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.

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.”

“Did he read the lessons?”

“Of course, that’s why he went.”

After this I felt compelled to buy it.

I have some alms-dishes which may have done serious duty and I have one which I feel sure has never been inside any sacred building. I have also an old two-handled cup and a pair of collecting plates from the old Runcorn Baptist Chapel, which was erected soon after 1800 and closed about 1880; a small private set, paten and chalice and an engraved Scotch chalice, and I will embellish these notes by relating the extraordinary circumstance which brought the latter into my fold at a time when I was yearning for something sacramental.

I was in my office and had just put down a pewter snuffers-tray when a traveller for a Scottish firm was announced. As soon as the interview commenced he opened his bag to get out his samples, when my eye chanced to catch a glimpse of something almost hidden by a sleeping garment and my instinct spotted pewter. He told his tale and waited for an indication of the impression he had created, which was conveyed to him in this form.

“Excuse me, but was that a piece of old pewter I caught sight of in your bag?”

“Yes, sir; are you interested in old pewter? I slept the night in Warrington and I saw this in a shop as I was going to the station; I think it is an old rose-bowl, and I shall be pleased to give it to you if you will have it.”

Of course, I couldn’t think of such a thing, but I should be glad to exchange with him for a snuffers-tray I had on my desk. He assured me that he would be delighted, and as I always endeavour to give pleasure to others I fetched the tray. That gentleman secured a contract and a tray and left me with thanks and a seventeenth-century Scotch chalice. You never know your luck when collecting.

But for my awkward conscience I should include the basin shown on Plate VI, this being sold as “a vestry piece.” It may have been used by the parson, or for washing the Communion vessels, anyway I preferred to believe the dealer, and gave it a conspicuous position, which the ladies objected to, and I found it relegated to the rear. On seeking an explanation, and calling it “a vestry piece,” I retired hurt, so to speak, by the remark “Vestry! Why my aunt had a thing like that, in which she made us children wash our hands,” and then, still so gently o’er me stealing, memory would bring back the feeling of us youngsters having been caused to do the same very necessary performance in a similar utensil, with cold water from the pump at the old house at home fifty to sixty years ago.

FAKED PEWTER

I had not been many years a collector before I found spurious Communion cups and Communion sets were on the market and I obtained some very enlightening information, much of which I cannot publish. It was the practice to blacken the new pieces with acid to give them an appearance of age, and I heard of an instance relating to hundredweights of faked pewter, but I am coming straight to the point and the photographs on Plates XXV and XXVI will corroborate my statement. I was further informed that they were making deep dishes out of old bedpans, preserving the maker’s mark on the bottom. I had had a bedpan hidden away in the stable loft for some time, and I decided to prove how far this information was correct. The pan had come from Ireland with a box full of “gatherings,” and I had almost decided to sell it to be melted.

I eventually wrote to a firm of pewter manufacturers explaining the conversion I wished to have effected, and they informed me they would do the job if I would say whether I wanted a deep dish or a shallow one and what width of rim I desired. In about three weeks after I had sent them the bedpan I received the fine deep (alms) dish bearing the maker’s name and mark—Joseph Austen—well preserved, proving the article was made in Cork over 100 years ago. It looks very well indeed and I have never had its virtue questioned; in fact when I have told visitors they have been greatly astonished, while a few have been hard to convince.

Now you understand my remark that I had one “alms dish” that had never been inside a sacred edifice.

PLATES AND DISHES

These under the eye of the camera are more or less alike, especially more—then let it suffice the reader to learn that I have forty small and thirty large of various sizes displayed wherever a likely space is available without giving a too crowded appearance. They nearly all bear makers’ marks or owners’ crests or initials, or evidence that they have been put to good use at some time or other. I have been told that when these big chaps were in vogue the various conglomerations forming the meal were heaped together and formed a goodly pile, so there is no doubt of the authenticity of the story of the Scottish farmer with a prodigious appetite at a Rent Dinner who when they wanted to take away his plate said “Bide awee for I hae just found a doo (pigeon) in the reddin o’ ma plate.”

