"There is nothing very wonderful about my master, except his present indisposition; and I most sincerely hope that your visit may do him good." The butler had great respect for Doctors, and for Doctors that had before them the title of Right Reverend, or His Grace, or My Lord, or The Venerable; and these or some of these, he was accustomed to see every day; but an M.D. F.R.S. was not often in his view. He had noted these letters upon Doctor Gambado's card. The other gentleman had no card, and, therefore, he concluded that he was the greater man. The footman came in to announce that his master was ready to receive Doctor Gambado and his friend. There was something formidable in entering the presence of so great a divine as Doctor Greathead; but they were not going in for an examination of themselves, but to examine. "Now, my friends, I can talk to you. I did not like talking to starving men, lest they should be ready to eat me up; and you will say, they would have enough to do to do that. But there are no cannibals at York, or I might have been eaten up long ago. Still, I regret to say that I have a disease preying upon my vitals; and except you can prescribe a cure, Doctor, I am afraid it is all up with me." "We can prescribe no cure, without understanding the nature of the complaint." "But it is that which puzzles the faculty in York. They say I have no bodily complaint; that it is all upon the _nerves_; and therefore it is, that in applying to my friend, Doctor Turnbull, to know if he knew any physician in London celebrated for his knowledge of the treatment of nervous cases, he mentioned you as the author of a book upon the nervous system; and I desired my secretary to write to you. You have well done to come to us, and we hope to receive benefit from your advice." "I am obliged to Doctor Turnbull, for the mention of my name; but I must make some inquiries about your bodily health?" "How is your appetite?" "Good." "How is your sleep?" "Good." "How is your sight?" "Good." "How is your pulse?" "Try it." "What do you say yourself?" "It is good." "Have you any fever?" "None." "Have you any particular pain?" "No." "Do you walk much?" "No." "Do you ride much?" "I can ride no longer; and I fear this is one of the painful causes of my strange distemper." "Are you accustomed to horseback exercise?" "Constant: I used to ride on the Carlisle road every day, till about a month since, and now I never ride." "Why not?" "I have lost the fancy or taste for it, and somehow I care no longer about it." "Ah! that's bad! That's bad of itself. You met with no accident, to give your nervous system a shock, did you?" "None whatever, except that my favourite old horse could go no longer, and I no longer felt inclined to go." "But there are other horses that might be had equally as good." "None, sir, None! I do not believe there is another horse in England that could carry me, like my old gray."