A vintage Christmas card by Wanamaker & Brown of Philidelphia.

How do tell somebody you care? Go to the store, buy a card and let somebody else do the telling for you.

The oldest Christmas card created for general distribution probably was created by William Egley Jr.; a 16 year-old British youth. His 3 1/2-inch-by-5 1/2-inch, 1842 printed impression, preserved in the British Museum, depicts four holiday scenes and a “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year” greeting with blanks after the word “To” on the top and “From” at the bottom. Industrious kid.

By 1860, many kinsmen had embraced Egley’s concept. Rival greeting card firms began employing prominent artists, such as Kate Greenaway, the beloved illustrator of children’s books.

The father of American Christmas cards was award-winning Boston lithographer/inventor Louis Prang, who, in 1873, reproduced a holiday card autographed by Christmas Carol author, Charles Dickens. Perhaps the greatest of Prang’s many innovations was the development of a multi-color printing process that incorporated as many as 20 colors on one print or card. Hues and detailing were so vivid that artists were sometimes not able to distinguish their own works from reproduced chromos (chromolithographic prints) when hung side by side on a wall.

Taking full advantage of this technology, Prang employed the finest artisans of his day. Card painters included the likes of Frederick S. Church, Arthur F. Tait and Winslow Homer. Poetic geniuses such as Longfellow, Tennyson and William Cullen Bryant were among those hired to write verses.

Toward enhancing originality, the Boston industrialist began holding Christmas card design contests on a yearly basis beginning in 1880. In 1885, Prang gave prizes for essays on Christmas cards written by women. With prominent judges, lavish celebrations and top prizes from $200 to $2,000, Prang’s contests soon paid off in publicity, becoming media events.

An example of a vintage Christmas card.

Although prices ranged from 50 cents to $15 each (a fortune in those days), Prang’s greeting sold briskly until inexpensive German cards flooded the market. Refusing to lower quality standards, Prang quit the business.

Highly collectible Prang cards usually can be identified by tiny lettering “L Prang and Co., Boston” on the bottom margin. Occasionally, Prang left only a rose symbol (a veiled sign of affection for his wife, Rose) or disguised his mark under a tiny shoe or on a leaf.

Nineteenth-century Christmas cards are often graphic masterpieces incorporating silk fringes, tassels, mother of pearl inlays and satin backgrounds. Flowers, angels, carolers, gentle animals, romantic young women and happy children are dominant design themes.

From 1900 to 1920, penny postcards from Germany featuring Santa Claus, nostalgic hearth and snow scenes, holly, toys and Nativity settings captured the market. In 1910, J.C. Hall began selling postcards out of a shoebox at a YMCA in Kansas City, Mo. His one-man enterprise turned into what we know today as Hallmark Cards Inc.

Xmas card collecting (by the way, “X” is not a tacky abbreviation, it has religious significance in that X is the first letter of the Greek word for Christ) can be a rewarding hobby for adults and children. Prominent makers, excellent condition, early age, strong graphics, mechanical movements, interesting “collectible” subject matter, artist signed examples, large size and fine detailing help to determine value. Most of all, look for cards that hit you in the heart. That’s Santa’s real home.

—Wayne Mattox
Antique Talk

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The William & Mary figured maple butterfly table with block vase and ring turned legs that had been so elusive.

A few years ago, Steve Fletcher—the lead auctioneer of Skinner Auction Gallery in Boston—had just accepted a glass of water and stepped down from the podium to take a break. Karen Keane, the president and CEO of the company, was now behind the auctioneer’s mike. “Good!” I said to myself. Keane, like Fletcher, is a regular on the long-running PBS hit, “The Antique Roadshow.” She’s charismatic, charming, skilled at auctioneering, but she’s not Steve Fletcher.

Steve is the star. Like many an auctioneer, the butt of many of Fletcher’s jokes is himself. Earlier in the sale a totally stripped and refinished Nantucket Fan-back Windsor Armchair, estimated in the catalog to go for between $3,000-$5,000, sold for an amazing $25,000! I was one of the under-bidders. Who did Fletcher blame about the low estimate? Himself. “Shows what I know!” he said, bearing a slightly befuddled smile and naive twinkle in his eye. Auctioneers who appear too smart can’t be outsmarted.

