style="font-size:15px;"> So was a horse-dealer made an angel or messenger of health to the mournful spirit or unstrung nerves of Doctor Geoffery Gambado. He had the honesty to own it. The Doctor perfectly recovered his right mind and bodily health; and, like a wise man, who well knows that the same thing which does him good may do others the same, he took more patients to John Tattsall's livery stables than he ever sent to the sea side, to Madeira, to Buxton, or to Margate, Ramsgate, or any other gate whatsoever. John kept horses to suit all comers and all customers, and found Doctor Gambado the most grateful of all, because he always owned that, beneath a good Providence, he did him great good.
The Doctor's fame rapidly increased with the increase of his health. He soon became the very first Physician in nervous complaints. He knew the cause of nervous degeneracy, – no man better. He recommended Tattsall to all such patients as he found likely to be benefitted by him; and they were not a few. His letters, if they could be collected, would be found as 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.
John, like a well-tutored chemist, understood the peculiar character of the Doctor's prescriptions, which, unlike a quack's, were generally written 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, the follies of "hypochondriacism" began to be exposed. People, and especially those of the Great Faculty, were jealous of the Doctor's reputation. It is always a sign of a little mind to be envious, or jealous of another man's celebrity. Take it for granted, when you hear a man speak slightingly of another, set that man down, whoever he is, for a conceited ass himself, or an ambitious, if not an envious and wretched man. Better speak nothing, than speak evil of another; better correct an evil thought, than have to repent of an evil act. Some called the Doctor a 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 of the 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.
CHAPTER II
It was not long before the Doctor received a visit from an old friend; one, who had, in younger days, been a student in the same school, and entered into practice about the same time. The servant introduced Doctor Bull, – yes, Doctor John Bull, or, more properly styled, John Bull, Esq. M.D. – but not F.R.S. No, Doctor Bull had been more ambitious of practising, than of obtaining an empty name. He was a steady, well-to-do little man, and never lost a patient from any want of good manners or attention. He had certainly given much thought to the subject of Hydrophobia, and was considered no mean authority in the treatment of cases pronounced very malignant; but he by no means confined his abilities to that one branch of human misfortune.
He advised well with the Surgeons, and, generally, approved their treatment; but suggested frequently that judicious change which the nature of the case required. This he did in so gentlemanly and considerate a manner, that he was sure to be consulted by the very next patient of the same Surgeon.
In this way, he made many friends, lost very few, and found himself in the most affluent circumstances from very extensive practice. But, somehow, he overworked himself, and got into a very irritable, and at the same time desponding, tone. Prosperity tries men very often more severely than adversity.
The Doctor, as long as he had his way to make in the world, was more attentive to others, and thought less about his own ails than he did about others. Now that he had accumulated money, he began to think of investments, and how he should place to the best account his accumulations.
He also thought a little more of style, equipage, choice society, and innumerable things, to which his life had been hitherto a stranger. He began to think and to care more about himself, than he did about any body else. He became of some consequence in his neighbourhood, and expected every one to bow to him, and to treat him as a monied man. In short, from a pure philanthropist, he became almost a misanthrope.
He began to torment himself about every thing and every body. Nothing pleased him, – his wife and children disturbed him, – he was downright cross to them. And the same man, who once never came into his house without a cheerful smile for every one in it, now took no notice of anyone, except it were to find fault, and to let out words which in his sober senses he would be shocked to hear any other person make use of.
"My dear, I am sure you are not well," said Mrs. Bull, to him one day, "I am sure you are not well."
"I could have told you that," was the reply.
"Do take a little change."
"Pish! change! what change? I am changing, and shall soon make some great change, if things go on as they do in this house."
"Is anything wrong, my dear?"
"Yes, everything is wrong, – nothing is right, – all things are out of order, – and everything wants a change."
"Well, my dear, I think, if we took a house for three months at Brighton, it would do us all good."
"What good, madam? And who is to pay for it? What will become of my patients? and how am I to support my family? Brighton indeed! No, no! If I cannot be better without going to Brighton, I had better decline at home! Who is to look after my patients?"
"Why, there is Doctor Goodfellow, who I am sure you admire. He will attend any of your patients for you. Do, my dear, have a little compassion upon yourself."
"And, I suppose, upon you too; upon Kitty as well; upon Mary, Patty, and little Johnny; servants and all, – Heigh!"
"If you please, my dear, even so, for you have not had much compassion upon any of us lately; and a change towards us all would be very agreeable."
A good wife has nothing to fear, and especially when she knows that she so loves her husband as to desire his health above all things else, whether of body, mind, or spirit. If a wife may not expostulate with her husband, who may? And notwithstanding all his perverseness, she had her own way with him, because she felt it was right.
To Brighton they all went; but the fancy had taken too strong hold upon Doctor Bull, to let him rest. He worried himself because he was away from London, – he worried himself about the state of his patients, – the price of stocks, – the state of his own pulse, tongue, eyes, and lungs, – till he could endure himself no longer.
"I must go and see my old friend Gambado; I know he is a clever man, and has paid great attention to the nervous system, I must go and see him. He ordered his chariot, and drove to Bread-street; sent in his card, and was very soon shaking hands with his quondam friend Doctor Gambado.
"Bull, I am glad to see you! You are not come to consult me professionally about yourself, I hope?"
"I am, though, and about nobody else."
"Then what's the matter with you?"
"Dispeptic."
