CHAPTER I.
_Gambado himself seeing the world in a six miles' tour._
It is time we should speak something of this celebrated person, andaccount for his present position and appearance. He is very unlike anymodern physician. A hundred years ago, however, we have no doubt thatsuch was a fac-simile of this noble specimen of an equestrian medicalproficient. It is a hundred years ago since the original sketch of himwas made, which we have endeavoured to copy. We have to account forfinding him in such a position. First, Who was he? What was he? Wheredid he live? What did he do? And how came he into notice at all?
Most men are born somewhere! and except they become noted for somethingthey have done, it is very seldom that any inquiry is made about them atall. Neither the place of their birth, nor the locale of their fame, orname, or habitation, of their death, or marriage, is made of any momentwhatsoever.
Alas! those who are most ambitious of fame, seldom get it whilst theylive; and very few, ever, as literary men, are exalted to a title, likeLord Macaulay; whilst those often feel they are praised for what theyown they do not deserve, are more humbled by their reputation, than theyare exalted.
It was said to Gambado, in the day of his greatest reputation, "We willcertainly have you in Westminster Abbey?"
"Thank you, my dear fellow," was his reply; "I would rather eat a muttonchop with you at the Mermaid Tavern, in the street I was born in, thanlie along with John Milton, (who was born in the next street to mine),or with any of those worthies, Shakspeare, Raleigh, or Ben Jonson; whocan no longer eat a mutton chop with us at their old Tavern:
"'I seek no fame, I want no name, My bread in Bread-street is: Gambado has sufficient fame; This is sufficient bliss!'"
He was born in Bread-street, in Cheapside: and in the first year of thereign of George the Third, A.D. 1760, he was in full practice andcelebrity, and could not be less than forty years of age. As to whom hemarried, and what became of his wife and one lovely daughter, we knownot. They appear conspicuously only in the last pages of this narrative,and were evidently in the enjoyment of all their great master'sreputation, as well as in the keeping up with him in partaking of hisown favourite panacea for all complaints, viz.--the riding on horseback.
But how came he to take up this exercise? to stick to it? and torecommend it as he did upon every occasion? Simply, as he told everyone, because he found in it a sure and certain remedy for that dreadfulnervous disease, commonly known by the name of the "Blue Devils."
Few things gave greater offence in that day to the Faculty, than Dr.Gambado's system of practice. He prescribed very little, if any,medicine: he certainly gave none to those whom he considered did notrequire it. He knew the power of a strong mind over a weak body, andwhat too great fatigue of either would produce. He knew well, moreover,the danger of entertaining too much imagination upon any complaint. Hewas acknowledged by all to be well versed in the physical constructionof the human frame; and especially of that most complicated portion, thenervous system, to which he had paid such scientific attention that his_Vocabulary of Nervous Constitutions_ was his great work, that wonfor him much scientific fame, and got him the honour of being electedF.R.S. before he attained such practical success as made his fortune. Hedid make a great fortune; and he was honest enough to confess that heowed the enjoyment of it, if not the possession of it, entirely to aHorse-dealer.
He was, himself, at one period of his life, so completely prostrated inhis own nervous system, that, from the crown of his head to the sole ofhis feet, he was completely unstrung. He was constantly in the habit ofgoing to church with his wife and daughter, at St. Stephen's, Walbrook,one of Sir Christopher Wren's most beautiful specimens of architecture;but in his depression he shunned the company of those he loved best onearth, and almost forsook his God and his duty, imagining himselftotally forsaken of Him and every friend. He had no pleasure in anything. His very profession was a burthen to him, and night and day hedid nothing but mope. What would have become of him, his wife anddaughter, his practice, his home, and his society, had he not, as heused to say, met with an angel, in the shape of a horse-dealer?
He was strolling, one evening, in a very melancholy mood, downFriday-street, not far from his own home, as he passed by the liverystables of John _Tattsall_, as the name was then spelt. John knew thedoctor, and capped him with "A beautiful evening, sir."
The Doctor stopped, and looking very woefully in his face, said, "Yes,John, very beautiful to those who are well."
"Yes sir, and to those who are sick, too; and I wish they could enjoyit."
"John, I am very ill myself, and have been so for some time. I shall notwrite many more prescriptions!"
"I hope you won't, sir; I hope you won't."
"Why so, John? why so?"
"Because you gentlemen prescribe so much advice, and so seldom followany good advice yourselves, that you are sure to die sooner than anyother men. You all know too much about other people, and very littleabout yourselves."
"You are a blunt fellow, John; but I do not like you the less for that.You once consulted me, did you not?"
"Yes, sir, and you told me the truth; and I liked you all the better forit. You told me plainly there was nothing the matter with me. 'Go home,'you said, 'drink a glass of cold water just before you get into bed; andif that do not do you more good than any medicine I can give you, thencome to me again, bring me another guinea, and I will give you the sameadvice.' I did as you advised, and it was the best cold water cure thatever was effected: I have never been ill since. But, Doctor, I haveheard that you are out of sorts. One good turn deserves another, and ifyou will follow my advice, only for one week, you shall be a differentman to what you now are. You shall soon earn your hundreds; and onlygive me one guinea in the hundred, and you will make my fortune and yourown too."
