Geoffery Gambado

CHAPTER XII

Doctor Cassock was, in his day, a most extraordinary man: he was a double-first at Oxford, a scholar, and a gentleman. He was a most benevolent little man, and Doctor Gambado's friend and pastor, both well read and well bred. But he was ever cultivating his inventive faculty to do good. In his visits to the poor, he invented new bed-rests, new cradles, new spring beds, new comforts of every kind. He was a great inventor of puzzle locks, – puzzle keys, – puzzle cupboards, doors, window frames, and fire-guards. In short there was, as he used to say, no device in the grave; therefore, he was ever starting something new.

Many a mechanic was indebted to him, and many a printer, – for in his church of St. Mildred's, in the Poultry, he was the first to put aside the old English black-letter character of the Bible and Prayer-book, and to assume the type, which holds fast in all good printing-offices to the present day. His sermons were always new, and were the only things in which he might be said to puzzle nobody; for they were plain, simple sermons of solid truth and practical utility.

He loved every soul, and being an acknowledged well-read scholar, he was more popular among his people than anyone who tried to gain popularity. His inventive faculty, had it been in the present age, instead of one hundred years ago, might have procured him the celebrity of a Brunel, and a fortune; but his scheming being always for others, he at last puzzled or puddled his own affairs so as to involve himself and his means in difficulties; and becoming very low spirited, the friend of others had to go and consult Doctor Gambado, and to tell him at once that he came to be a charity patient, for he had not a guinea in the world to give him.

"My dear, Cassock," said the Doctor, "in carrying out your various projects, you have forgotten that learning and wisdom should be joint companions; that they are of little worth when separate, but of inestimable value when united."

"You speak truth, my dear Gambado; and I find, by experience, that a word of wisdom will often go further than a purse full of guineas. Quite right. But you have known me long enough to observe, that I have ever thought the practical part of my profession superior to all the learned part."

"That may be true. But, Doctor, you have not confined either your teaching or your practice to the duties of your profession. I deny not that you have done good to many. You have done me a great deal of good; for, to a certainty, I never knew you preach one thing and practice another. Yet, sometimes, I have known you interest yourself so deeply in imaginary inventions, as to persuade yourself that you were doing good, when you were entirely mistaken."

The Doctor sighed, and simply said, "Gambado, we can never all think alike, any more than we can all be alike. You have done right and made your fortune; while my coat is threadbare, and I begin to want."

"All, believe me, Doctor, is as it should be. You want my advice gratis. I always have had yours gratis, and profitted by it, and loved it. Now, if you will take my advice, I will take yours, and so we shall find mutual accommodation."

"What is your advice?"

"Ride on horseback."

"How can I do so? One hundred pounds in debt, and only one hundred pounds per annum. I cannot starve a year, and ride on horseback too. You give advice I cannot follow."

"I should be sorry to do so. I will write you a prescription, but you must take it yourself to be made up in Lombard-street; and I will write you a note, which you must take to Mr. John Tattsall.

"Just read that paper, while I write the prescription, Doctor Cassock."

"Messrs Gold, Silver, and Company, Bankers, Lombard-street. Pay the bearer £100 on account of,

"Your's, faithfully,

£100.

"Dear John, – Give my old friend, Doctor Cassock, just such a nag as the first I had of you for £50, and I will pay you for it, – for its keep, and for its stable room, – groom and all, – so that the Doctor may always find it saddled and bridled, and have nothing to pay; but set all down to the account of,

"Your's at command,

"Mr. John Tattsall."

A tear rose to the eye of Doctor Cassock, as his friend handed to him both the notes; and he felt that species of choaking sensation, which a good man feels at the unexpected generosity of a real friend.

"Oh, Gambado! what advice can I ever have given to you, worthy such generosity as this?"

"My dear old friend, I will tell you at once that I only follow out the text upon which you preached yesterday:

"'Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, even so do unto them: for this is the law, and the prophets.' I have only done as I would be done by."

The Doctor could only say, "God bless you."

He was soon after enabled to repay the Doctor; for a distant relation left him an independence, a few weeks after; and he became the merriest, if not the wisest, old gentleman of his day.

He could not, even then, leave off the faculty of invention; for he became the noted inventor of a noble puzzle, for Tumble-down horses. He was actually induced to take out a patent for it. He never found any body but himself to use it. He did use it, though in his case it never was wanted, for his horse never tumbled down with him; and he put everyone who saw him riding with it, in such a merry mood, that it was difficult to say which laughed the heartiest, the Doctor himself, or those who beheld him.

