_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.
[Illustration]
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.
Hurrah for good people! Hurrah for happy people, wherever we can find
them! Hurrah for the man who never allows his domestic felicity to be
disturbed by any outward circumstances,--let his condition of life be
among the highest or the lowest in the land! Hurrah for him who has the
least ambition to gratify, except that of doing good to his neighbour!
Hurrah for a grateful heart wherever it can be found! But whilst we thus
laud the domestic comfort of real good people, let us not forget that
they must have passed through many troubles and trials to gain that
peace and serenity of mind, which our happy trio, Geoffery Gambado, his
wife, and daughter, enjoyed. They had no affected display of superior
accomplishments to delight society, and had no flattering encomiums
passed upon them for their gentility. They were gentle, well informed,
quiet, loveable people. They spoke that which they considered right, and
always did the right thing as it ought to be done. The law which their
good and excellent pastor taught them, they never departed from, viz.
"That of doing to others, as they would others should do to them."
They kept the holiest law of true goodness, _Love one another_, in its
perfect sense.
Doctor Gambado well knew who gave him a wife; and when he married, he
resolved to perform the solemn vow he then made, and he kept his
vow,--so did his wife hers,--and they were as happy a couple as could
well be seen or known upon the face of the earth.
In his time, God's blessing was sought to enable him to keep his vow.
There was no law then permitting men to go and be married without any
asking of God's blessing upon such a step. Marriage was not then
degraded into the unholy thing it is now, and conscience merely made to
answer to a legal contract, which difference of opinion, or quarrels, or
contrariety of disposition, may get dissolved in a divorce court. "For
better for worse, for richer for poorer, till death us do part," is no
longer the sole and solemn bond of matrimony. But the Doctor was a
Christian in the noblest sense, and in domestic life his religion was
his conscience, his wisdom, and his happiness. As little parade as man
could make of outward profession was his study, but his heart was in the
right place.
Where that is the case, ignorance and presumption, imposition and folly,
are unknown. Men may ridicule simplicity of life and manners; but there
is an honesty of heart superior to all affectation, which need never be
afraid.
The troubles of life are always borne well by those who observe the law
of God; and those who do not, never get any real release from them. They
may get riches; they may hide the blush of coveteousness; but they have
very little real comfort within themselves, because of the very changes
which they themselves and all things around them undergo.
Doctor Gambado enjoyed every change of life, and lost no good condition
either. He could look upon the calm sea with delight, and with the
serenity of one who had not lived in vain. He always entertained the
kindliest feelings of a brother for his sincere friend, Doctor Cassock,
who used to drop in with any new number of the Spectator, and enjoy it.
The domestic evenings spent in classical friendship are among the purest
scholastic as well as domestic enjoyments.
Envy he had none, and therefore was most to be envied of those who, like
Mr. Deuce, or anyone else, never enjoyed the happiness of another.
Promote the welfare of another, and you will find your own comfort
increased. Detract from another, and nothing but envy will be your
increase.
The object with which this book was begun, and is finished, is to let
you see, reader, how to make something out of that which might to many
appear worse than nothing.
Suppose that sixteen drawings of this character were given you, with
nothing but the heading of each chapter written under them,--would you
have made out a more comprehensive description of the probability of
their truth? There is some profit in the labour, if your heart is in
any way cheered by beholding the ingenuity of man.
Works of art, or works of great expense, or great works of any kind, the
Author makes no kind of pretence to perform; yet, if you are pleased
with his ingenuity, grudge not a helping hand at any time to reward
industry.
Ah! little thought Gambado, in his day,
As on he passed through life's uneven way,
How many toils and troubles he would scan,
Before he reached the common age of man!
Yet on he went; and as his years declined,
And quietude and peace becalmed his mind,
He felt and owned, no greater bliss could be
Than resignation for Eternity.
"Ah!" he would say, "behold, dear wife, yon sea,
Each wave seems striving for celebrity!
It rolls along until it reach the shore,
Then bursts in froth,--and then is seen no more!
Still, on and on succeeding waves advance,
And thus perpetual motion would enhance.
'Tis so with mortals striving on and on,
They reach the shore,--and all their toil is gone.
How oft yon waves, by angry tempests tost,
Like human passions, are in fury lost;
Dash'd on the rocks, their crested pride, in foam
Sprays into atoms ere it finds a home."
So mighty strugglers after this world's fame,
Find all their fury perish with their name.
'Tis seldom known that speculators thrive,
Or long their great inventions may outlive.
Others come on,--no end of new things known,
One age will praise,--the next, the praise disown.
Feathers you wear,--but feathers blown away,
Will be succeeded by some new display.
We ride on horseback, and survey the tide,--
The age will come, that horses none will ride;
The age will be that coaches will no more
Be seen with horses, two, or three, or four;
But on will pass, and leave no other trace,
Than iron's friction from a rapid pace.
What would Gambado think, if he could see
His own predictions made a verity?
Who can predict one single year's advance?
Truth is so strange it seems a day's romance.
Things that last year were mighty,--are all gone;
Works of great hope,--are perished and undone.
Iron is moulded by the human hand;
And wooden walls no more the seas command.
All would be great, be rich, and all invent,
But few there are, who are at all content.
With lightning speed intelligence conveyed
From land to land, the iron rails are laid,--
And 'neath the ocean's deep united cords,
Convey the merchant's or the prince's words.
But mostly all, by sea, or land, or train,
Is that the traffickers may get their gain.
The greatest gain, that ever man could get,
Is sweet contentment after every fret.
When projects are completed, all is vain,
For other projects follow in their train;
Old age comes on,--all projects quickly cease,--
Happy are they who live and die in peace.
Gambado did so: Reader, may thy fame
Rest with content on One Blest, Holy Name!
THE END.
[Illustration]
Transcriber's Notes: The original publication did not contain a table of
contents. This has been provided for the reader's convenience. There
were a few printer's errors which have been corrected. For example,
Chapter XIII was entitled "A Daisey Cutter, with his Varieties" whereas
the name was spelt Daisy in the text.
End of Project Gutenberg's Geoffery Gambado, by William Henry Bunbury