Geoffery Gambado

Never, however, was Deuce more confounded in all his life, than by the cross examination of Serjeant Sharp.

"Pray, sir, may I ask – Did you go to consult Doctor Gambado for any complaint?"

"I went purposely, by the advice of my friend, Samuel Ryecross."

"For what purpose, Mr. Deuce?"

"To consult him."

"Were you ill at that time?"

"Decidedly not well."

"May I ask the nature of the complaint for which you consulted so eminent a physician as Doctor Gambado?"

Mr. Deuce hesitated.

"I have no desire to know more of the complaint than you may think right to tell us; but all who have heard of Doctor Gambado's patients, know well that they are mostly afflicted with nervous depression. May I ask if such was your case?"

"Yes, it was."

"You were deranged, sir; were you not?"

Mr. Deuce, with great vehemence, "No more deranged, sir, than you are."

"Do not be angry, sir, when I used the term deranged. I meant that your system was a little deranged, disorganized, or so out of sorts, as to produce a kind of physical disarrangement of the organs leading to the brain, so as to create unpleasant sensations, dyspeptic habits, sleepless nights, and a little of that irritability which we have just seen, so as to render you a little impulsive, and not unlikely to be mistaken."

Deuce did not like this at all, but he could not help saying

"It might be so."

"Oh! It might be so! Now, Mr. Deuce, I must put rather a strong question to you:

"Did you ever accuse Doctor Gambado of being a horse dealer?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"Not that you are aware of! Now, sir, I must get you to tax your memory, and I ask you plainly, did you not go on purpose to trap Doctor Gambado into the selling you a horse, that you might bring him into a court of justice?"

Mr. Deuce paused. He did not reply. He seemed nervous.

"Pray, sir, take your time. You are a member of the law, you know the law, and the usages of a court of justice; and I am sure you will give us a plain, straightforward answer."

"I did not go exactly with that intention. My friend, Mr. Ryecross, persuaded me to consult him about myself."

"Now, sir, I shall cross-examine your friend, Mr. Ryecross. Did you or did you not, at the very time that you went to consult this eminent physician, say to your friend, that he, meaning Doctor Gambado, was a horse dealer, and not a physician?"

"I might have so said."

"Pray, sir, do you understand the law of libel? I shall strongly recommend my client, let the result of this action be what it may, to bring an action against you, sir, for one of the grossest acts of libellous intention this court has ever heard of; and, if I mistake not the judgement this day will decide, whether a gentleman like yourself is to utter a libel of a ruinous tendency to so high a professional man, with impunity.

"Then you did say he was a horse dealer?"

"Yes, I did."

"Pray, sir, had you any previous acquaintance with Doctor Gambado?"

"None whatever."

"Then, I presume you acted in this manner entirely upon hearsay evidence?"

"I certainly did."

"You had no quarrel with Doctor Gambado?"

"None whatever."

"Was it a sense of justice to your country, that entirely induced you to try and smell a rat in this gentleman's character?"

"It was."

"And on that account you laid this information against him?"

"I did."

"It was not from any morbid indulgence of any splenetic humour with which you were at that time afflicted, that induced you to bring this action?"

"Oh, dear, no!"

"I may say then, sir, you considered it entirely pro bono publico?"

"Quite so."

"You have told the court, sir, that you purchased the horse of Doctor Gambado?"

"I did so certainly."

"You are sure he sold it to you?"

"I am quite sure."

"Pray, sir, did you ask him, if the horse was his that you bought?"

"I asked him if he had any horse that would suit me."

"What was his reply?"

"To the best of my knowledge, it was that he had one in his stables that would suit me."

"Now, sir, did he say, that he had a horse in his stables that would suit you?"

"I understood him so."

"Pray, Mr. Deuce, be sure; because I should be sorry to convict you of a wilful and direct falsehood. I pray you to be sure. Did he say he had a horse that would suit you? or did he say, there was a horse in his stables that would suit you?"

"It never struck me before, – he might certainly say, there was a horse; but I took him to mean, that he had one that he could sell me."

"Come, sir, I am very glad to find that you have a disposition to correct the evidence you have given for the prosecution. You have sufficient legal acumen to distinguish between a man saying, there is such a horse, and I have such a horse; the latter sentence would go to identify the ownership of the horse, or a declaration to that effect."

"He might then say, there was a horse in his stable?"

"Well, I think he did say so."

"And you did not ask whether the horse was his or not?"

"I did not."

Let Mr. Samuel Ryecross be called.

"You are the friend of the last witness, – are you not?"

"I am."

"You have known him for some years?"

"I have."

