"Gabriel Betteredge," in "Moonstone," was doubtless a true character from
life, picked up by the author, Wilkie Collins, somewhere in his travels. I
think the best authors seldom have made up so good a character "out of
whole cloth," but have gone to the highways and byways for them.
Betteredge's forte lay in Robinson Crusoe. That book was his guidance and
solace in all his trials and perplexities. But what would you think of a
doctor, a respectable graduate of a medical college, who sought, if not
advice, recreation and solace in Mother Goose?
This M. D. resided a few years ago in A., New York State. He owned a large
library, enjoyed the confidence of a large list of friends and patrons,
and was a man of education and refinement. His eccentricity lay in his
love of Mother Goose's Melodies. He kept a copy of these nursery rhymes at
his very elbow, and often turned from a perplexing case, and sought solace
in the jingling rhymes of old Mother Goose!
Well, that was certainly better than relieving his brain by the use of
narcotic stimulants, as opium, tobacco, or ardent spirits, which use can
only be followed at the expense of nerve, tissue, and membrane.
I have here before me an account of another physician, whose solace and
relief from business cares were in his cats, of which he had several, all
of which answered to their names. His attachment to these creatures was
only equalled by theirs for him. Sometimes one or two perched on his
shoulders and sang to him while he rested in his easy-chair. He seemed to
drink in Lethean comforts, as thus he would remain for a half hour or more
at a time, or till business broke the spell. When a patient came, or a
servant announced a call, he would arise and say, "Pets, vamose!" and the
cats would all scamper away to their nests, and the doctor, seemingly
refreshed in body and mind, would return to the reality of life and its
labors.
One's solace is in his children, another's in his wife, a third in his
flower-garden; and others' in opium, rum, or tobacco.