ON A MEDAL OF GEORGE THE FOURTH.
Before me lies a coin bearing the image and superscription of King George IV., and of the nominal value of two-and-sixpence.But an official friend at a neighboring turnpike says the piece is hopelessly bad; and a chemist tested it, returning a like unfavorable opinion.A cabman, who had brought me from a Club, left it with the Club porter, appealing to the gent who gave it a pore cabby, at ever so much o'clock of a rainy night, which he hoped he would give him another.I have taken that cabman at his word.He has been provided with a sound coin.The bad piece is on the table before me, and shall have a hole drilled through it, as soon as this essay is written, by a loyal subject who does not desire to deface the Sovereign's image, but to protest against the rascal who has taken his name in vain.Fid.Def.indeed! Is this what you call defending the faith? You dare to forge your Sovereign's name, and pass your scoundrel pewter as his silver? I wonder who you are, wretch and most consummate trickster? This forgery is so complete that even now I am deceived by it--I can't see the difference between the base and sterling metal.Perhaps this piece is a little lighter;--I don't know.A little softer:--is it? I have not bitten it, not being a connoisseur in the tasting of pewter or silver.Itake the word of three honest men, though it goes against me: and though I have given two-and-sixpence worth of honest consideration for the counter, I shall not attempt to implicate anybody else in my misfortune, or transfer my ill-luck to a deluded neighbor.
I say the imitation is so curiously successful, the stamping, milling of the edges, lettering, and so forth, are so neat, that even now, when my eyes are open, I cannot see the cheat.How did those experts, the cabman, and pikeman, and tradesman, come to find it out? How do they happen to be more familiar with pewter and silver than I am? You see, I put out of the question another point which I might argue without fear of defeat, namely, the cabman's statement that I gave him this bad piece of money.Suppose every cabman who took me a shilling fare were to drive away and return presently with a bad coin and an assertion that I had given it to him! This would be absurd and mischievous; an encouragement of vice amongst men who already are subject to temptations.Being homo, Ithink if I were a cabman myself, I might sometimes stretch a furlong or two in my calculation of distance.But don't come TWICE, my man, and tell me I have given you a bad half-crown.No, no! I have paid once like a gentleman, and once is enough.For instance, during the Exhibition time I was stopped by an old country-woman in black, with a huge umbrella, who, bursting into tears, said to me, "Master, be this the way to Harlow, in Essex?" "This the way to Harlow? This is the way to Exeter, my good lady, and you will arrive there if you walk about 170 miles in your present direction," I answered courteously, replying to the old creature.Then she fell a-sobbing as though her old heart would break.She had a daughter a-dying at Harlow.She had walked already "vifty dree mile that day." Tears stopped the rest of her discourse, so artless, genuine, and abundant that--I own the truth--I gave her, in I believe genuine silver, a piece of the exact size of that coin which forms the subject of this essay.Well.About a month since, near to the very spot where Ihad met my old woman, I was accosted by a person in black, a person in a large draggled cap, a person with a huge umbrella, who was beginning, "I say, Master, can you tell me if this be the way to Har--" but here she stopped.Her eyes goggled wildly.She started from me, as Macbeth turned from Macduff.She would not engage with me.It was my old friend of Harlow, in Essex.I dare say she has informed many other people of her daughter's illness, and her anxiety to be put upon the right way to Harlow.Not long since a very gentleman-like man, Major Delamere let us call him (I like the title of Major very much), requested to see me, named a dead gentleman who he said had been our mutual friend, and on the strength of this mutual acquaintance, begged me to cash his cheque for five pounds!
It is these things, my dear sir, which serve to make a man cynical.
I do conscientiously believe that had I cashed the Major's cheque there would have been a difficulty about payment on the part of the respected bankers on whom he drew.On your honor and conscience, do you think that old widow who was walking from Tunbridge Wells to Harlow had a daughter ill, and was an honest woman at all? The daughter couldn't always, you see, be being ill, and her mother on her way to her dear child through Hyde Park.In the same way some habitual sneerers may be inclined to hint that the cabman's story was an invention--or at any rate, choose to ride off (so to speak)on the doubt.No.My opinion, I own, is unfavorable as regards the widow from Tunbridge Wells, and Major Delamere; but, believing the cabman was honest, I am glad to think he was not injured by the reader's most humble servant.