He started the bidding off at a low $1,000 and edged up in $500 levels. “… thousand we have, now fifteen-hundred, now TWO-THOUSAND DOLLARS!” he called out.

The Windsor—having nothing left but polyurethane for surface but magnificent in form—was lot number 6 in the sale. It was an item most attendees would appreciate but not totally understand. At $1,500 dollars, every other hand in the room was up in the air. People had been instantly acclimated to bidding. At $4,000 only a few hands remained. By the time the chair had reached $8,000 the audience was in kind of a hushed mode—wide eyed and excited—just as the auctioneer intended. Passing $12,000, my hand was the only one left in the raised position in a room packed with 300 well-dressed Bostonian preppie types. Then the phone bids came in.

In the “good old days” (now I am sounding old), people in the audience basically decided what things were worth at an auction. Occasionally a phone bidder or two would be on the line. Today, large auction houses like Skinner now have nearly 20 phone lines.

Then, the computer started bidding. That’s right, the computer. Skinner is now hooked up with the Wal-Mart of the antiques business, eBay. On-line geeks and mega-collectors from places like San Francisco were bidding against me never having inspected, let alone seen, the piece they were bidding on, except for a photo.

“$13,000!” Fletcher called out. When the spindly appearing, stripped-to-the-bone armchair sold for $25,000, every retail bidder in the audience was now sitting on the edge of their seats, anticipating the next item in the sale. The innocent-appearing man on stage had accomplished his goal.

Anyhow, let us return to the auction with Ms. Keane now on the stage. Lot number 184, an incredible looking William & Mary period (1685-1725) daybed with ball feet and a banister back fainting couch-like head rest had just fetched a ridiculously low $4,000. An 18th-century highboy with minor imperfections had brought only $5,000. The retail bidders in the audience were off-stride. Dealers were chatting in the back and many had left the room all together, gone to the restrooms or to fetch a cup of coffee. It was only 11:30 in the morning and most, like me, were driving and working all weekend.

“Lot number 186,” Keane said. “A William & Mary figured maple butterfly table with block vase and ring turned legs and a circular drop leaf top. Would anyone give me fifteen-thousand to start it?” No hands went up. The room’s atmosphere had hit a lull period. When the auction house’s low estimate was not immediately reached, the audience had gained a slight psychological edge. My hand went up at $10,000 and I held my breath in excitement. “We got a shot at this one, babe!” I whispered to my wife.

A golden tiger crow orchid

Butterfly tables are to antiques as golden tiger crow orchids are to flowers. For early American furniture and folk art collectors, the tiny little drop leave table with “splayed” outreaching frieze and legs and box stretchers to strengthen the base are akin to photographing a jet black Mitchell’s Satyr Northeastern Indiana butterfly if you are a butterfly collector. It’s a gem.

The day before we had driven up to inspect this table for a client. It was petite, honey colored and wonderfully worn on the stretchers. Like most of the furniture in the sale, and a large majority of antique furniture in general, it had been stripped of its multiple paint and shellac surfaces, refinished and coated with a semi-gloss sealant. That’s what people did years ago. Fortunately though, some traces of old black paint and red wash remained. Traces of that showed up in the pores of the wood and in the crevices in the top and base of the table, reinforcing the integrity of top to bottom.

The top was loose enough to be “pulled” from the base. That I did with permission in inspection. A clear outline of reduced oxidation and patinization showed itself exactly where top meets bottom—just as it should be. I also liked the fact that the table had been looked at by a top auction firm with strict standards of integrity. And that the table once had casters. Worn caster holes on the bottoms of the feet are not usually introduced by professional fakers.

Desirable form, beautiful appearance, good integrity and a mellow old refinished surface—I suggested to my client $25,000 would be a reasonable price for the piece. Having had me on the lookout for one going on 20 years now, they excitedly said, “Go for it!” Kenny and Sherry saw the beautiful pictures of the table on-line. Ugh!

I won the table for my clients at $13,000. The only unlucky thing for my clients is my 10-percent commission, a few bucks for restoration and a whopping 17.5-percent “buyer’s premium” that many auction houses now attach to the final hammer price. Still, now my friends have their elusive and value-appreciating butterfly. The net has finally landed its prize.

— by Wayne Mattox
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