As regards the rims, while I know some enthusiastic collectors could talk for a week on this feature, which to the uneducated suggests distinction without a difference, I will not labour the point.

I saw some very bright 9 inch plates in London recently with ornamental rims, and out of curiosity enquired the price. I was told 25s. each, but the information that they were Dutch was not vouchsafed.

Probably my “pride of the paddock” plate is one on Plate XIX (facing p. 43). It has a raised bead running round the centre of the rim, is thought to be early eighteenth century, and was made by Allen Bright, who has since retired from business. Judging by its shape it should pass muster as a genuine alms dish; though it may have been constructed to hold pennies in the kirk, I think it just as likely it held puddings in the kitchen—a thought inspired by the old knife-cuts on the bottom.

I have referred to the Irish plates being scoured on the back, and wiped on the front. Apropos of this remark I have a set of eight with the crest of a sea-horse on the rim; the marks are all obliterated, with the exception of the word “Jonas,” and by the lettering I was able to identify it as made by Jonas Durand about 1660. I also have three plates with the crest which represents the red hand of Ulster, and I believe they would originally be the property of an old Derbyshire family that has an estate in Ireland.

I have one very rare plate inasmuch as it bears on its surface ten rows of tap marks made with a round-headed hammer. The number in each circle lessens until they get down to seven, which surround the centre tap. This plate bears the initials and touch impression of the maker, which are undecipherable, but that does not worry me. I would far rather have the uncommon surface and indistinct marks than plain marks and a smooth surface. The strange thing is that if anyone wants a plate to, perhaps, stand a pot on, and there is no pottery one handy, or the artistic eye thinks a certain pot or flower would go better with a pewter than with a coloured pottery plate, they invariably lift this one off the dresser shelf, when any of the others would do equally well. This must stop, as I find the treatment does not improve its peculiar appearance.

On the first shelf of the oak dresser (Plate VI) there are four Scotch plates made by William Hunter, of Edinburgh, 1749-1773. The fronts must always have been well polished, for they shine like silver now. The backs have been kept clean, though not scoured, as the maker’s name and touchmarks are quite distinct. One pair were called “meatplates” and the other “pudding” or “porridge plates.” The latter are deep and would pass for collecting-plates among church pewter in some hands. My obtaining possession of these from the shelves of a farm kitchen in Scotland is an illustration of the proverb that kissing goes by favour. I wish I could obtain more in the same very agreeable manner.

As evidence of the age of the plates and dishes I give the following list of makers’ names, and the approximate dates when they were making these things hum. For most of my records I have searched my books of reference, and when these have failed me I have appealed to Mr. H. H. Cotterell, a great authority on marks, who has very kindly furnished me with the information required whenever possible.

Allen Bright	1750
J. Baskervile	1695
R. Chambers
Tudor Rose	Early 17th century
T. Compton	1807
Thorne, London
George Seymour	1768
Brown	17th century
G. Smith	1676
G. Smith	1790
Jonas Durand	1658
William Hunter	1750
John French	1687
Charles Clarke (Irish)	1790
John Duncomb	1730

I must mention a pair of very rare plates of special shape with tooled borders. Two holes are drilled in each, and it is probably due to the fact that some vandal has scratched the name “Lizzie” on them that they have not been put to the use for which they were intended, namely, to embellish the drop handles of an old-time coffin. When an obliging broker told me he had a couple of plates he had saved for me, and then produced these ghastly things, I was rendered mute.

Tappit Hens (Plate XIX, facing p. 43).

Well she may with whisky at half a guinea a bottle!

When we were in Barmouth we stayed at the Cors-y-gedll Hotel, and when I asked the landlord, who up to that point had been the personification of geniality, “What is the meaning of Cors-y-gedll?” he blurted out, “Nobody knows; everybody asks me that question,” and left me abruptly. I was not a collector of old pewter in those days, but I can now fully appreciate the cause of his irritability, for the number of times I have been asked, “What is the meaning of ‘Tappit Hens’?” leaves me tired. I once suggested that the name may have originated because they tappited to see if it was empty or not, only to be further puzzled by the query “But why hen?” and I could only suggest that “It cackled whenever it laid an egg,” which was condemned as an inane joke, which if I had any conceit of myself as a humorist I should never repeat.

