the money without hesitation, as the chest was in fine preservation. Mr. Smith came after it about five minutes after it had been fetched away in the cart which I had sent after it about five minutes after I had walked back, it having taken me about five minutes to accomplish this; and so Mr. Smith was left “in the cart.” Moral—Go snap on a bargain.

TEA CADDY

I must apologise for having omitted to introduce a dear old friend earlier but I cannot let you complete this course without making her acquaintance. Her well preserved appearance coated with a rosewood overall, the rings she carries at her sides and her dainty claw feet must claim your notice. She has no hesitation in allowing you at any time to admire her tight fitting combinations which contain her black and green teas. I have lifted her covering to reveal her velvet lining which has stood the wear, without a tear, for more years than you will credit her with. With what tender care she has nurtured her Waterford Glass Sugar bowl now raised with her fittings for your inspection. She has never lost sight of her little Sheffield Plate spoon which has caddied for her on every occasion when her numerous admirers needed the cup which soothes. Taking all her good qualities into consideration we must pardon her desire to have her photo taken too. ([Plate XIV])

I appear to have touched on nearly all the Furniture objects I have found it convenient to photograph indoors, and as I am not stocktaking or compiling a catalogue we will pass on to the second course.

Dwarf Chest of Drawers with Hepplewhite Mirror, 2 ft. 6 in. high, 2 ft. 3 in. wide.

Plate XVI.

Oak Chest with Oak Cupboard ([see p. 31]).

Plate XVII.

SECOND COURSE
Old Pewter

The First Pint—Progress—The Total—Congratulation—My Irish Friend—Sacks Full—Mistaken Identity—A Warm Time—Marks—Excise Stamping—First Act, 1826—Candlesticks—Church Pewter—The Basin—Faked Pewter—Plates and Dishes—Irish and Scotch—Tappit Hens—Whisky Stoups—Britannia Metal Enquiry—Cleaning—The Tinsmith—The “Odamifino”—The Pewter Pot—The Mystery Piece.

There is an old axiom that “a man is no good unless he has a hobby,” but some of my friends say I have been no use since I took up the collection of old pewter. Many may wonder what induced a busy man to go to the trouble of getting together a collection like that shown in the photographs. It all arose through my rummaging in a broker’s while waiting for a friend who was looking for old books, and finding a mug which was dirty and black with neglect but inscribed, “Canteen, 70th Regiment.” My curiosity was aroused, and I became the owner. On submitting this to a tinsmith it was pronounced to be old pewter, and from the time it was polished, fifteen years ago, I have been on the look out for more. The experience I soon gained taught me that the collectors of old pewter mainly belonged to that class with whom money is little object, and that what they strived to obtain were very old, unique pieces, communion vessels and historical specimens, quite out of the reach of an ordinary householder. This I recognised when visiting an exhibition of Old Pewter at Clifford’s Inn Hall in 1908.

It must be patent to any reader that if those were the only articles of interest that were worth securing for exhibition purposes then the rest of the old stuff occasionally turning up might as well go to the melting pot for solder, the fate of so many tons in years gone by, and even now men in ignorance of the antique value of old pewter are daily melting specimens which would be fit to decorate many a shelf. I have given much attention to British pewter; the old associations appeal to my imagination, and I have never been drawn to foreign specimens.

If you suffer from a good memory you will recall that Wolsey said to Cromwell, “Take an inventory of all I possess.” Now if he had as many pieces in such variety of any one line as I have of old pewter, then Wolsey was giving Cromwell something to do, and as pewter was knocking about in those days he may have had a fair collection. I cannot pretend to describe many of my pieces, but I present the reader with a selection of photographs, and I hope these will, to a certain extent, speak for themselves; anyway they give a good idea of the effect a large collection of pewter has on the home, and on the patience of those who attend to the dusting. Space has not permitted me actually to show in my rooms or have in the house more than 500 pieces, but I have, as opportunity occurred, kept on improving the specimens on view, and I could best do this by letting the stuff come in whenever I heard of any likely lots, out of which I selected what I fancied, getting rid of duplicates, pieces I did not care for, and sending modern and worthless things to be melted.