"Did you persuade him to consult Doctor Gambado?"

"I did."

"Upon what grounds?"

"Because of his dyspeptic habits."

"Did they not almost amount to monomania?"

"I considered that at times they did."

"Was he not very splenetic?"

"Very."

"I ask you, if he has not, in the neighbourhood of Blackheath, the character of being very litigious?"

"He is very unpopular."

"He quarrels with everybody?"

"He makes himself conspicuous for finding fault with all transgressors of the law."

"Is he not very angry?"

"He is very easily provoked."

"Now, sir, I think, when you proposed to consult Doctor Gambado, that he objected?"

"He did so."

"Upon what grounds?"

"Upon grounds that would, if true, disqualify any medical man, for professional consistency."

"What were these grounds?"

"He said he was a mere horse dealer, – that he would give him advice to ride on horseback, and would sell him a horse to do so."

"Did you believe his assertion?"

"No. I not only doubted it; but stoutly contradicted it."

"You had a better opinion of Doctor Gambado?"

"I had."

"Now, sir, did not your friend actually say to you, that he would have the fellow up, meaning Doctor Gambado, for being a horse dealer without a licence?"

"He did."

"Did he not go to the Doctor with that intent?"

"I verily believe he did; but I certainly did not accompany him with any such intent."

"You recommended him purely for his health?"

"I did; and, moreover, I paid the Doctor's fee, upon the promise that he would follow the Doctor's advice."

"Are Mr. Deuce's habits penurious?"

"Extremely so."

"Then how comes he to be so litigious?"

"He finds that costs him very little, if any thing in the end."

"He considers, then, in this case, that my client will be mulcted in costs?"

"I have no doubt he does."

"Were you present when he consulted Doctor Gambado?"

"I was."

"What was his advice?"

"Ride on horseback."

"Did you consider that good advice?"

"I did."

"What question did your friend put to the Doctor about the horse?"

"He asked him, 'Have you got a horse that will suit me?'"

"What was his reply?"

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

"Are you sure that was his reply?"

"Quite sure."

"Did you consider that reply as affixing the ownership of the horse to himself?"

"I confess that I did so."

"Did you see any triumphant glance, or recognition of Mr. Deuce's sagacity, at having fulfilled the declaration of the accuser, that he was a horse dealer?"

"Yes, I did."

"Did you think the horse was the Doctor's own?"

"I own, I did."

"Did you ask him if the horse was his?"

"No, I did not. I concluded it was so."

"Did you see the horse sold?"

"I did."

"Who do you consider sold the horse?

"I considered, to my great surprise, that Doctor Gambado sold the horse."

"Then you altered your opinion of the Doctor."

"I did so, considerably."

"Was your friend very warm upon the subject of the Doctor's horse dealing?"

"Very."

"Did you know of his resolution to bring this action?"

"I fully considered he would do so."

Mr. John Tattsall was then called.

"You are a horse dealer?"

"I am."

"You know both the plantiff and defendant?"

"I know the former, from having sold him a horse, have known the latter many years."

"Pray, sir, do you hire Doctor Gambado's stables?"

"I hire stables of Doctor Gambado."

"How far from your own stables?"

"The back premises of each join."

"How long have you hired the Doctor's stables?"

"Fifteen years."

"How many horses do you generally keep there?"

"Ten, twelve, fourteen, and sometimes sixteen horses."

"Pray, are you in partnership with Doctor Gambado?"

"No, I am not."

"Has he any share in your business?"

"None whatsoever."

"Has he any horses?"

"Three of his own."

"In a separate stable?"

"In a stable adjoining to those I hire of him."

"To your knowledge, did the Doctor ever sell a horse?"

"Never."

"Has he any horses to sell?"

"None."

"You positively affirm upon oath that the Doctor is not a horse dealer?"

"I swear it."

"Did he ever sell a horse for you?"

"Never."

"Did you ever authorize him to sell a horse for you?"

"Never."

"Pray was the horse that the plantiff, Mr. Deuce, bought, your property or the Doctor's?"

"Mine."

"Did the Doctor give the price of the horse to the gentleman, or did you?"

"I did, – the Doctor asked me what I had said was the price of the horse, and I told him, – and I told the gentleman I would not take one guinea less for him than ninety guineas."

"Then, really and truly, you took the money for your own horse, kept it, and did not give the Doctor a farthing?"

"I gave him nothing but 'Thank you, Doctor, for introducing to me a customer.'"

"Had the Doctor seen the horse before?"

"Frequently, and admired him for the strength of his limbs, and for his proportions."

"Do you remember what he said, when he brought the gentleman into your or his yard?"

