I am now going to put a puzzle before you, and hope it may be somewhat entertaining. The fact is, one of the amulets is a fake. It occupies a central position on one of the twelve photographs reproduced. I conceived the idea when the spirit of mischief was upon me, and with the assistance of a mechanic and a little solder, a very common piece was made into a very rare specimen. It was specially remarked upon by another collector to whom I sent my photographs as the only one of the kind he had seen. Which is it?
I remember showing this jokingly to my son, and his characteristic comment was, “That’s jolly good; but I say, dad, is it playing the game?”
[Illustration: Old Horse Amulets. Group 2.
[Illustration: Sheffield Plate and Old Silver.
In the spring of 1914 my son took me in his side-car for a tour which lasted one happy week, one day of which now comes forcibly to my mind. That we started back from Henley-on-Thames in pouring rain made no difference to his equable temper, and before we reached Oxford the sun was as bright as his disposition. When we turned at Whitney and passed over the Cotswolds _en route_ for the Wye Valley, we came across the scenery in which he revelled, and here he and I found a few old amulets in a saddler’s shop while waiting for the wayside lunch. In peace and quietness his true bent lay, and only his regard for duty impelled him to join the Army when volunteers were appealed for. His commission was dated on his twenty-first birthday, and it was the irony of fate that the last two years of his clean life should have been spent in the grime and stress and turmoil of war. Thus I lost my lovable companion, who for nearly ten years had played such a charming part in assisting to make my collecting a pastime.
Sheffield Plate and Old Silver Told by the Plateau
I have been asked to act as spokesman for this group and as it is in the customary order of things, not only for every group but for each individual, to have a grievance and air it, I must first of all protest against the indignity of placing my companions and myself at the rear of the book, when our value and appearance justify our occupying the premier position, and we consider it a great slight on the estimation in which we are held by real connoisseurs that we have been allotted a back setting while things like old pewter, for which we have the utmost contempt, have been allocated to the forefront. Now that I am on my feet I will say a few words respecting my associates and myself, and considering that my age and reflections extend over a century, I hope they will be followed with some regard. I get on very well with the Tankard, but there are times when he gets out of hand. On one of these unruly outbursts he addressed me as “Centrepiece,” but I metaphorically put his lid on by calling him “a mug.” Taking him all round, he is not a bad specimen, and undoubtedly has sprung from a good family, although I have heard that he latterly came out of a pawnshop for half a sovereign.