One curious specimen which I came across not long ago was a flask in the shape of a pair of bellows. The nozzle was closed by a cork, and there was a hole in one handle of the bellows by which it might be suspended from a nail in the wall. It was probably employed by some ancient apothecary or alchemist to hold drugs. I should hardly care to dogmatise as to its period, but it was unmistakably of English{155} origin, and certainly quaint and interesting enough to be worth acquiring.
Among the commoner “finds” of this kind are the glass paper weights, made with, apparently, a bunch of flowers inside, which is visible when viewed laterally and disappears on a vertical view, when the observer sees nothing but clear glass. I have seen many examples of this kind on sale in shop windows in London, and the price asked is usually modest enough even for a good specimen.
In olden times it was customary to place names and dates upon the bottles which held the best ale. Many of these are still in existence, mostly, however, in collections. They are certainly by no means beautiful as far as appearance goes, their interest being centred upon the date, and upon the fact that the practice has now been obsolete for many years. To a casual eye these ale bottles appear black, but if held up to a strong light a greenish tinge is plainly marked. They are very stout and amazingly tough, so that they may even be dropped upon the ground without fear of breaking or chipping. This, by the way, is often put forward by experts as the best test{156} of their genuineness. The test is, however, something on the drastic side. Moreover, dropping other people’s bottles to test their bona fides is a practice hardly likely to commend itself to the seller, and one which might prove unexpectedly costly to the connoisseur.
There are many other objects made in glass which are worthy of note—knife-rests, rolling-pins, walking-sticks, quaintly shaped jugs, baskets, forks, bells and horns.
The knife-rests often assume most curious forms. A not unfrequent type was that of a hound running at full stretch, fore and hind legs widely extended, and the body coloured to nature. Salt-cellars, too, were made, like the paper weights before mentioned, with sprays of flowers inside. These were made in two pieces, which were fused together after the flowers, painted on paper or thin canvas, had been placed between them.
Small glasses made in the form of flowers or their petals, and glass buttons and beads decorated (sic) with faces, names, dates, initials, etc., are other examples of freakwork in glass which the amateur should be glad to acquire.
Possibly one, more fortunate than his fellows,{157} may chance across a “toddy-lifter.” At first sight this bears a distinct resemblance to a tiny decanter; on examination, however, it will be found to be without either bottom or stopper.
The toddy-lifter, as its name implies, was used instead of a ladle for filling glasses with punch or toddy from the bowl. The open bell of the lifter was dipped into the liquid and at once filled. Then the opening at the top was closed by the finger and the “lifter” raised out of the bowl, the contents being retained in it by atmospheric pressure until the finger was removed from the top, when the contents were discharged into the consumer’s glass. One would imagine that a ladle would prove equally useful and more convenient. Possibly, however, the fact that the toddy-lifter never spilt a drop of its contents, however unsteady the hand that held it, was not without its advantages in a hard-drinking age. Similar pieces of Scottish origin may be found. These are usually more club-shaped, and are even rarer than the English examples.
None of the foregoing pieces is particularly difficult to acquire, and it is comparatively easy, therefore, to form an adequate collection{158} of really fine specimens. By fine I do not, of course, mean rare or exceptional pieces, but specimens of sterling merit of which the collector may be proud and which are likely to increase in value. They are mostly in the hands of people who have no conception of their merits, either pecuniary or artistic.
A few years ago I found in an old book shop quite a collection of old Bristol glass paper weights. The fact that each bore upon it a view of some object or place of interest in Bristol or its environs should have furnished a direct clue to their identity. One particularly fine specimen was used as the lid of an old glass ink-pot. Its owner readily parted with it as a thing of no value, for a few pence. But it may interest the budding collector—no less than its late owner should he by chance read these lines—to learn that the purchaser resold it shortly after for a very respectable sum to someone more appreciative of its merits.
Freak glasses proper include yards and half-yards, boots, cocked hats, frog glasses, and trick glasses designed to send their contents anywhere but in the direction which the would-be consumer intended.{159}
The yards and half-yards are great curiosities; they resemble nothing so much as a coaching horn in shape and size. There are two kinds, the one the genuine old Cambridge ale-yards, and the other trick glasses which had the knack when partially emptied of suddenly expelling the remainder of their contents with a splash into the drinker’s face, to his great discomfiture and the huge delight of the onlookers, who had probably arranged the whole thing for the benefit of some innocent person.
Unfortunately, in the sudden start with which the drinker received the unexpected disposition of the contents of his glass, the vessel itself was so frequently damaged that specimens of ale-yards are very difficult to obtain. It will be noticed that in our illustration (Fig. 37) the specimen is cracked near its mouth. It need hardly be said that any collector who is fortunate enough to obtain an example in reasonably good condition may esteem himself fortunate.