"Yes. 'John, I've brought a customer.'"

"You knew what that meant?"

"Of course I did, and I led out the brown horse myself, and paced him, sold him, took the money; the cheque is, I suppose, in court: it was written for me, and I had no idea the horse was sold by anybody but me, to whom it belonged."

At this stage of the proceedings the solicitor for the prosecution intimated that his client wished to withdraw his case.

Serjeant Sharpe said, "He hoped his Honour would direct a verdict for the defendant, his client; and that the world would see what a shameful action it had been. He told the solicitor for the prosecution that he was glad that his client felt ashamed of himself. He could never make him amends for what he had done; that it was disgraceful in the extreme to seek the advice of so good a man, and to treat him in the way he had done. He was quite sure that he would shortly have an increase of his malady, and that even his friend, Mr. Ryecross, would no longer pity him."

The judge dismissed the case, with a high compliment to Doctor Gambado, and with full costs to be paid into court by Mr. Deuce.

This action had some good effect upon this unhappy man, though it did not cure him of hypochondriacism. He rode out on horseback – on his new horse; – but whenever that horse came to the sign of the Red Cross, on Blackheath, directly opposite the four cross ways, he would lift up his nose, stand stockstill, and as if he would have his rider see the cross, and think upon it, he would not be persuaded to move. In vain did the lawyer tug at him, chuck his bridle, kick his sides, and use the most violent gesticulations to get him on. Whether he had a nose for the stables, or had been accustomed to Blackheath Red Cross on former days, he certainly had a nose, and until some one gently led him from the spot he would never be compelled to leave it. So he went by the name of Old Deuce's Horse, or, The Horse with a Nose.

Hast thou a nose to smell a rat?Beware thou get not tit for tat.'Tis better far to keep thy nose,Than have it split by angry foes.Avoiding strife, go, follow good,No harm will reach thee in such mood.

CHAPTER XV

Me, my Wife, and Daughter

Who can look upon the comfortable enjoyment of good and happy people, in their latter days, and not delight to see them? Such a picture as this, drawn originally by Henry Bunbury, Esq. and meant to convey a picture of domestic felicity in his day, would probably produce excessive ridicule if seen in these fast days. If, now, such a sight were seen in Rotten-row, however pleasing to the philanthropist, it would be called an affectation of absurdity. Yet Doctor Gambado, to the last year of his life, rode in such felicity that he was the only man in his profession that exactly practised the advice he gave. A contrast to everything in the present day, – we say to everything like modern enjoyment.

One hundred years ago, there were no puffing steam engines, drawing thousands, with the rapidity of lightning, to Brighton, Ramsgate, Margate, and Folkestone. Men all tell us, that domestic felicity is the same. We do not doubt it; but we find very few, very few, indeed, so blest with content, and so happy in their mutual society, as our respected friend, when, with his wife and daughter by his side, he rode a jog trot at the seaside, or the hillside, or along the fashionable road of life.

The Doctor had toiled through good report and evil report, and, like a prudent wise man, provided the best he could for his own. He kept up his house in Bread-street, though he declined practice altogether, that is, for pecuniary profit.

I question whether the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals would not have considered this an overloaded beast; but there was no such society in existence then. The weary camel, toiling over the waste, might be overloaded; but he would let his driver know how much he would carry. John Tattsall furnished his good friend, the Doctor, with elephantine horses, stout, stiff, strong, bony and sinewy; he was, without the aid of Doctor Cassock, the inventor of a wicker pannier of such ample dimensions, as to afford the most easy and convenient chair for each of the ladies, without exposing feet or ancles, or incommoding boots or dress. Now, indeed, ladies who travel in first-class carriages by rail, find the seats too narrow and almost destructive to their crinoline.

Hurrah for good people! Hurrah for happy people, wherever we can find them! Hurrah for the man who never allows his domestic felicity to be disturbed by any outward circumstances, – let his condition of life be among the highest or the lowest in the land! Hurrah for him who has the least ambition to gratify, except that of doing good to his neighbour! Hurrah for a grateful heart wherever it can be found! But whilst we thus laud the domestic comfort of real good people, let us not forget that they must have passed through many troubles and trials to gain that peace and serenity of mind, which our happy trio, Geoffery Gambado, his wife, and daughter, enjoyed. They had no affected display of superior accomplishments to delight society, and had no flattering encomiums passed upon them for their gentility. They were gentle, well informed, quiet, loveable people. They spoke that which they considered right, and always did the right thing as it ought to be done. The law which their good and excellent pastor taught them, they never departed from, viz. "That of doing to others, as they would others should do to them."