So far back as 1908—since when my collection has much improved—I had the pleasure of exchanging photographs with a great connoisseur of old pewter, and I was very gratified when he wrote to me as follows:

“There is so much that is worse than valueless in most collections; so much unnecessary repetition, that large collections become irritatingly monotonous. Although your pieces are often repeated, the repetition represents always an interesting variation; and this feature contributes the element of evolution which is always interesting, and without which no collection is complete or satisfactory. I congratulate you, therefore, upon your possessions, and think you have done remarkably well during the short time. Could you let me see the two ‘salts’ marked on the photo?”

I sent the two “salts,” and he remarked, “The little one is particularly interesting as it is a reversible one, the only specimen I have seen.”

That special “salt” is the queer looking little thing in the centre of the salt group, and I am giving it more space than its size or appearance seem to warrant. It was first caught sight of in a shop at Leeds, where a broker had it filled with black varnish into which he was dipping his brush, while he was giving an artistic touch-up to some of his stock. The hunter spotted pewter, and after some little chaff was told he could have it if he would bring something that would do for holding the varnish; this he bought at a shop not far off, and the change was soon effected. It is a curious specimen, for whichever way it stands it will hold the salt, but in its present position it will hold more than twice as much as when it is placed the other way uppermost.

The results of my hunting and advertising not keeping pace with my ambition for more, I secured the assistance of a friend in Ireland, who proved to be a friend indeed. He had a dog which was constantly jumping on the sofa and chairs, so he called him Zacchæus because “he was everlastingly telling him to come down.”

Have you heard of “Phil the Fluter”? I had not until I heard our friend warble of the wonderful effect the execution of that phenomenal flautist produced upon his hearers, but I imagine the charm attained would be as comparable with that of my Irish friend as modern is to antique, while he has a tongue that would “wile a bird off a tree.” Like Father O’Flynn he’d “a wonderful way wid him, the young and ould sinners were wishful to trade wid him.” I am not digressing but adorning the tale to point the moral. With his cheery manner he succeeded all the time to such an extent that I had to wire him “Hold! enough.” Later when other collectors sought my help to get them Irish measures he reported “Too late, the Jews have been round and bought up the lot. Why did you stop me just when I was getting my hand in?” Explanatory of my reason for cancelling my early instructions, let me give the following. I was impatient to make a show, so told him to buy all the pewter plates he came across. A few days after seventy arrived in two filthy dirty sacks, the state of which corresponded fairly well with the appearance of their contents. He apologised later for the condition of the sacks which “he had borrowed from a place where they had just skinned a dead horse.” Some of these plates bore marks and a few others crests, but as the former owners had a strange custom of polishing the backs with sand, the marks were mostly rubbed off, and as they never cleaned the fronts, my getting that consignment into exhibition form required some trouble and expense, but as the Tommy said after getting C.B. for being absent without leave, “It was worth it.”

Referring to this consignment and to the sacks in conversation later he expressed no wonder at my people complaining when they and their contents were dumped in the washhouse, as he thought they were a trifle high after he found the boots of the hotel, where he had to spend a night, had put them in his bedroom! Worse than that, however, happened the following day. He had left them at one end of the station platform with a porter, that they might go in the guard’s van, while he went to another part of the train and joined some friends. He had just got seated when the porter who must have followed him with the sacks on a truck, opened the door and enquired, “Will your honour have these suit cases in the carriage wid yer?”

The miscellaneous articles which arrived at frequent intervals were wellnigh confusing, and it kept me busy finding out what many of them were really for, but when I found a pewter harp with a screw attached I was so bewildered I wrote and asked him what on earth this harp was out of, and he settled my mind by replying, “I thought it had come down from heaven.”

On one occasion I saw quite a number of pieces in a shop where I had now and then found an odd one, and after making a few purchases enquired the reason for this amazing influx, when I was informed, “You see it’s this way; there’s a lady who’s got a husband who’s been collecting pewter until she’s got fed up, so as he’s gone off for a few days she asked me to call and take the lot away, as she is not going to have any more of the dirty stuff about.” Sequel—they lived happily ever after.

For a time I adopted the practice of getting men I knew to save pewter for me, and, as my rambles permitted, calling on them periodically. On one occasion I was looking through the window of a marine store at —— when I noticed something I was on the look-out for. I entered, and enquired, “How about the pewter?” The old fellow replied:

“Hello, you’ve come at last? It must be six months since you asked me to save any bits that came in.”

“Oh, well,” I said, “it’s better late than never,” and paid him what he asked.

I had never visited the place before. Reader, I hope you have never been the victim of mistaken identity.

