OLD CHINA.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LVI, Issue 17294, 18 October 1919, Page 1 (Supplement)

OLD CHINA.

THE TRUE COLLECTOR. BY FRANK MOB.TON. The poor man of moderate desires can seldom afford to collect old things worth while, because in these days eo many people are after just those things that they have come at length to cost a lot of money. In 1919 one must generally content oneself with collecting things of use, rather than things of beauty. Ino longer go after rare editions, though I can never persuade myself to part with one when I happen to get my hands on it. There are, of course, beautiful books that are useful for thir gay and illuminating companionship. There is a book I loved and lostHelisenne de Crenne's, " Les angoysses dovlovrevses qui procedent d'omovrs." It was published in Paris in 1538, with many curious and delicious woodcuts, and it generally turns up in some very beautiful later binding. It is a very sweet book, but what care I if it be not sweet to me? and how can it be sweet to me at a cost of forty guineas? But I owned it once, and I know that if ever opportunity and forty guineas come together I must own it again. That is the worst of collecting old things worth while; it cuts away the very foundations of economy and prudence. The true collector may be a poor man, none the less, but he must be a poor man endowed with the .grace of self-sacrifice, a man willing to yield passing pleasure for a greater ultimate good, a man willing to climb to his treasure over daily mountains of self-denial. An Old Collector's Treasures. I have been out visiting Mr. Tom Lennard a sprightly boy of some Beventy odd years, and a collector from his youtr up. Carlyle somewhere spoke in praise of the peculiar philosophy ot shoemakers, and it happens that when he 'was much younger Mr. Lennard knew Carlyle very welL He has a signed portrait of Carlyle given to him by the sage himself, with a few gracious words in the sage's cramped but oddly beautiful handwriting. He has letters of Carlyle's, letters of Coleridge's, letters of Gladstone's (though they don't matter so much) letters of all sorts of peoplenot mere autographs picked 'up in auction-rooms, but personal letters with a story attached to each. He has miniatures of men famous in Australian history farther back. But if I get adrift among personal ie I shall never come to the interesting thing I have in view. So we shall leave the engravings and the portraits and the wealth of picturesque and interesting documents, and come at once to the old china. Piece by Piece.

Mr. Lennard, let me tell you, is a working shoemaker in quite a small way. He has never been what you call a well-to-do man. And yet he has a collection of old china which is, I suppose, the most interesting private collection in Australasia. It is interesting because of its diversity of merit and appeal, and it is interesting because it has been collected piece by piece, and nearly all in Sydney, by a man with little money to spend and little time to spare. It is the fruit of fifty years and more of quiet pottering round with eyes wide open. Here are vividly interesting pieces of Rockingham, Salt, Old Delft, Leeds, Worcester, Minton, Walton, Bristol, Coalport, Liverpool, Davenport, Wedgwood, Spode, Chelsea, Sunderland, Derby, Gubbio, Copeland, Wheeldon (who was later Wedgwood's partner), Lowestoft, Bow, with Bohemian glass, Saxon ware, and I know not what eside. And attached to every piece there is at least the stimulating suggestion of some human story. There are two or three splendid pieces of old Satsuma, bought deeply grimed with lampblack in a Sydney auction-room for a few shillings, a tew years ago. Mr. Lennard has bought little or nothing for some years now. He tells rather sadly how bargains became rarer, bow it became steadily more difficult to buy pieces within his means, as he became known. He is the true collector, be it understood, and the true collector never buys to sell again. One of those Satsuma pieces is a thing to worship—a dignified still figure with the splendour of centuries somehow whispering through it. Imagine for a moment what that one piece may have seen and heard I It makes the brain whizz, doesn't it? The Real Auctioneer. And note now the true joy of the collector, Mrs. Lennard died a month ago, a wife of three and fifty years. And in his cottage surrounded by his treasures sits the old collector, saved from loneliness. He has such a store of good memories as keep his eye always beaming, his conversation never less than sprightly. He will tell you remarkable and surprising things for instance, that there is in the auctioneers a furtive human side that the true collector never fails to touch. He will tell you how the real auctioneer hates to see a good piece go to some man who cannot appreciate and love it. And cne never thought of auctioneers quite like that, somehow. I shall have to watch myself warily for awhile, because I feel that I have become suddenly touched by the craze for old china myself, and for me, circumstanced I a3 I am in this expensive world of 1919, it is utterly preposterous to think of any such thing. Of Jugs. There are jugs in Mr. Lennard'? collectionjuesi why, I give you mj word that I could almost bring myself tr arink beer that had foamed over the lip: of such jugs as those. There are teapots and the very goddess of tea coos anc chuckles from their quaint old spouts Chelsea ware is very beautiful in ar enticingly picturesque ' way that moderr potters nave lost the secret of. Then are little statuettes and groups that art satisfying and sweet as an idyll o: Theocritus. The colours are simple anc natural and comforting, like the colours of birds and trees, of sea and sky. But it is a word irreverent. " While mi dear lady lay very ill here," says Mr Lennard, "a woman called in to inquire after her, and I could do no less that show her my collectionthough it wai rather because she seemed to expect i' than because I thought she could care 01 understand. 1 showed her those tcanoti and teacups—those ! She said. 'Ym might give me those. Mr. Lennard. The; would be so nice for afternoon-tea at m*' place. They're no good to you, when yot don't use them.' And lam wonderin; still whether it would be sinful to kill ; womanlike that." I earnestly assured hin that it wouldn't. But I " suppose shi won't call on him again. One can't havi everything, can one? Put you—von people who have mone-> and leisure and perhaps some brains; wh waste time and good cash on triflinj postage-stamps and such trash, when Hi rich and unending field lies open to you? Oh, of all the fascinating hobbies!

The wonderful pianoforte playing of Freoa Hall, aped 6, is astonishing musicians in all parts of Britain. Freda obtained a. first-class certificate in an elementary examination some time ac;o, and she has taken first-class honours in a higher examination at the Tendon College of Music. Some of the other candidates were over 14 years of age. The examiner described Freda's scale playing as marvellous. She did not make a single mistake in her answers on theory. Freda's genius was difcorered at the age of two, when she surprised her parents bv imitat in? on their piano a little tune she had heard at a school entertainment. No other member of h«r, family .displays , musical talent;.