They kept the holiest law of true goodness, Love one another, in its perfect sense.

Doctor Gambado well knew who gave him a wife; and when he married, he resolved to perform the solemn vow he then made, and he kept his vow, – so did his wife her's, – and they were as happy a couple as could well be seen or known upon the face of the earth.

In his time, God's blessing was sought to enable him to keep his vow. There was no law then permitting men to go and be married without any asking of God's blessing upon such a step. Marriage was not then degraded into the unholy thing it is now, and conscience merely made to answer to a legal contract, which difference of opinion, or quarrels, or contrariety of disposition, may get dissolved in a divorce court. "For better for worse, for richer for poorer, till death us do part," is no longer the sole and solemn bond of matrimony. But the Doctor was a Christian in the noblest sense, and in domestic life his religion was his conscience, his wisdom, and his happiness. As little parade as man could make of outward profession was his study, but his heart was in the right place.

Where that is the case, ignorance and presumption, imposition and folly, are unknown. Men may ridicule simplicity of life and manners; but there is an honesty of heart superior to all affectation, which need never be afraid.

The troubles of life are always borne well by those who observe the law of God; and those who do not, never get any real release from them. They may get riches; they may hide the blush of coveteousness; but they have very little real comfort within themselves, because of the very changes which they themselves and all things around them undergo.

Doctor Gambado enjoyed every change of life, and lost no good condition either. He could look upon the calm sea with delight, and with the serenity of one who had not lived in vain. He always entertained the kindliest feelings of a brother for his sincere friend, Doctor Cassock, who used to drop in with any new number of the Spectator, and enjoy it. The domestic evenings spent in classical friendship are among the purest scholastic as well as domestic enjoyments.

Envy he had none, and therefore was most to be envied of those who, like Mr. Deuce, or anyone else, never enjoyed the happiness of another. Promote the welfare of another, and you will find your own comfort increased. Detract from another, and nothing but envy will be your increase.

The object with which this book was begun, and is finished, is to let you see, reader, how to make something out of that which might to many appear worse than nothing.

Suppose that sixteen drawings of this character were given you, with nothing but the heading of each chapter written under them, – would you have made out a more comprehensive description of the probability of their truth? There is some profit in the labour, if your heart is in any way cheered by beholding the ingenuity of man.

Works of art, or works of great expense, or great works of any kind, the Author makes no kind of pretence to perform; yet, if you are pleased with his ingenuity, grudge not a helping hand at any time to reward industry.

Ah! little thought Gambado, in his day,As on he passed through life's uneven way,How many toils and troubles he would scan,Before he reached the common age of man!Yet on he went; and as his years declined,And quietude and peace becalmed his mind,He felt and owned, no greater bliss could beThan resignation for Eternity."Ah!" he would say, "behold, dear wife, yon sea,Each wave seems striving for celebrity!It rolls along until it reach the shore,Then bursts in froth, – and then is seen no more!Still, on and on succeeding waves advance,And thus perpetual motion would enhance.'Tis so with mortals striving on and on,They reach the shore, – and all their toil is gone.How oft yon waves, by angry tempests tost,Like human passions, are in fury lost;Dash'd on the rocks, their crested pride, in foamSprays into atoms ere it finds a home."So mighty strugglers after this world's fame,Find all their fury perish with their name.'Tis seldom known that speculators thrive,Or long their great inventions may outlive.Others come on, – no end of new things known,One age will praise, – the next, the praise disown.Feathers you wear, – but feathers blown away,Will be succeeded by some new display.We ride on horseback, and survey the tide, —The age will come, that horses none will ride;The age will be that coaches will no moreBe seen with horses, two, or three, or four;But on will pass, and leave no other trace,Than iron's friction from a rapid pace.What would Gambado think, if he could seeHis own predictions made a verity?Who can predict one single year's advance?Truth is so strange it seems a day's romance.Things that last year were mighty, – are all gone;Works of great hope, – are perished and undone.Iron is moulded by the human hand;And wooden walls no more the seas command.All would be great, be rich, and all invent,But few there are, who are at all content.With lightning speed intelligence conveyedFrom land to land, the iron rails are laid, —And 'neath the ocean's deep united cords,Convey the merchant's or the prince's words.But mostly all, by sea, or land, or train,Is that the traffickers may get their gain.The greatest gain, that ever man could get,Is sweet contentment after every fret.When projects are completed, all is vain,For other projects follow in their train;Old age comes on, – all projects quickly cease, —Happy are they who live and die in peace.Gambado did so: Reader, may thy fameRest with content on One Blest, Holy Name!THE END