CHAPTER XIII

In the month of July, 1780, Doctor Geoffery Gambado was visited, from Birmingham, by the celebrated cutler, Mr. John Green, a gentleman who had become uncommonly dyspeptic from a great excrescence, wart, or wen, that grew out of his right temple, almost covering his ear. It gave him no particular pain, except when he chanced to recline upon that part of his head; yet, as every body looked at it, who came into his shop, and when he appeared at church, or in any public place, he grew uncommonly irritable and nervous. The faculty pronounced it too large to be cut out; and, if the truth be told, Mr. Green himself had such a horror of cutting, that, though a dealer in cutlery and in the very first steel articles, he had an unconquerable distaste to the knife being used upon his own person.

Like many other good kind of men, he dealt in articles that others might use; but he himself had no wish to use them. Those who use the sinews of men, that is, of other men, for their own speculative purposes, and actually abhor the use of the very things they sell, should be careful of the exciting, inciting, or foolish words they utter, lest their language should superinduce others to use those articles in which their traffic is, to their own destruction. Mr. Burton, the great Quaker, was a dealer in Burton ale to a great extent, though he was himself a rigidly abstemious man; yet, as his trade was a good one, and paid well both in the north and south, he could afford to give considerable sums to temperance, or even total abstinence societies, without feeling any loss in his trade. The fact is, until the bright men of traffic shall find out that the ruling principle of their souls is coveteousness, they will never reform the world by a spurious profusion of words and calculations, which have only that one principle to appeal to as their own support.

Mr. Green dealt in swords, and knives and forks, in guns and pistols, in lancets and razors; but he would not suffer the lancet or the knife to touch his own flesh. He was a dealer in weapons, not in blows. A man of peace, yet, like many a man styling himself a friend to humanity, and assuming apostolic liberty, he could find fault with every thing and every body; yet, for trade's sake, he had no objection to the demand for swords, guns, or pistols. He could supply the government with any quantity from his stores in Birmingham.

It must be confessed, that his nervous affection, and melancholy disposition arose more from the wart upon his brow, and all its external irritations, than from any qualms of conscience, arising from any kind of self examination, self accusation, or self condemnation. Few men's consciences so trouble them in the day of their prosperity.

He was recommended to consult the great nervous Doctor of the age, Doctor Gambado. So he went to town, had an interview with the Doctor, described all his agitating ails, and received this advice:

"Ride on horseback."

"But do you think that will do me any good?"

"I am quite sure it will do you some good, – to what extent it is impossible to say, – that must depend upon your patience and perseverance. One thing you can always do, namely, wear a hat that will cover the appearance of the excrescence, and I should not be surprised at its being the means of reducing its size considerably."

Little did the Doctor himself imagine how a cure, by his advice, was completely effected.

"Oh, Doctor!" exclaimed Mr. Green, "what would I not give could it be entirely eradicated by such gentle means as horseback exercise. I am no great rider, but I would ride any distance, and almost any horse, to get rid of this awkward protuberance."

"Well, my dear sir, we will try. Nothing like trying."

"I have heard, Doctor, that you have large stables, and keep horses of all kinds."

The Doctor could not help smiling when he thought of his own fame, as a horse keeper, horse doctor, and horse furnisher.

"I have large stables at the back of my house, and I have three horses of my own; but I never kept one for sale, or sold one myself. I let off my stables to a livery-keeper, who has ten or a dozen horses here, namely to Mr. John Tattsall, who has the credit of being able to suit everyone, only each must pay well to be suited."

"I should not mind what I had to pay, if I could be suited to my mind."

"Let us go and give him a look. If you can at all describe to him the sort of horse you want, I think he will soon be able to accommodate you. You may be sure, if the horse can be had, he will get it for you, if it is not at this time in his stable."

The Doctor's fee was cheerfully paid, £10 10s. neatly wrapt up in tissue paper. He had been told nothing less could be expected from a master cutler.

Mr. Green put on his large slouchy broad-brimmed hat that covered half his face; and the Doctor and his patient were soon in the presence of the great Mr. Tattsall.

"John, this gentleman wants a horse."

"Glad of it, sir. Pray what sort of horse do you want, sir?"

"A good one."

"Every body wants that, and I have a great many good 'uns;' but I like to know the sort of good 'un that a gentleman requires. One man likes a bay, another a gray, another a roan, another a chestnut; but the colour is not always the description. One likes a high action, another a gentle goer, another a thunderer, another a prime bang up; one likes a thorough-bred, another a hunter; some require cobs, others carriage horses, others ladies' horses, others park horses; but if you can describe the sort of animal you want, I can soon tell you if I can suit you."

"I did once see a horse," said Mr. Green, evidently calling up to his recollection days long gone by; "I did once see a horse that made me say to myself, 'There! if ever I ride on horseback, I should like to get just such a horse as that.' It was gentleness and elegance personified. It was a beautiful creature. It turned out its toes, just lifted one foot above the other, with a kind of quick cross action, and then set it down with such elegance and ease, that it seemed to trip along over the ground, exactly like a dancing master. Proud was its bearing, head up, and tail high," and Mr. Green most poetically described it in these words:

"Not a bit of it. I only cut them out of the Poet's Corner, in the Star, and I think the author's name was 'Anon;' but it mattered not as to who was the author, it described the very horse; and I thought then, and I think so still, that by a very short transposition it would suit my wife, and perhaps many others. What think you, sir?"