As to the reason of the sudden emptying I cannot do better than quote from Mr Hartshorne, an old friend and the greatest authority on Old English glass.
Masonic, Toasting, and Freak Glasses.
An Early Cambridge Yard Ale Glass.
Fig. 37.
“The trick yard glass arose from the knob at the end of the footless one. It was found that on expanding into a bulb the ‘knob’ or ‘knot,’ the difficulty of emptying the vessel was greatly increased, because when this feat was nearly accomplished the air passed down the tube into the bulb and caused the remainder of the contents to fly into the face of the drinker.”
This was by no means an uncommon occurrence in wayside inns of the seventeenth century, the spectators often betting upon the result.
At the annual “Vinis” of the Mock Corporation of Hanley, Staffs, the initiation of a member included the drinking of a yard of port, while the freeman of Stoke-on-Trent had as a preliminary to admission to dispose of a yard of ale.
To “floor the long glass” at Eton is also an accomplishment which many never achieve.
I have seen many fine specimens, notably one belonging to my old friend, Mr John George Mortlock of Cambridge; but it is rare to find them undamaged, the involuntary jerk of the victim who finds the liquid splashing into his face being usually fatal to the unwieldy glass.
Another similar example is furnished by such{162} glasses as that shown in Fig. 37. On the one side it is marked “King,” on the other “Tinker.” The “innocent” invited to drink was asked to choose from which side he would drink, and, prompted by loyalty, vanity, or pure folly, he was almost certain to drink with the king rather than the tinker. But artfully concealed in the band of decoration round the rim was a series of small holes, through which, when the glass was tilted, the liquor ran, soaking the drinker’s waistcoat instead of finding its way down his throat.
Possibly the old coaching glasses may fitly find a place in this connection. They are without feet, the stem ending in a bulb which was often cut. When, in the old coaching days, the vehicle pulled up at a wayside inn, the landlord brought out his tray with the glasses inverted upon it. They were filled from the bottle and emptied at once—the idea being that as the drink would have to be consumed at once, there was no need to make the glass so that it could be set down while the liquor was only partly consumed. These are now rare, and to discover one would be a great achievement for the ordinary collector.
One may also mention the singing glasses, which were made to vibrate to a certain musical note, and so would repeat the note when sounded or sung, just as the string of a piano or violin will do. This, of course, was a great mystery to unscientific persons, but is susceptible of a very simple explanation. Evelyn was greatly puzzled over the phenomenon. Certain glasses, he remarked, “made an echo to the voice, but were so thin that the very breath broke them.” The fact is, of course, that the glass broke through the intensity of its own vibration, just as a pane of glass in a church window will sometimes break when the organ is used. The note played having the same period of vibration as the pane of glass, the latter vibrates in unison with it, and if the note is continued for sufficiently long, the vibration becomes so intense as to break the pane. It is for an exactly similar reason that a regiment of soldiers breaks step when marching over a bridge, for fear that the rhythm of the march might chance to coincide with the period of vibration of the bridge, and so set up rhythmic movements which might weaken the structure.
Such glasses are distantly allied to the musical{164} glasses which, when filled up to a certain point, produce a musical note when the bowl is thrown into vibration by the finger or a violin bow. By filling such glasses to different heights, it is possible to produce a complete scale, and so to play any desired tune.
Other freak glasses take the form of boots—some of these are quite elaborate, the lacing being imitated in glass-work, as also were spurs, straps, etc. The “boot” glass used to express the popular execration of Lord Bute has been already referred to in the chapter on Commemorative Glasses. Then there are cocked hats, various birds and beasts, all highly inconvenient for the purpose for which a glass is intended, but all associated with some idea, family crest, or particular superstition. There are glasses from which, though apparently full, it is impossible to drink; there are others, with tiny electric bulbs in the base, which light up on the pressure of a button, irradiating the contents with a glow of light and adding I know not what meretricious attraction to the contents. These, I need hardly say, are modern, and have no real place among Old English glass. One I remember was formed at the base into the{165} semblance of an eye, with the legend “Eye-water,” a description of the probable contents, which, it is to be feared, was borne out neither by their destination nor their character—unless, indeed, they were of so potent a nature as to bring the water into the bibber’s eyes.
Another curious example had engraved upon the inside of the bottom the figure of the gallows-tree, with its ghastly fruit, and the grim legend “The last drop.” Whether the maker was a humorist or a temperance reformer anxious to point his moral in the most effective way, I am unable to decide.
Somewhat similar are the glasses which have a frog or a snake at the bottom, possibly with the idea of giving a mild surprise. There are many other varieties. Indeed, the production of freak glasses was only limited by the imagination of the time that produced them, and by its capacity for amusement, and had no relation to taste. They are rarely produced nowadays: possibly we have become more exacting and less easily amused than our ancestors. This is a serious and a utilitarian age.