Having read so much about Tappit Hens, I have known all about the history a long time ago, and I have forgotten most of it. The name for a Scottish pint measure of a certain shape was “Tappit Hen,” which held two quarts (Imperial). A “Chopin” held a quart and a “Mutchkin” an Imperial pint. My photograph shows a pair of Tappit Hens and a Chopin.

After Tappit Hens came the lidded whisky stoups which were in use in Scotland from 1826 to about 1870, when an Act was passed to do away with profiteering by short measure, and so the use of lids was prohibited.

As inspired individuals began to buy up the original Tappit Hens the supply gave out, so the dealers elevated the whisky stoups to the designation of the former. I do not exaggerate, for I have seen Tappit Hens advertised, and had them sent on approval, only to find the much less valued stoup, or pot-bellied measures as they were often called. Now I suppose they are getting done up, and that any old thing with a lid on is a Tappit Hen. Anyway, I was told by a gentleman, whose knowledge and experience of his profession are much greater than they can be of Scottish pewter, that he had just bought a French Tappit Hen!

In all my travels I have only been offered the genuine article once, and that was in Glasgow some years back, and as I already had two of the same size I did not buy, although it would have been a good investment at the price at which I could then have purchased it. The three imposing Tappit Hen shaped measures I have bear on the lids the imprints of the initials of a fine family, whose old grey stone hall still stands in its lonely but grand surroundings on the Pentland Hills, of which I am constantly reminded by the kindness of a descendant, who placed these treasures in my hands.

I am not a statistician, but I dare hazard an opinion that there are ten or may be twenty times more “Tappit Hens” in existence to-day than ever were made.

It is now time I tapped Burns again:

BRITANNIA METAL

This name puts me on my mettle, and as the uncertainty of what is the difference between pewter and Britannia metal has not to my knowledge been clearly explained I intend to deal with this question somewhat didactically.

I was so struck with the effect of turning my 70th Regiment pint pot from a dirty disused mug into a pleasurable thing that I visited all likely shops for some few miles round and bought up everything I thought and was told was old pewter, and I soon had more than would fill a corner cupboard, which I had lined with blue velvet to show it off. Then I bought “Marks on Old Pewter,” by W. Redman, which was the only book bearing on the subject I could hear of, and in it I read:

This was rather a blow, as some of my purchases were stamped “Britannia Metal” and a few others “B.M.E.P.,” although the electro-plate was mostly worn off, giving the things a pewter-like look. Next I obtained a short history of the firm of James Dixon and Sons, and found they did make pewter in their early days. I also learned from a history of Sheffield in the 18th Century that Vickers started making money and Britannia metal at the end of that period, so this stuff seemed ancient enough.

I now had the pleasure of obtaining “Old Pewter,” by Malcolm Bell, and found among the illustrations articles of which I had duplicates, one of which was a pepper-pot, and this reminds me that when I went in for this and inquired the price, and was told fourpence, I repeated the word “fourpence!” which immediately drew the rejoinder “Yes, fourpence, it’s half full of pepper.” From the trouble I had in getting out that solid pepper, I rather think the pewter must have been built round it.

I opened a correspondence with Mr. Bell, and he most courteously and kindly gave me every assistance. In one of his letters he wrote: “I must confess that for my own part I could not pretend to draw any hard and fast line between pewter and Britannia metal, for though one can tell the difference between the extreme types by the eye the varieties merge so gradually into each other that the boundary is indefinable. In fact, hard metal pewter with 96 parts tin, 8 of antimony, and 2 of copper is practically identical with the Britannia metal containing 92 parts of tin, 8 of antimony, and 2 of copper,” which was what I expected. Consequently I have among my lot many pieces which may have been sold as Britannia metal in the old days, but I would defy anyone to pick them out and prove them not to be pewter.