The Doctor and the dealer could not help laughing.

"I perceive, sir, you are a wag; if you are not a poet. I congratulate you upon having so charming a creature for your wife; and I only wish I may be able to suit you with as good a horse."

"Have you a horse of this description?"

"I have a mare exactly of that kind, and we call her the Daisy Cutter."

"Pray, let me see her."

"Shall I ride her, to show you her qualities?"

"If you please."

"Bring out the Daisy Cutter."

She was brought forth, and John soon set her off to advantage.

"Just the very thing! Just the very thing! Will you send her down to Birmingham? I am not exactly in riding trim, or I would ride her down myself."

The animal was paid for, sent home, and proved to be the very creature suited to Mr. Green's case.

He rode his celebrated Rosenante every evening, and greatly improved in bodily health. He actually became cheerful, and his wife blessed the good Doctor Gambado for having restored her husband to himself again.

Alas! for human infirmities, or for human vagaries! One of the most wonderful complaints of nervous hypochondriacism, was actually cured, together with its cause, by a momentary spree.

One beautiful evening, the little man was riding in the gaiety of his heart toward Aston Hall, visions of future greatness passing before his eyes, when, just upon the greensward in front of the park gates, there lay in his way a great black hog, on the very edge of the road. He thought within himself, that he should like to take a leap smack over the animal's back; and just looking round to see that no eye should behold his spree, he gave his "Rosenante" an unwonted kick with his heels.

She was certainly surprised at her master's unwonted action, and in the spurt of the moment, cocked her tail, lifted her head, and quickened her pace; – but whether she did not see the hog, or could not leap over it if she did, she ran directly over the animal, and fell over it, awaking it in a horrible fright to scamper grunting away; – but, alas! she pitched her own head, and her master's head also, without his hat, upon the hard road. They both went the whole hog. Mr. Green lay senseless on the road, in a pool of blood, arising from the severity of the blow, which tore away the whole scalp of the forehead, together with the entire wart or excrescence which grew thereupon. His Rosenante affrighted, returned to Birmingham, – was soon recognized, – and Mr. Green was soon carried insensible to the hospital. He remained there some days, recovering himself and his senses.

Thus the Daisy Cutter and his vagaries became a proverb in Birmingham. And that which skill could not, or rather through nervous apprehension was not, permitted to try, a black hog, one of the most unlikely things in the world, was instrumental in effecting.

CHAPTER XIV

Did any one ever see a horse without a nose? It cannot, therefore, be meant, at the heading of this chapter, to draw any distinction between a horse with a nose, and a horse without one. We say of a dog, he has got a good nose; that is, if, as hound, pointer, or retriever, he can scent or find his game well. A man we have seen without a nose, and a very painful sight it is to see any feature of the human face in any way distorted; but that such a man can "smell a rat," denotes not that he has a peculiar quality of scent, but that he is a cunning fellow, and can look a little deeper into the artifices of men and their motives than others are aware of. Some men have indeed the smoothest faces, and the simplest manners, and yet retain the utmost cunning, or, if men like it better, wisdom in the world. They can smell a rat, – they can discover a flaw in the indictment, – they can see how an adversary may be overthrown, and can quietly stir up strife and pick the pocket of friend or foe, without of course doing any thing wrong; defrauding any one, or in any way letting the sufferer himself suppose that he is the victim or tool, or goose to be plucked by the cunning craft and subtlety of the deceiver.

If men will ruin themselves, whose fault is it? but, if they do so, there are plenty to rise upon their ruin, and to laugh at their folly. Conscience, they say, makes cowards of all men; but that conscience must be founded, not upon any man's judgement, but their own. There never was any man who did no wrong that could be afflicted by his own conscience; but there never was a man, who by his own unaided judgment, ever did right so perfectly, that his conscience could entirely acquit him of every base and sordid motive. Many may be very highly honourable and upright men, and yet have a great many rogues to deal with, and scarcely know how to deal with them. The best way is to say nothing, but avoid them.

Doctor Gambado had a patient come to him of this kind, and he was a lawyer who stood very, very high in his station one hundred years ago.

He was provokingly ill, – ill in his body, – ill in his mind, – ill at ease with himself, – and dreadfully afflicted with such disturbed thoughts at night, that his sleep went from him, and his conscience had no rest.