You will recollect the story I told of my friend who brought me my first eight-day clock. In talking over reminiscences lately, I asked if he remembered assisting me to get pewter. Instantly he replied, “Remember! I shall remember it to my dying day. I was at Sneinton (Nottingham), and I asked a marine store man had he any pewter. He said, ‘Not here, but I have any amount at my Radford place.’ Now Radford was out of my way, but I thought I would do you a good turn, so I padded there, about twenty minutes’ walk—it was warm. When I got there, I was offered about half a hundredweight of zinc that I should think had for a few years previously been fastened on a pub counter. Of course I had to walk back, and I never felt so hot in my life.”

MARKS

This is an all important subject to some collectors and I feel I ought to treat it with a consideration bordering on veneration, but anyone who has had to put up with the queries I have been compelled to answer, which has necessitated my fetching the step-ladder to bring down plates from shelves in order that the marks may be examined, would have the reverential esteem knocked out of him. On one occasion a lady who had taken a superficial look at my display remarked “What a number of pieces you have. Do they all bear the London mark?”

I was taken aback as I was unaware she was so well up in the subject, but when she informed me she had begun to collect and had already bought a 5s. half-pint tankard with a cross and crown stamped on the bottom, which the seller had assured her was the London mark, then I understood.

When another visitor asked, “Is it all marked?” I replied that I collected makes, not marks, and that was why I had such a variety of pieces, and that many of my most interesting specimens never bore any.

Those readers who want solid books of reference on this point will find them among the works issued by authors whose names are well known and to whose remarkable patience in probing into the past I am under a debt of gratitude. I must add that from information received a work is coming out which will be quite the last word on old pewter, its makers, and marks. I will here repeat a statement which has been printed in almost every book on old pewter since the flood of 1667—viz.: that the early touch plates of makers’ marks were destroyed in the Great Fire of London.

With the aid of my old watchmaker’s magnifying glass, 2¼ inches diameter, cased in horn and hinged on an iron rivet to shut up and carry in the pocket, I have just examined the fine quart tankard stamped “Js Dixon” in three small panels. This was no doubt James Dixon’s mark just after he lost his partner Smith, who had been with him since 1809, and as he took his son into the business in 1824, this mark I think, would only have been used for about twelve months, and must be very scarce. Underneath the maker’s name I see the first Excise mark, “WR” surmounted with a small crown. Next I find an imperfect impression which looks like “NOXO,” but I can make no sense out of that; then I discover a stamp “Crown V.R. 106,” and another with a Crown between the letters “V.R.” also the figures “50,” these all denoting that at least three inspectors have passed this tankard as up to the standard at different periods of its useful career.

Now I came to the most interesting part to my mind, of the outward signs visible to the naked eye; under the word “QUART,” which is boldly stamped, there are the initials “T.B.” and a fine large crown with the date “1823” all neatly engraved with some embellishment. The initial letters will no doubt be those of the landlord of a licensed house known as “The Crown,” and the year that in which the tankard was made for him.

Mahogany Corner-Cupboard with Pewter.

Plate XVIII.

Old Pewter.

Plate XIX.

PLATE XIX

DESCRIBING THE PEWTER

First and Second Shelves. Note the two Tea Infusers in which the tea used to be brewed to replenish the small teapots. The Teapot on the right of the large Queen Anne is stamped “half-pint,” so will no doubt have been in a refreshment house when tea was scarce. The only makers’ names on the ten are Vickers and Dixon.

Third Shelf. See notes on Church Pewter ([page 45]). The Dish by Allen Bright in centre is 11½ inches across, the Flagon is 9½ inches high.

Fourth Shelf. Hot-water Jug. Jersey Cider or Wine Measure. Two Wine Flagons.

Top Shelf. See notes on Tappit Hens and Whisky Stoups ([page 54]).

I have several other tankards bearing makers’ initials and touch marks, and I know they were made prior to 1826, which I notice did not come into the Inspector’s mutilating hand until Queen Victoria was on the throne. I have just taken down two small measures of an uncommon shape, a gill and half-gill. They have had a small raised plate soldered on with raised lettering, “Imperial G. Crown R. IV,” under. They were excised once “W.R.,” and six times “V.R.”

