_Tricks upon Travellers._
The descent from the sublime to the ridiculous is a very easy transition
in this mortal life. Even in the moments of utmost seriousness, we have
seen something flit across the vision of the brain, or eye, or the
spirit, that for a moment diverts the current of thought from the
simplicity of the most devout and earnest Christian. Every moment we
learn a new lesson of life and thought, from nature or from grace.
Thoughts are continually arising as to the probability of doing anyone
any good, in these narratives. They form a diversion of thought, and
much must depend upon the disposition of the mind of the reader. A good
man will make some good out of every thing, and a bad man will find
nothing good in anything.
To look simply at the picture, and to laugh at it, is easy; but to say,
that they who played tricks upon others deserved to be whipped out of
them, might be easier said than done.
Among the Doctor's patients was a singular mean old gentleman, Sir
Abraham Crusty, who was recommended by the Doctor to ride out hunting,
or to give the hounds a look, by way of diversion to his usual
nothingness in his country-box. Sir Abraham had retired from city
friends, city business, city thoughts,--to enjoy, as he hoped, the
breezes and the green fields, and rural occupation at his country seat
in Surrey; but being very hypochondriacal and very mean as well, he was
desirous of being as economical as possible, and not desirous of being
considered a regular fox-hunter.
He could look on, enjoy the variety, and not be expected to pay anything
towards the support of the hounds. Hence he would drop in upon them,
look at them, ride a little way with them, and then return quietly to
his own mansion. He would not keep a hunting stud, nor any man-servant
to ride out with him. He was old enough to take care of himself, wise to
do his own will, and mean enough to think about nobody else but himself.
When he consulted the Doctor, and was told what to do, he asked him if
he could tell him the best way to do it. "Go to John Tattsall's, buy a
steady hunter with good strong limbs, and one that will make no
mistake."
He did so: but John mistook him for an old farmer, and, consequently,
gave him a good old hunter for a very little money. Any body might take
Sir Abraham Crusty for what they pleased, so long as they did not take
too much of his money; and that he took care not to throw away upon even
saddle, bridle, or riding whip, for he rode on an old saddle covered
with a thick cloth, and had a drover's cart whip for his hunting whip;
and few would imagine Sir Abraham was going out to follow the hounds. He
used to go himself overnight to the King Charles in the Oak, sleep
there, and, as if he were merely a travelling man of business, who came
for lodging for man and beast, he paid packman's fare for supper at
night, and breakfasted upon eggs and bacon in the morning; and started
off quietly for the covert's side, without any intention of being
considered a hunter.
He went, however, one day with a very bitter complaint to Doctor
Gambado, saying, he thought his horse would be the death of him, for
that he never started from the Royal Oak without such a violent fit of
kicking, that he was afraid of a fall; and that made him so nervous, he
thought the Doctor ought to return him his fee, and Mr. Tattsall take
the horse back and allow him something handsome for his keep of it.
"And so I will," replied the Doctor, "if John Tattsall do not cure him,
or at least account for his kicking."
"Where do you say he exhibits these tricks?" said John.
"At the Royal Oak, Norwood."
John was there the next Easter hunt day. So was Sir Abraham.
John saw him start, and saw that two urchins, viz. the post boy and the
boots, stuck a stick under his tail, which seldom fell off until the old
gentleman had had quite enough of the kicking. But once the stick
dropped, the old horse went quiet enough.
When Sir Abraham was gone, John came from his dormitory, and soon put
this question to the lads:
"Why do you treat that old gentleman in this shabby way?"
"Vy, sar, because he is a shabby, crusty old fellow, and treats all the
sarvents of the hestablishment in the shabbiest vay. He pays for his
bed, and for his 'orse's bed,--for his board, and his 'orse's
board,--but he never gives Sal anything, vat beds him up at night, nor
Bill anything, vat beds his 'orse up,--nor me anything, vat cleans his
old boots for him; so ve just shows him vun of our tricks upon
travellers: that's all, and sarves him right."
This was told to the Doctor, who, the next time he saw Sir Abraham, said
to him:
"Sir Abraham, you will forgive my honesty; but, if you wish to cure your
horse of kicking at the Royal Oak, you must know how to be penny wise,
and pay the chambermaid, the hostler, and the boots. I am sure you will
never be pound foolish."
Sir Abraham took the hint, and the horse never kicked again at the King
Charles in the Oak.
To all their dues, let no man flinch to pay,
If he would prosper in an honest way;
Customs are good, if carried not too far,
And a good custom, oft prevents a jar;
Sir Abraham's horse no more gave out his kicks,
Nor John nor Bill on travellers played tricks.