It is very provoking to have a troublesome conscience; but it is more provoking still, not to be able to quiet that conscience by any common or uncommon means. Simon Deuce, Esq. who actually attained the eminence of high authority, not in the court of Conscience, or in the court of Equity, but in Chancery, had retired from business and left his son-in-law, Sir Charles Dubious, his house in Billiter-square. He himself took a mansion on Blackheath, and there he sought in vain for that enjoyment of rest and contentment, which good men only inherit in their latter end.

Physic was in vain, – advice, such as most men give, produced no cessation of anxiety. He became moody, sullen, morose, irritable, dogmatic, and all but absolutely irrational. His faculties were piercingly sound, his memory most acute, his legal knowledge clear, and his discovery of transgressions of law were every day displayed before his eyes, from those who rode in a coronetted barouche, to those who rode in a donkey cart. He loved, actually loved to make complaints, and to see the law carried out; and in petty acts of tyranny he was so absolute a persecutor, that he was a terror to all who lived around him.

Generosity was never in his nature, neither did he ever pretend to teach it, or observe its laws. In fact, every one was considered by him as a weak fool, who did either a kind or generous act, beyond the positive obligation of the law.

What happiness could such a man have in his retirement? His great happiness was the accumulation of money in the funds, and these occasioned him a momentary excitement. His friend, Samuel Ryecross, of Ryecross-house, Blackheath, advised him to consult Doctor Gambado.

"Do you mean Gambado, the horse dealer?"

"He is not a horse dealer."

"I say he is a horse dealer, and ought to take out a licence for horse dealing. He does not do so, and I have half a mind to have him up, and bring him into court for cheating, defrauding, and robbing the government."

"I think you must have been misinformed. I believe he is really a very clever, honest man, and gives good sound practical advice to all his patients."

"Yes, so I have heard; and all of it is 'Ride on horseback.' If I went to consult him, I should only get that advice. I know it before hand, and have no inclination to throw away a guinea for it."

"But is it bad advice in your case? would it not do you good to try it? Why, if you know his remedy, do you not pursue it?"

"Because I do not think it would do me any good."

"Well, you have tried a great many doctors. Let me drive you in my phaeton to Bread-street, and let us hear what the Doctor says."

"Will you pay the Doctor?"

"Yes, if you will follow his advice."

"Done, we will go."

They did go.

The Doctor knew the man he had to deal with, and yet he had confidence in the horseback exercise as the best cure for him, and he told him so.

"Have you got a horse that would suit me?"

"There is a fine strong horse in my stables, that I think would suit you."

"May we go and look at him?"

"I will go with you."

Samuel Ryecross was rather surprised; but Simon Deuce gave him a look, as much as to say, 'I told you he was a horse dealer.'

When they went to the stables, John Tattsall was there himself, and not being known to either of the gentlemen, they both supposed him to be the groom in the employ of Doctor Gambado.

"John, I have brought a customer to look at the great brown horse. Is he at home?"

"He is, sir; I will lead him out."

He led him out, – rode him, – and Mr. Deuce asked the Doctor what his price was. The Doctor said, "John, what did you say the horse was worth?"

"Ninety guineas, sir, and not a farthing less. I would not let the gentleman have him for one guinea less."

"Will you order him to be sent to my house on Blackheath?"

"Shall I ride him there now, and bring back your cheque?" said John Tattsall.

"You may, if you please, my man."

John bowed, and after ascertaining the name of the abode, Billiter house, Blackheath, he rode off.

"In what name, Doctor, shall I write the cheque?" for, presuming that the Doctor was not professionally a horse dealer, though he considered that he had bought the horse of him, he had a mind to see if he shrunk at all from the responsibility.

The Doctor replied, "In the name of the very man who delivers him, John Tattsall; and I hope the horse will suit you, sir, and do you good."

"There," said Mr. Deuce to his friend Ryecross, "what say you now to the Doctor dealer? hey! Is not my deal with him this day sufficient to convict him before any bench of Magistrates in all the counties of England. If I do not take the shine out of this Doctor Gambado, then say that Simon Deuce knows nothing of the law."

When they got home, the horse had arrived.

The cheque was written:

"Pay John Tattsall," &c. &c.

John touched his hat, walked off with his money, took a cab to Lombard-street, got the cheque cashed; and called and thanked the Doctor for his recommendation.

The very next day, the Doctor received a summons to answer the charge of being a horse dealer without a licence for that purpose. The suit was preferred in the name of Deuce v. Gambado.

Of course, all these things are put into regular process of law, with which we shall not entertain the public. In due time, the case came on in the proper court, and Mr. Deuce swore that he bought such a horse of Doctor Gambado, and that the Doctor's servant, John Tattsall, delivered the horse at Billiter-house, Blackheath. Samuel Ryecross was witness to the transaction. The cheque was produced in court, and Mr. Deuce was lauded very highly for his sense of justice in not allowing the government to be defrauded, and more in not allowing that highly respectable profession of M.D. F.R.S. to be a covering to the tricks and degradation of a horse dealer without a licence.