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.