_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]