"What is your advice? I will agree to the terms."
"Well, Doctor, let me tell you the truth. You have done toomuch,--studied too much,--wrote too much,--thought too much,--and haveoverdone everything, and now find you can do nothing. You are fastsinking into that lapsed condition in which you will soon become aninmate of Bedlam, if you go on as you have done of late. You growenormously fat, and are getting like the pig in my stye, and will soonbe snoring, snoring, snoring, all day long, a plague to yourself andeveryone else. If you do not follow my advice, you will be a dead manbefore you ever eat another Christmas turkey."
"What is it, John?"
"Ride out six miles on horseback, every morning at six o'clock,--and sixmiles back again,--and that for six days; and if, at the end of thattime, your lethargic state is not improved, then say, John Tattsall is agood-for-nothing humbug, and deserves to be well horsewhipped."
"But, John, I never rode on horseback in my life: never was in the habitof it. I do not think I ever could."
"_Master, you must try, if you would not die._"
Now the Doctor did not like the thought of dying, though he had seen somuch of it when it touched others. A strange kind of nervous sensationran through him,--not through his veins, for he was one who wroteagainst "vasicular nerves,"--but it ran through his system, as hethought of John's words, "_Master, you must try, if you would not die._"
"Well John,--I will try,--but you must teach me!" "Come, master, that'sright; nothing like trying to amend our ways before it's too late, asgood Doctor Cassock said. So a good beginning, well followed up, and,barring accident, I see no reason, Doctor, why you should not live forforty years longer. You know well, that a man overworked, like any otheranimal, is soon worn out; and a man who does no work, very soon dies.Just come and look at a nice little Norway cob I have in my stable;quiet and gentle as a lamb. A very few turns down my ride, will give youa seat in the saddle, and you shall be again a happy man."
The Doctor got into the saddle that very evening; and nobody saw him,but John; and if the stable boys peeped out and smiled, they got alittle back-handed tip with their master's whip, and were glad to hidetheir diminished head
s in the straw. He went home a little morecheerful; played a game of backgammon with his wife, and kissed thecheek of his only child Kate, and seemed a little better. To thesurprise of his family, he ordered hot water into his dressing-room, athalf-past five in the morning; and, of course, it was thought he wasgoing to take a journey. He did so; but when he went out, he said, "Ishall breakfast at half-past eight o'clock."
So the Doctor took a six miles' tour every morning, for six days. Heimproved daily; and though he rode very awkwardly at first, holding onby the reins, and keeping his brow bent and his eye intent upon theNorway Cob's ears, his daily exercise did him a world of good; andbefore the week was out, he began to find himself a different creature.At the end of the week, he gave John Tattsall fifty guineas for the Cob;and a friendship, founded upon mutual accommodation, subsisted betweenthem, to the day of their deaths.
So was a horse-dealer made an angel or messenger of health to themournful spirit or unstrung nerves of Doctor Geoffery Gambado. He hadthe honesty to own it. The Doctor perfectly recovered his right mind andbodily health; and, like a wise man, who well knows that the same thingwhich does him good may do others the same, he took more patients toJohn Tattsall's livery stables than he ever sent to the sea side, toMadeira, to Buxton, or to Margate, Ramsgate, or any other gatewhatsoever. John kept horses to suit all comers and all customers, andfound Doctor Gambado the most grateful of all, because he always ownedthat, beneath a good Providence, he did him great good.
The Doctor's fame rapidly increased with the increase of his health. Hesoon became the very first Physician in nervous complaints. He knew thecause of nervous degeneracy,--no man better. He recommended Tattsall toall such patients as he found likely to be benefitted by him; and theywere not a few. His letters, if they could be collected, would be foundas direct to the point as the Wellington despatches.
"John,--I want just such a horse as cured me, to cure an old fool like myself.
Yours, &c.--GAMBADO."
John, like a well-tutored chemist, understood the peculiar character ofthe Doctor's prescriptions, which, unlike a quack's, were generallywritten in a plain, legible hand, without any _ad captandum_ humbug.John had horses from twenty-five to five-hundred guineas each.
But as the Doctor's fame increased, so, it might be truly said, thefollies of "hypochondriacism" began to be exposed. People, andespecially those of the Great Faculty, were jealous of the Doctor'sreputation. It is always a sign of a little mind to be envious, orjealous of another man's celebrity. Take it for granted, when you hear aman speak slightingly of another, set that man down, whoever he is, fora conceited ass himself, or an ambitious, if not an envious and wretchedman. Better speak nothing, than speak evil of another; better correct anevil thought, than have to repent of an evil act. Some called the Doctora mere visionary practitioner, or a mere veterinary surgeon, or a quack,or anything else. But he kept on his course. We have selected a few ofthe strange cases that came before him a hundred years ago.
What changes in a hundred years! What fashions, and what dress! What troubles, woes, and bloody tears, The world must now confess!
Avoid them all,--seek peace and love,-- Be humble and be wise; May this poor book some comfort prove To friends, and enemies.