I asked Mr. Redman to come over and see me, and he readily did so. After he had gone, and from remarks he had made, I gathered he had been more impressed by the kindness of my partner than with the quality of some of my pewter. The result of this interview was that I never refused anything in the pewter line of mature age, and came to the conclusion that the difference in the names was a clever move of cute business men to enable them to charge something extra for their wares which were made of somewhat harder metal than was being generally used at the time. I have frequently come across early plates and tankards that differed materially in their hardness.

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES

Pap-Boat. On shelf 3, Plate XXI (facing p. 47), I show a specimen of rarity. Pap-boats would be as common as babies at one time. This one was bought at Lytham, and was introduced to me as a pig feeder. It is 4½ inches long.

Castor-oil spoons. What a fuss they made about taking a dose of castor oil, or had they not conceived the idea of disguising it between other liquids? The manipulation of such a spoon was a tricky job, for after getting it into the mouth a twist would be needed to bring the lid on to the tongue, the lid would partly drop open and the castor-oil would then flow gently down the patient’s throat, provided of course there was no resistance. This forcible feeding was of everyday occurrence. The larger of the spoons is about seventy years old, and the smaller about ninety years.

There are eighty-five specimens on Plate XXI, and I believe that the reader, with the aid of a magnifying glass, will be able to form a very good idea of each piece. The photographing of the groups generally entailed quite a lot of work, and some anxiety, for as I do not develop myself, or, rather, as I do not do my own developing, I had put all the things back in their places before I knew if the negatives were right. Fortunately it turned out all the exposures had been correctly timed, which was more than I anticipated with the varying and often poor December light.

The “Odamifino” (Plate XXVI, facing p. 74.).

This was picked up quite recently by a keen collector of rags and bones and other relics whose glory has departed. It was snapped out of his day’s doings by a flourishing dealer in anything that blew into his yard, and it was only by my going over the top of about 10,000 rabbit skins, the age of which could be more accurately guessed by their odour than by their sealskin-like appearance, that I caught sight of it. Then ensued a discussion as to the part this pewter had played in the past. The R and B collector called it a “Funniosity,” the skin specialist diagnosed it as a “Cream jug,” while a third gentleman (who dare not take on any other job than spirit testing while he is drawing out-of-work pay) said without hesitation, but not very distinctly, “Odamifino,” with a pronounced emphasis on the second syllable. When I suggested it might be a barber’s shaving-pot I was immediately ruled out of that court, as “Barbers never used anything made of pewter.”

Now if any collector can inform me when “Odamifinos” were in vogue, and why they came into existence, I shall be obliged, and in the meantime I will consider the cleaning, for is not cleanliness akin to collectingness? At present it has hardly an appearance suitable to my cabinet of rarities, while its high-sounding designation suggests that as its proper environment, and yet I have in mind the quip of that inveterate humorist Froude, “A thing of beauty is a joy for ever,” muttered at the Annual Meeting of the Peace Congress, when Carlyle chipped in with a chuckle, “Rough hew them as we will,” to be capped by that infernal joker Dante with the remark, “You cannot paint the lily whiter.” At this point Mr. Chairman Darwin brought back the members to their customary somnolence with the admonition: “Come, gentlemen, please, don’t ape the silly goat. The next subject for consideration is ‘Shaving—should each customer have fresh water?’”

CLEANING

This was a great source of trouble to me and to those associated with my home life, and it was not until I had strained their patience almost to the separation point that I was informed: “You really must make some arrangement for getting the pewter cleaned elsewhere, as the maids have given warning they cannot put up with the master messing up the kitchen any longer. Half the saucepans are ruined, as of course they could not be used after having that filthy stuff in them.”

I started boiling corroded pieces and letting them soak in washing soda all night, but found this made no impression on those which had been most neglected, while some came bright after a good scouring with hot water and Brookes’s soap, being later polished with methylated spirit and plate powder. I may here advise the reader that the latter treatment is all I now find necessary to furbish up my stock and keep it presentable.

