DOCTOR GIBBS, alias “HUCK’N!”
For the Table Book.
Dr. Gibbs, commonly called “Huck’n!” was an extraordinary individual, who followed the profession of an itinerary veterinary surgeon in the west of England. His ways were different from his neighbours, and his appearance was so singular, that a stranger might have taken him for a tramping tinker. Like Morland, he had an unfortunate predilection for “signs,” under whose influence he was generally to be found. He would “keep it up to the last,” with his last shilling; and, like the wit in doctor Kitchiner’s converzaziones, he would “come at seven and go it at eleven.” To love for his profession, he added a love for old pastimes, customs, and revelries. He was a man, in the fullest extent of the word, a lover of his country—zealous in his friendships, he exercised the virtues of humanity, by aiding and even feeding those who were in severe distress. He spent much, for his means were considerable—they were derived from his great practice. His knowledge of his art was profound; a horse’s life was as safe in his hands, as the writer’s would be in sir Astley Cooper’s.
In his person, “Huck’n!” was muscular, and he stood above the middle size; his habits gave him an unwieldy motion; his complexion was sandy; his aspect muddled; large eyebrows pent-housed his small glassy blue eyes; a wig of many curls, perking over his bald forehead, was closed by a bush of his own hair, of another colour behind; his whiskers were carroty, and he usually had an unshorn beard. It was when he entered a stable, or cow-pen, in his leather apron half-crossed, with his drug-pouch at his side, that he appeared in a skilful light. His thick holly walking-stick with a thong run through the top, was tried in the service, as its worn appearance testified, and many an animal’s mouth could witness. He rarely pulled the drenching horn, or fleam from his pocket to operate, but he rolled his tongue over his beloved “pigtail,” juicily deposited in the nook of a precarious tooth, and said,—“Huck’n!” Hence his nomme de guerre—and hence the proverb that outlives him—“he that can chew like Huck’n! may cure like Huck’n!” The meaning of this emphatic monosyllable remains a secret. Some of the superstitious conjectured, that he used it in stables and outhouses as a charm to scare the witches from riding the cattle. This liberty is verily believed by many to exist to this day; hence a horseshoe is nailed to the sill of the stable-door, that the midnight hags of “air and broom” may not cross the iron bar-rier.[158]
It is thirty years since “Huck’n” flourished. If he had a home, it was at Hullavington, near Malmsbury, where as a pharmacist, farrier, and phlebotomist of high character and respectability, to his patients—who are known to evince more patience than most of the human species—he was very attentive. He would cheerfully forego his cheerful glass, his boon companions, his amusing anecdotes, necessary food, and nocturnal rest, to administer to the comfort of a poor “dumb creature,” and remain day and night till life departed, or ease returned. Were he alive he would tell us, that in our intercourse with the brute creation, we should exercise humane feelings, and bestir ourselves to assuage the acute pain, betokened by agonizing looks and groans, in suffering animals.
“Huck’n!” was an improvident man: under more classical auspices, he might have stood first in his profession; but he preferred being “unadorned—adorned the most.” He lived to assist the helpless, and died in peace. Let persons of higher pretensions do more—“Huck’n?”[159]
March, 1827.J. R. P.
[158] Vermin and destructive birds are nailed, or rather crucified, on the park barns of noblemen by their gamekeepers, to hold intruders in terrorem, and give ocular proofs of skill and vigilance.