I have gone to this trouble to make it clear that the Excise marks are a lame guide to the age of early pewter, as the Weights and Measures Act which compelled inspection was passed only in 1826. These Excise marks have been fair game for the antique dealers, one of whom, when recommending me to buy some of his tankards and measures, which bore a “Liver” bird as an Excise stamp told me that Lady —— was collecting only pewter which bore the Liverpool mark. He seemed surprised at my ignorance when I told him this was the first time I had heard Liverpool was celebrated for the manufacture of pewter.

PEWTER CANDLESTICKS

Before going to bed I will just tell you how I got these tall fellows shown on [Plate XX]. They were in a greengrocer’s shop window, so I thought I would buy some apples. I came out with these 10½ inch candlesticks as well. No, I did not steal them, and they were not actually given away, but that is not what I wanted to tell you. They have loose tops and in consequence are extra special. Be sure you blow out the light. Nearly all pewter tops get melted through the candles being left burning until they get down to the sockets.

Of the candlesticks in the group I wonder which you will like the best. I prefer the 7 inch, as they are oblong shape, base pillar and top; the bottoms have the original wood filling and the very old baize to stand on. I found these suddenly in the office of a gentleman who perchance made a lot of money out of me; anyway, shortly after this final transaction he retired from business, and built and endowed a—cinema. One candlestick was broken and the other needed repair, and as I could not clean them in the usual way I sent them to a manufacturer who made a good job and gave them a polish without injury to the priceless bottoms. The 4½ inch pair were kindly sent to me by a lady in Norway. I bought the 8 inch straight pillar pair from a Jew, who later wished to buy them back as he had found a new customer who would give 30s. for them. As I have given you these sizes you can easily guess the heights of the remainder.

CHURCH PEWTER

Church pewter which has been associated with Church worship now gets more worship than it did in its Church days. Firstly from the dealers, who seem to be able to get any money they like to ask from some collectors, who in their turn worship their expensive idols mainly on account of the satisfaction they experience in the knowledge that no other collector can worship at the same shrine. The flagon shown on [Plate XIX] originally came from Bearley Church, near Stratford-on-Avon. I was assured by the dealer that “Shakespeare attended Bearley Church.”

Old Pewter.

Plate XX.

PLATE XX

DESCRIBING THE PEWTER

Bottom Shelf. Pair Bedroom Candlesticks with loose tops and extinguishers. Quaint Teapot. Tea Caddy. Chocolate Pot. Two-handled and one-handled Caudle Cups.

First Shelf. Spill Bowl inscribed “43” with crown and bugle, showing it belonged to the Leinster Regiment. Seven Beakers. Funnel dated 1698.

Second Shelf. Tobacco Jars. The two end ones are of lead, the one on the left being made by hand. The other is cast, and has on each side a reproduction of “The Last Supper” by Leonardo Da Vinci, very clearly moulded, while it is fitted with the old oak bottom fastened with iron studs.

Third Shelf. Three Baluster-shaped Wine Measures. Four Irish Measures. Five Measures.

Fourth and Top Shelves. See notes on Candlesticks ([page 44]).

Old Pewter.

Plate XXI.

PLATE XXI

DESCRIBING THE PEWTER

Bottom Shelf. Spice Box. Spice Dredger. Box Inkstand. Sand Sprinkler for drying the ink. Tray with Sheffield Plate Snuffers. Snuff Holder. Scotch Token Box.

First Shelf. At either end three Measures. Four Wine Cups. Three Measures in centre.

Second Shelf. Flask; top screws in and not on—a peculiarity of early Flasks. Wine Bottle Stand. Pap Boat and two Castor Oil Spoons (see notes). Rat-tail Toddy Ladles. Mould for Clay Eggs. Small Tea Caddy. Odd-shaped Flask.

Third Shelf. Tinder Box. Sandwich Case. Combined Sandwich Case and Flask. Saddle Flask and Cup. Tea Caddy. Snuff Box. Cigar Case.

Fourth Shelf. Peppers, except centre, which is probably for sugar.

Fifth Shelf. Double-ended Egg-cup. Egg-cup from St. Bees Lighthouse. Salts—three-legged, dated 1801. Glass-lined. Reversible. French. Three-legged Sphinx. Swan. Plain. Three-legged early Elkington. Two Egg-cups.

Sixth Shelf. Mustards. The three largest have fixed glass lining.

Top Shelf. Queen Victoria and Prince Albert with date 1840. Irish Harp. Cream Jugs and Sugar Basin (J. Vickers). Centre Cream and one adjoining are blue glass lined, and the fitting of the Pewter cover denotes careful workmanship.