I will not dwell further on my early difficulties, but relate how they were overcome. At the time I was almost overwhelmed with putrid plates, dishes, and other things I had received Mr. Redman came to my rescue with the following recipe:

“2 oz. rock lime, 2 oz. caustic soda, 6 oz. common salt, 8 oz. common soda, dissolve in 3 quarts of water in a saucepan on the fire. When dissolved pour into a bowl, and when cold add eight quarts of cold water. Steep as long as necessary as much pewter as the liquid will cover, and the bath can be used until the liquor has lost its nature.”

I had a mixture made in a bath and let the things lie in this until the corrosion was easily wiped off, and I entrusted this job to a man who had been used to cleaning machinery and whose practical knowledge and serviceable hands made him far more competent than his employer. I never had the surface of the pewter injured in any way with the strong solution, and so long as the rubbing with the coarse flannel and Brookes’s soap was done the way of the grain—that is, circular or round and round—no scratching was apparent. When I say I have dealt with no fewer than 1,450 pieces the reader may gather that the trouble and expense has not been trifling.

I hope this information in regard to cleaning may be of value to many amateurs, to whom I wish good luck.

In case some curious minds may wonder how I account for the difference between the total given and the 500 pieces I stated I now have I do not mind disclosing that I sent a lot of it to a friend at New York who was anxious to exhibit his old family plate, and I learnt when he was last over that as the brightness I had been at such pains to secure militated, in his opinion, against the appearance of antiquity he had abstained from further cleaning, and that the pewter was now looking quite old.

I believe I must have earned that friend’s undying gratitude, for did I not provide him with his great-great-grandfather’s clock, and further spared him and shipped out an early dated Broadwood grand piano, which I had previously converted into a dressing-table, and which he has since discovered is the identical instrument that his great-great-grandmother used for the five-finger exercise?

THE TINSMITH

I have mentioned that on some occasions I found it necessary to send pewter to the manufacturers, but I have scores of pieces which only required slight repairs—soldering, straightening and reshaping—such as an accomplished tinsmith could manage. Fortunately I found the man of the hour, day, month, and year, and not far off, and I cannot say how much time I spent in his workshop. He was always very busy, and if I sent him anything to do I never knew when I should see it again, so I had to resort to taking it myself and waiting until it was finished, otherwise it would be half done and then laid aside while he went out to pick a lock, or put down while he mended a kettle or something that was most urgently required. Really the way he handled my pewter was terribly fascinating, making pieces so hot at times and putting them so close to his fire that I positively trembled for fear they would be ruined altogether, but he never made a mistake.

His favourite expression was, “You understand me,” so the reader will appreciate that these three words kept coming into his conversation in the most unexpected places. “It was a good job—you understand me—that church was burnt out. I got all the organ pipes; I’m using some of them in this solder—you understand me—about 18 cwt. of them altogether.”

I took him a big jug to have the handle soldered not long ago. I saw him start it and said I would call on my way back from the bank. I did so and found the job only partly done. By way of explanation he said:

“Mr. A. has been in about a freeze—you understand me.”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t. What is a freeze?”

“A refrigerator for milk.”

“Oh, will you be much longer?”

In the course of my many entertaining interviews I learnt that he first went into a shop when he was aged 8, in the year 1847. Tinsmiths then used to fix all gaspipes, and I have found out since that Westminster Bridge was first illuminated with gas in 1813. But to go back to my confrÈre. He did not stop in the shop long, as he was sent to school for about twelve months. The school was in a cellar, with forms round, on which there was always a birch-rod handy, and as the schoolmaster had been a soldier he knew how to use it, and my friend added: “You understand me—there were no inspectors in those days.”

It was on the floor of this workshop that I literally “picked up” the James Dixon quart tankard which I described under Marks. It lay amongst other scrap pewter in a dark corner, ready for going into the melting-pot, when I kicked against it and so prolonged its life. It is now 96.

I am afraid my tinsmith is no respecter of old age, for he is at the time I write this only eighty, and when I congratulated him upon his steady hand and wonderful eyesight he smiled and said: “My mother was ninety-one, and she didn’t know what spectacles meant.”

More power to his elbow.

Pewter Snuff Boxes.

Plate XXII.