THE WORTH OF THE OLD

Otago Daily Times, Issue 21775, 14 October 1932, Page 15

THE WORTH OF THE OLD

One of the marks of a civilised person is a familiarity with things of the past. The past is over; it'will never come again; but at one time it was full of vitality and meaning, and the. person of culture ia he who is aware of this fact. To be so content with the immediate present that he never wishes to depart from it is for a man to confess himself both narrow-minded and boorish, for, compared with the past, the present is only one small room in a house of many mansions. How small and barren must be the outlook of him who is content to spend all hia days in just that room, when, if he chose, he could make his way through door after door into other rooms!

We in New Zealand are a very'young people. We have, as it were, carved our eity out of the virgin rock, and, with no aid but our own skill and fortitude, have reared a civilisation in a new land. The feat has made us sturdy and self-reliant; we are proud of our achievement, and pardonably so. But the fact remains that we are still young, being young, are also ignorant. Despite our ability we are not yet a people of culture unless we will, allow ourselves to take interest in more than we ourselves have accomplished—to wit, in civilisations other than our own. A visit to the Pioneers’ Hall between now and Wednesday week will show the folly of being content with knowledge of no period but the present. “ Antiques? ” we might say coldly, thinking of relics too old and ugly to be savoury. “Antiques? Who wants to see a collection of antiques? " and we shrug our shoulders in the fashion of one too content with his present lot to wish ever to exchange it for anything else. But nothing could be more foolish or farther from the truth. Antiques are not unsavoury, ugly, and musty. They are symbols of decades other than our own, the marks of centuries the people of which have noiy departed for ever. To move among them is to be touched with the hand of romance. One finds oneself in a story which, for those who originally lived it, has been ended for ages. What is to be seen in these relics of other periods—these oaken coffers and Bible boxes and spinning wheels,* these walnut tables with their, inlays of mother-of-pearl, these Chippendale chairs and mahogany tail-boys, these Sheraton spinets and bow-fronted chests? , Beauty, such as it is not possible to gain in our days of machinery and machine-made goods; beauty of fit and shape and colour; beauty showing that the men who made this furniture did so in love and reverence and happiness because they were not only making, but creating. Modern carpentry is a travesty when compared to the carpentry of these old days. Modern invention is seen to be coarse and vulgar. The exhibition exerts a spell impossible to describe. In tbe calm, coo) air of the Pioneer Hall one wanders in a kind of dream, face to face with decades departed, fast in the new but touching fingers with the old. Inanimate objects of wood and pottery and pewter catch at the eye and compel one to gaze at them. One mentally touches their texture and outline. One begins to wonder about them, asking oneself what they have seen—and what tales they could tell. This is an. opportunity which the people of Dunedin will be wise not to let slip by unheeded. To have in one building a collection of those very things a knowledge of which distinguishes the man of culture from his contemporaries is a privilege which comes all too .seldom, especially in a young country like our own. The less a person knows about such things the greater the pleasure in store for him, for there is a catalogue admirably prepared and full of helpful notes, and tuero are members of the committee ever ready to answer questions and give explanations and reasons. The time during which the exhibition will remain open will go all too quickly. Let it not pass before, in our tardiness, we are ready for it to pass!