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.