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:
“Come, bring the tither mutchkin in,
And here’s, for a conclusion.”
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: