He told me once of an interview he had w_Memoirs of John Abernethy With a View of His Lectures, His Writings, and Character; with Additional Extracts from Original Documents, Now First Published

may, perhaps, be not out of place here. When Sir T. Lawrence was

painting the portrait, and Abernethy went to give him a sitting,

Abernethy was shown into a room where another visitor, a stranger to

him, was also waiting. The stranger, looking at a portrait of the Duke

of York, observed, "Very well painted, and very like." "Very well

painted," Abernethy replied. The other rejoined: "A good picture, and

an excellent likeness." "A very good picture," said Abernethy. "And

an excellent likeness," again rejoined his companion. "Why, the fact

is," said Abernethy, "Sir Thomas has lived so much amongst the great,

that he has learnt to flatter them most abominably." On being shown in

to Sir Thomas, Sir Thomas said: "I find you have been talking to Lord

Castlereagh."

He had not, we think, as yet sustained the loss of any member of his

family, nor hardly experienced any of those ordinary crosses from

which few men's lives are free, and which, sooner or later, seldom

fail to strew our paths with enough to convince us that perfect peace

cannot be auspiciously sought in the conduct of human affairs. He

was soon, however, to receive an impression of a painful nature,

and from a quarter whence, whatever might have been his experience,

he certainly little expected it. Long accustomed to be listened to

by admiring and assenting audiences, whether in the theatre of the

hospital, or in those clusters of pupils which never failed to crowd

around him whenever he had anything to say; he was now to have some of

his opinions disputed, his mode of advocating them impugned, his views

of "Life," made the subject of ridicule, and even his fair dealing

in argument called in question. All this, too, by no stranger; no

person known only to him as one of the public, but by one who had been

his pupil, whose talents he had helped to mature and develop, whose

progress and prospects in life he had fostered and improved, and to

whom, as was affirmed by the one, and attested by the other, he had

been a constant friend.

That this controversy was the source of much suffering to Abernethy, we

are compelled to believe; and it is altogether to us so disagreeable,

and difficult a subject, that we should have preferred confining

ourselves to a bare mention of it, and a reference to the works

wherein the details might be found; it is, however, too important an

episode in the life of Abernethy to be so passed over; it suggests

many interesting reflections; it exhibits Abernethy in a new phase,

illustrates, under very trying circumstances, the

"Virtus repulsæ nescia

Intaminatis fulget honoribus,"

and brings out in stronger relief than any other transaction of his

life the best and most distinctive traits of his character (benevolence

and Christian feeling), under temptations which have too frequently

disturbed the one, and destroyed the other.

CHAPTER XVIII.

"Opinionum commenta delet dies, naturæ judicia confirmat."—CICERO.

"Time, which obliterates the fictions of opinion, confirms the

decisions of nature."

Whoever has wandered to the south side of Lincoln's Inn Fields,

will have found himself in one of the "solitudes of London"—one

of those places which, interspersed here and there amidst the busy

current that rushes along every street and ally, seem quite out

of the human life-tide, and furnish serene spots, a dead calm, in

the midst of tumult and agitation. Here a lawyer may con over a

"glorious uncertainty," a surgeon a difficult case, a mathematician

the general doctrine of probability, or the Chevalier d'Industrie

the particular case of the _habitat_ of his next dinner; but, unless

you have some such need of abstraction from the world, these places

are heart-sinkingly dull. You see few people; perhaps there may be a

sallow-looking gentleman, in a black coat, with a handful of papers,

rushing into "chambers;" or a somewhat more rubicund one in blue,

walking seriously out: the very stones are remarkably round and

salient, as if from want, rather than from excess, of friction. The

atmosphere from the distance comes charged with the half-spent, booming

hum of population.

Immediately around you, all is comparatively silent.

If you are in a carriage, it seems every moment to come in contact with

fresh surfaces, and "beats a roll" of continued vibrations; or, if a

carriage happen to pass you, it seems to make more noise than half

a dozen vehicles anywhere else. You may observe a long façade, of

irregular elevations—upright parallelograms, called habitable houses;

but, for aught you see, half of them may have been deserted: the dull

sameness of the façade is broken only by half a dozen Ionic columns,

which, notwithstanding their number, seem very serious and very

solitary. You may, perhaps, imagine that they bear a somewhat equivocal

relation to the large house before which they stand. You may fancy them

to be architectural relics, inconveniently large for admission to some

depository within, or that they are intended as a sort of respectable

garniture to the very plain house which they partly serve to conceal

or embellish; or quiz them as you please, for architects cannot do

everything, nor at once convert a very ugly house into a very beautiful

temple.

But, stop there!—for temple it is—ay, perhaps, as human temples

always are, not altogether unprofaned; but not so desecrated, we trust,

but that it may yet contain the elements of its own purification. It

enshrines, reader, a gem of great value, which nothing extrinsic can

improve, which no mere art can embellish—a treasure gathered from the

ample fields of nature, and which can be enriched or adorned only from

the same exhaustless store. Though humble, indeed, the tenement, yet,

were it humbler still, though it were composed of reeds, and covered in

with straw, it would remain hallowed to science.

It holds the monument of the untiring labour of a great master—the

rich garnerings of a single mind—the record, alas! but of _some_ of

the obligations mankind owe to the faithful pioneer of a Science which,

however now partially merged in clouds and darkness, and obscured by

error, still exhibits through the gloom, enough to assert its lofty

original, and to foster hopes of better times.

The museum of John Hunter (for it is of that we write) is one of the

greatest labours ever achieved by a single individual. To estimate that

labour aright, to arrive at a correct notion of the man, the spectator

should disregard the number of preparations—the mass of mechanical

and manipulatory labour which is involved—the toil, in fact, of mere

collection; and, looking through that, contemplate the _thought_ which

it records; the general nature of the plan; the manner in which the

Argus-eyed Author has assembled together various processes in the

vegetable creation; how he has associated them with their nearest

relations in the animal kingdom; and how he has traced the chain from

link to link, from the more simple to the more compounded forms, so

as to throw light on the laws dispensed to Man. The spectator should

then think of the Hunterian portion of the museum as the exhausting

harvest of half a life, blessed with no greatly lengthened days; a

museum gathered not in peaceful seasons of leisure, nor amid the ease

of undiverted thought, but amidst the interrupting agitations of a

populous city—the persistent embarrassments of measured means—the

multiform distractions of an arduous profession—the still more serious

interruptions of occasional indisposition—and, finally, amidst

annoyances from quarters whence he had every right to expect support

and sympathy—annoyances which served no other purpose but to embitter

the tenure of life, and to hasten its termination.

Our space will not allow us to dwell more on this subject or the Museum

just now. But where is our excellent conservator—where is Mr. Clift,

the assistant, the friend, and young companion of John Hunter? He,

too, is gathered to his rest. He, on whose countenance benevolence

had impressed a life-long smile—he who used to tell us, as boys, so

much of all he knew, and to remind us, as men, how much we were in

danger of forgetting—is now no more. How kind and communicative he

was; how modest, and yet how full of information; how acceptably the

cheerfulness of social feelings mantled over the staid gravity of

science. How fond of any little pleasant story to vary the round of

conservative exposition; and then, if half a dozen of us were going

round with him the "_con_ticuere omnes," when, with his characteristic

prefatory shrug, he was about to speak of Hunter. Then such a memory!

Why once, in a long delightful chat, we were talking over the Lectures

at the College, and he ran over the general objects of various courses,

during a succession of years, with an accuracy which, if judged of

by those which had fallen within our own recollection, might have

suggested that he had carried a syllabus of each in his pocket.

We had much to say of Mr. Clift; but, in these times of speed, there is

hardly time for anything; yet we think that many an old student, when

he has lingered over the stately pile reared by John Hunter, may have

paused and felt his eyes moistened by the memory of William Clift.

When Mr. Abernethy lectured at the College, there was no permanent

professor, as is now the case; no Professor Owen, of whom we shall have

to speak more in the sequel. Both the professorship of anatomy and

surgery, and also that of comparative anatomy, were only held for a

comparatively short time.

It is not very easy to state the principle on which the professors were

selected. The privilege of addressing the seniors of the profession has

never, any more than any other appointment in the profession, been the

subject of public competition; nor, unless the Council have had less

penetration than we are disposed to give them credit for, has "special

fitness" been a very dominant principle. Considering the respectability

and position of the gentlemen who have been selected, the Lectures at

the College of Surgeons, under the arrangements we are recording, were

certainly much less productive, as regards any improvement in science,

than might have been reasonably expected.

The vice of "system" could not be always, however, corrected by the

merits of the individual. One result, which too commonly arose out of

it, was, that gentlemen were called on to address their seniors and

contemporaries for the first time, who had never before addressed any

but pupils. It would not, therefore, have been very wonderful, if,

amongst the other difficulties of lecturing, that most inconvenient one

of all should have sometimes occurred, of having nothing to say.

Mr. Abernethy was appointed in 1814, and had the rare success of

conferring a lustre on the appointment, and the perhaps still more

difficult task of sustaining, before his seniors and contemporaries,

that unrivalled reputation as a lecturer which he had previously

acquired. As Mr. Abernethy had been all his life teaching a more

scientific surgery, which he believed to be founded on principles

legitimately deducible from facts developed by Hunter; so every

circumstance of time, place, and inclination, disposed him to bring

Mr. Hunter's views and opinions under the review of the audience at the

College, composed of his seniors, his contemporaries, and of pupils

from the different schools. He was, we believe, equally desirous of

disseminating them amongst the one class, and of having them considered

by the others. At this time, no lectures of Mr. Hunter had been

published; and Mr. Abernethy thought that, _to understand_ Hunter's

opinions of the _actions_ of living bodies, it was expedient that

people should have some notion of what Mr. Hunter considered to be the

general nature of—"Life."

We hold this point to be very important; for all experience shows that

speculation on the abstract nature of things is to the last degree

unprofitable. Nothing is so clear in all sciences as that the proper

study of mankind is the Laws by which they are governed. Yet we cannot,

in any science, proceed without something to give an intelligible

expression to our ideas; which _something_ is essentially hypothetical.

If, for example, we speak of light, we can hardly express our ideas

without first supposing of light that it is some subtle substance sent

off from luminous bodies, or that it consists in undulations; as we

adopt the corpuscular or undulatory theory. It would be easy to form a

third, somewhat different from either, and which would yet pretend to

no more than to give a still more intelligible expression to phenomena.

Now this is, as it appears to us, just what Mr. Abernethy did. He did

not speculate on the nature of life for any other reason than to give

a more intelligible expression to Mr. Hunter's other views. At that

time there was nothing _published_, showing that Mr. Hunter's ideas

of life were what Mr. Abernethy represented them to be; they might

have been remembered by men of his own age, but this was not very

good for controversy; and as that was made a point of attack[35], it

is well that the since collected "Life and Lectures of John Hunter,"

by Mr. Palmer, have given us a written authority for the accuracy of

Abernethy's representations.

In theorizing on the cause of the phenomena of living bodies, men have,

at different times, arrived at various opinions; but although not so

understood, it seems to us that they all merge into two—the one which

supposes Life to be the result of organization, or the arrangement

of matter; the other, that the organization given, Life is something

superadded to it; just as electricity or magnetism to the bodies with

which these forces may be connected. The latter was the opinion which

Mr. Abernethy advocated as that held by Mr. Hunter, and which he

honestly entertained as most intelligibly and rationally, in his view,

explaining the phenomena.

That such were really the views held by Mr. Hunter, a few passages

from the work, as published by Mr. Palmer, will show. "Animal and

vegetable substances," says Mr. Hunter, "differ from common matter

in having a power superadded totally different from any other known

property of matter; out of which various new properties arise[36]."

So much for a general view. Next, a reference to particular powers:

"Actions in animal bodies have been so much considered under a chemical

and mechanical philosophy, that physiologists have entirely lost

sight of Life;" again showing how correctly Abernethy had interpreted

Hunter's notion of the necessary "Key," as Abernethy phrased it, to

his views; Hunter says: "For unless we consider Life as the immediate

cause of attraction occurring in animals and vegetables, we can _have

no just conception_ of animal and vegetable matter[37]." Mr. Hunter,

in relation to the idea of life being the result of organization,

shows how faithful an exposition Abernethy had given of his views. "It

appears," says he, "that the Living Principle cannot arise from the

peculiar modification of matter, because the same modification exists

where this principle is no more."—Vol. i, p. 221. And in the same

page: "Life, then, appears to be something superadded to this peculiar

modification of matter."

Then as to one of the illustrations employed by Abernethy, Hunter,

after saying that he is aware that it is difficult to conceive

this superaddition, adds: "But to show that matter may take on new

properties without being altered itself as to the species of matter,

it may not be improper to illustrate this. Perhaps magnetism affords

the best illustration. A bar of iron, without magnetism, may be

considered as animal matter without life. With magnetism, it acquires

new properties of attraction and repulsion," &c.

Mr. Abernethy, as we have said, advocated similar views; and, we

repeat, founded his reason for so doing on what he conceived to be

the necessity of explaining Mr. Hunter's ideas of life, _before he

could render_ his (Hunter's) _explanation_ of the various phenomena

intelligible. In all of this, he certainly was expressing Mr. Hunter's

own views, with that talent for ornamenting and illustrating everything

he discussed, for which he was so remarkable.

Abernethy multiplied the illustrations by showing the various analogies

which seemed to him to be presented in the velocity, the chemical, and

other powers of Life and Electricity; and, with especial reference

to the extraordinary discoveries of Sir Humphrey Davy, added such

illustrations, as more recent achievements in chemical science had

placed within his grasp; and thence concluding it as evident that some

subtile, mobile, invisible substance seemed to pervade all nature,

so it was not unreasonable to suppose that some similar substance or

power pervaded animal bodies. He guarded himself, however, both in his

first and again in his second Course of Lectures, from being supposed

to identify Life with electricity, in a long paragraph especially

devoted to that object. In his second Course, in 1815, he proceeded to

enumerate John Hunter's various labours and contributions to science,

as shown by the Museum; imparting great interest to every subject, and

in so popular a form, that we wonder now, when (as we rejoice to see)

there are some small beginnings of a popularization of physiology, that

there is not a cheap reprint of these Lectures.

Keeping, then, his object in view, we cannot see how, as a faithful

interpreter of John Hunter, Abernethy could have done less; and if

any theory of life at all is to be adopted, as _necessary to give an

intelligible impression_ to phenomena, one can hardly quarrel with

that which takes the phenomena of life on one hand, and those of death

on the other, as the means of expressing our ideas. When we see a man

dead, whom we had contemplated alive, it certainly seems that something

has left him; and whether we say "something superadded,"—the "breath"

or "Life," or by whatever term we call it,—we appear really to express

in as simple a form as possible the facts before us. It seems to us

that, after all, John Hunter did little more; for the illustration

or similitude by which we endeavour to render an idea clear, has in

strictness nothing _necessarily_ to do with the idea itself; any more

than an analogy, however real the likeness, or a parallelism, however

close, represents identity.

We should have thought it, therefore, of all things in the world the

least likely that a representation of any theory of Hunter's should

have disturbed the harmony which ought to exist between men engaged

in scientific inquiries. It shows, however, the value of confining

ourselves as strictly as possible to phenomena, and the conclusions

deducible from them. Nothing could possibly be more philosophical than

the terms in which Mr. Abernethy undertook to advocate Mr. Hunter's

views of life. His definitions of hypothesis, the conditions on which

he founded its legitimate character, the modesty with which he applies

it, and the clearness with which he states how easily our best-grounded

suppositions may be subverted by new facts, are very lucid and

beautiful, and give a tone to the lectures (as we should have thought)

the very last calculated to have led to the consequences which followed.

[Footnote 35: "For this Hunterian Theory of Life, which its _real_

author so stoutly maintains, &c. is nowhere to be found in the

published writings of Mr. Hunter."—_See Lawrence's Two Lectures

(Notes)._]

[Footnote 36: Vol. i, p. 214. Note.]

[Footnote 37: Vol. i, p. 217.]

CHAPTER XIX.

"Oft expectation fails, and most oft there

Where most it promises."

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

No man, perhaps, ever made a happier application of a Divine precept to

the conduct of human pursuits than Lord Bacon, when he said that the

kingdom of man founded in the sciences must be entered like the kingdom

of God—that is, as a little child.

Independently of the sublimity of the comparison, it is no less

remarkable for its practical excellence.

How many broken friendships, enmities, and heart-burnings might have

been prevented, had even a very moderate degree of the temper of

mind here so beautifully typified been allowed to preside over human

labour! How charitably should we have been led to judge of the works

of others! how measured the approbation of the most successful of our

own! No doubt, in the pursuit of truth, there is great difficulty in

commanding that combination of fearlessness towards the world, and

that reverential humility towards the subject, both of which are alike

necessary; although the one may be more essential to the _discovery_ of

truth, the other the _enunciation_ of it.

To pursue truth regardless of the multiform errors and

conventionalisms, amidst which experience has generally shown almost

all subjects to have been involved; unmindful of the rebukes and

obloquy by which too often the best-conducted investigations are

opposed and assailed; and yet to let no angry passion stir, no

conviction that we are right engender an improper idea of our own

superiority, or a disregard for the claims of others; this overcoming

of the world (we had almost said) is intensely difficult, for it is

in fact overcoming ourselves. Yet we dare not say it is that of which

human nature is incapable, for there is nothing that the heart suggests

as morally right which is really impossible to us; and instances have

not been wanting of the combination of the deepest knowledge with the

most profound humility.

On the other hand, it must be admitted that if there were anything

especially calculated to bring down the cultivators of science and

literature to the level of those who are regardless of the claims, or

insensible to the attractions of either; we could hardly find a series

of facts more fatally influential than are furnished by the disputes

of men who have been employed in the cultivation of these elevating

studies. Powerful intellects in teaching the comparative nothingness

of man's knowledge seem to give great assistance in the acquisition

of humility; but how few are the intellects of such power? The

contemplation of nature, however, may, we conceive, infuse _feelings_

of humility, which can rarely be attained by the efforts of intellect

alone.

We have seen, in Lord Bacon, that the highest powers of intellect

afforded for a while no security against the subtle, but one would have

thought feeble, suggestions of a degrading cupidity. We all know, in

literature, how much the fruits of intellect depend on the dominant

feeling under which they are reared and nourished. Even men like Pope

and Addison, who had little in common but that which should elevate and

adorn human nature, were so dragged down by the demon of controversy,

that, commencing with little more than the irritability of poets, they

ceased only when they had forgotten even the language of gentlemen.

In the controversy in question, Mr. Abernethy's position was a very

difficult one, and one which shows how easily a man with the best

intentions may find himself engaged in a discussion which he never

contemplated; be wounded on points on which he was most sensitive, and

yet defend himself with dignity, and without compromise of any of those

principles which should guide a gentleman and a Christian.

Mr. Lawrence was appointed Professor of Comparative Anatomy in 1816;

and we know that Mr. Abernethy hailed his appointment with considerable

interest. He was regarded as a gentleman of some promise, and had

already distinguished himself by a singularly nice, level style of

composition, as well as by careful compilation.

Nothing could seem more auspicious than such a prospect. Mr. Abernethy

was a man remarkable for the original view he took of most subjects;

a vast experience, gathered from various sources by a mind combining

vividly perceptive powers with great capacity for reflection, a

conformation well adapted for opening out _new paths, and extending

the boundaries of science_. Abernethy was now to be associated with

a colleague who had already manifested no ordinary talent for the

graceful and judicious exposition of what _was already known_.

Nothing could have seemed more promising; nor was there anything in

the opening of Mr. Lawrence's first lecture which seemed calculated

to baulk these expectations. His exordium contained an appropriate

recognition of Mr. Abernethy, which, as we should only mar it by

extract, we give entire. Having referred to the circumstances which

immediately preceded his appointment, Mr. Lawrence thus proceeds:

"To your feelings I must trust for an excuse, if any be thought

necessary, for taking the earliest opportunity of giving utterance to

the sentiments of respect and gratitude I entertain for the latter

gentleman (Mr. Abernethy). You and the public know, and have long

known, his acute mind, his peculiar talent for observation, his

zeal for the advancement of surgery, and his successful exertions

in improving the scientific knowledge and treatment of disease; his

singular happiness in developing and teaching to others the original

and philosophic views which he naturally takes of all subjects that

come under his examination, and the success with which he communicates

that enthusiasm in the cause of science and humanity which is so warmly

felt by himself; the admirable skill with which he enlivens the dry

details of elementary instruction are most gratefully acknowledged by

his numerous pupils.

"All these sources of excellence have been repeatedly felt in this

theatre. Having had the good fortune to be initiated in the profession

by Mr. Abernethy, and to have lived for many years under his roof,

I can assure you, with the greatest sincerity, that however highly

the public may estimate the surgeon and philosopher, I have reason to

speak still more highly of the man and of the friend, of the invariable

kindness which directed my early studies and pursuits, and the

disinterested friendship which has assisted every step of my progress

in life, the independent spirit and the liberal conduct which, while

they dignify the profession, win our love, command our respect for

genius and knowledge, converting these precious gifts into instruments

of the most extensive public good[38]."

This graceful exordium, so appropriate to the mutual relations of Mr.

Abernethy and Mr. Lawrence, deriving, too, a peculiar interest from the

circumstances under which it was delivered, had also the rare merit

of an eulogium marked by a comprehensive fidelity. There is nothing

fulsome or overstrained. Mr. Abernethy's well-known excellences were

touchingly adverted to as matters with which all were _in common_

familiar, whilst the necessarily more special facts of his social

virtues were judiciously brought out in just relief, and as an

appropriate climax, by one who appeared animated by a grateful and

personal experience of them. It is distressing to think that anything

should have followed otherwise than in harmony with that kindness and

benevolence which, whilst it forms the most auspicious tone for the

calm pursuits of philosophy, confers on them the purifying spirit of

practical Christianity.

Mr. Lawrence's first lecture consisted mainly of an able and

interesting _exposé_ of the objects and advantages of Comparative

Anatomy to the physiologist, pathologist, medical man, and the

theologian; together with numerous references to those authors to

whom the science was most indebted. The second lecture was devoted

to the consideration and the discussion of various views which had

been entertained of the living principle, or by whatever name we may

designate that force which is the immediate cause of the phenomena of

Living Bodies.

Amongst others, those entertained by Mr. Hunter and advocated by Mr.

Abernethy were referred to; but in a tone which was not, perhaps, best

suited to promote calm discussion, and which we may be allowed to

say was unfortunate—a tone of ridicule and banter, which was hardly

suited either to the subject, the place, or the distinguished men to

whom it related; to say the least of it, it was unnecessary. We do not

quote these passages, because they are, we think, not necessary to the

narrative, and could, we think, now give no pleasure to any party[39].

In Mr. Abernethy's next lecture at the College, he still advocated

the rational nature of Mr. Hunter's views of Life; and, in a most

interesting exposition of the Gallery of the Museum, opposed at every

opportunity the views of certain French physiologists which Mr.

Lawrence had adopted.

He did this, however, without naming Mr. Lawrence; and applied his

remarks to the whole of those who had advocated the opinions that Life

was the result of organization, as a "Band of modern sceptics."

Mr. Abernethy had, as he says, argued against a party, and studiously

kept Mr. Lawrence, as an individual, out of view. He, however, argued

roundly against the views advocated by him, and endeavoured to show

that those of Mr. Hunter, besides being at least a philosophical

explanation of the phenomena, had a good moral tendency; although he

admitted that the belief that man was a mere machine did not alter

established notions, and that there were many good sceptics, still he

thought that the "belief of the distinct and independent nature of mind

incited people to act rightly," &c.

In regard to the general influence of the state of France, he says,

"Most people think and act with a party;" and that "in France, where

the writings of the philosophers and wits had greatly tended to

demoralize the people, he was not surprised that their anatomists and

physiologists should represent the subject of their studies in a manner

conformable to what is esteemed most philosophical and clever; but

that in this country the mere opinions of some French anatomists with

respect to the nature of life should be extracted from their general

writings, translated, and extolled, cannot but excite surprise and

indignation in any one apprized of their pernicious tendency."

There is no doubt that there was at the time, in this country, a

disposition in many people to disseminate very many opinions on various

subjects different from those usually entertained; and we believe that

this disposition was very greatly increased by the well-intentioned, no

doubt, but in our view injudicious, means employed for the suppression

of them.

We think it important to remember this; because, in estimating fairly

any books or lectures, we must regard the spirit of the time in which

they were delivered—what would be judicious or necessary at one

period, being, of course, unnecessary or injudicious at another.

In relation to the opinions of the nature of life; that which Mr.

Abernethy alleged that he intended to apply to a party, Mr. Lawrence

alleged that he held as personally applying to himself. Accordingly,

the following course of Mr. Lawrence's lectures commenced with "A

Reply to the 'Charges' of Mr. Abernethy." This lecture, which it is

impossible for any man, mindful of all the circumstances, to peruse

without pain (especially if we include the notes), is couched in

language of the most vituperative and contemptuous character: sarcasm,

ridicule, imputation of corrupt motives, by turn, are the weapons

wielded with the appearance of the most unrelenting virulence.

Those of the audience who had heard the graceful exordium, which

we have quoted, to the first course of lectures, and which so

appropriately represented a just tribute to a great master and kind

friend, from a distinguished and favoured pupil, were now to listen to

a discourse which was so charged with various shades and descriptions

of ridicule and invective, as scarcely to be paralleled in the whole

history of literary or scientific controversy. We have recently again

perused the respective Lectures, and we are utterly at a loss to

understand how the most sensitive mind could have found anything in

Mr. Abernethy's Lectures to call for such a "Reply." As it appears

to us, its very virulence was calculated to weaken its force, and

to enlist the sympathies of people on the opposite side. We again

forbear quotation. All we have to do is to show that circumstances of

very unusual provocation, such as no man living could help feeling

most deeply, and which bore on one who was acutely sensitive, never

materially disturbed the native benevolence of Abernethy's disposition.

The dispute, however, soon merged into matters which the public

regarded as more important. Mr. Lawrence, in the lectures which

followed, took occasion to make some remarks on the Scriptures, which

gave great offence, and led other writers to engage in a controversy

which now assumed more of a theological than a physiological character.

This, however, rather belongs to the writings and opinions of Mr.

Lawrence, than to the life of Abernethy. We will therefore at once

offer the very few observations which we alone think it necessary to

make, either in justice to Mr. Abernethy or the profession.

[Footnote 38: March, 1816. Introductory Lecture to Comparative Anatomy.

Published, July.]

[Footnote 39: Introduction to Comp. Anat. by W. Lawrence, F.R.S.

London, 1816.]

CHAPTER XX.

"Love all, trust a few,

Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy

Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend

Under thine own Life's key: be check'd for silence,

But never tax'd for speech. What Heaven more will,

That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down,

Fall on thy head!"

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

In reviewing the facts of the foregoing controversy, we are anxious to

restrict our remarks to such points as fall within the proper scope of

our present object. These appear to us to relate to the mode in which

Mr. Abernethy conducted his argument, as being legitimate or otherwise;

secondly, the influence the whole affair had in developing one of the

most important features in his character; and, lastly, the impression

it produced, for good or evil, on the public mind, in relation to our

profession.

We would observe, in the first place, that the difficulty of Mr.

Abernethy's position was very painful and peculiar. We are not learned

in controversy; but we should imagine that position to have been almost

without parallel. Mr. Lawrence had been his pupil. As we have seen,

Mr. Abernethy had been his patron and his friend; and, moreover, he

had been not a little instrumental in placing Mr. Lawrence in the

Professor's chair. This instrumentality could not have been merely

passive. Mr. Abernethy himself was not a senior of the Council at that

time. At all events, he was associated at the College with men much

older than himself, and must have owed any influence in the appointment

to an active expression of his wishes, supported by that attention

to them which, though not necessarily connected with his standing at

the College, was readily enough, no doubt, conceded to his talents

and his reputation. His singleness of mind in this business was the

more amiable, because, had he been disposed to be inactive, there were

not wanting circumstances which might not unnaturally have induced

some hesitation on the subject. In the postscript at the end of Mr.

Abernethy's published Lectures, delivered at the College, we learn

that, "From an early period of his studies, Mr. Lawrence had been

accustomed to decry and scoff at what I taught as Mr. Hunter's opinions

respecting life and its functions; yet," he adds, "as I never could

find that he had any good reason for his conduct, I continued to teach

them in the midst of the controversy, and derision of such students as

had become his proselytes," &c.

This could hardly have been very agreeable. The pupils were wont to

discuss most subjects in their gossips in the Square of the hospital,

or elsewhere; and many a careless hour has not been unprofitably so

employed. On such occasions, those who were so inclined would no

doubt use ridicule, or any other weapon that suited their purpose;

and so long as any reasonable limits were observed, Mr. Abernethy was

the last person likely to take notice of anything which might have

reached him on the subject. On the contrary, it was his excellence,

and his often-expressed wish that we should canvass every subject for

ourselves; and he would enforce the sincerity of his recommendation by

advising us with an often-repeated quotation:

"Nullius addictus jurare in verba magistri."

Still, we cannot conceive that the desultory discussions at the

hospital, of which he might from time to time have accidentally heard,

could have prepared him to expect that a similar tone was to form any

portion of the sustained compositions of Lectures to be delivered in

Lincoln's Inn Fields. When, however, he found his opinions ridiculed

there, by his friend and pupil, what was to be done? Was he to enter

into a direct personal sort of controversy with his colleague in office

at the College of Surgeons?

There was everything in that course that was inexpedient and

repulsive. Was he to be silent on opinions which he _knew_ to have been

Mr. Hunter's, and of the moral and scientific advantages of which he

had a most matured conviction? That would have been a compromise of his

duty. It was a difficult dilemma—a real case of the

"Incidit in Scyllam qui vult vitare Charybdim."

If he avoided one difficulty, he fell into another. He tried to take a

middle course—he argued in support of the opinions he had enunciated,

and aided these by additional illustrations; and, in contrasting them

with those opinions which were opposed to him, he endeavoured to

avoid a personal allusion to individuals, by arguing against a class,

which he termed the "band of modern sceptics." Even this was a little

Charybdis, perhaps; because it had a sort of name-calling effect,

whilst it was not at all essential thus to embody in any one phrase the

persons who held opposite opinions.

His position was intensely difficult. It should be recollected that

Abernethy had always been a teacher of young men; that he had _always_

taught principles of surgery which he conceived to be deducible from

those delivered by Hunter; that he further believed that, to understand

Hunter clearly, it was necessary to have a correct notion of the idea

Mr. Hunter entertained of "Life;" and lastly, that, in _all_ his

Lectures, Abernethy had a constant tendency to consider, and a habit

of frequent appeal to, what, under different forms, might be regarded

as the moral bearings of any subject which might be under discussion.

We readily admit that, usually, in conducting scientific _arguments_,

the alleged moral tendencies of this or that view are more acceptable

when reserved to grace a conclusion, than when employed to enforce an

argument; yet we think that, now, comparatively few persons would think

the discussion of any subject bearing on the physical nature of Man,

complete, which omitted the very intimate and demonstrable relations

which exist between the moral and the physiological laws.

The point, however, which we wish to impress, is, that Mr. Abernethy,

in pleading the moral bearings of Hunter's views by deductions of

his own, was simply following that course which he _had been in

the habit_ of doing on most other questions; it was merely part of

that plan on which, without the smallest approach at any attempt to

intrude religious considerations inappropriately into the discussion

of matters ordinarily regarded as secular, he had always inculcated

a straightforward, free-from-cant, do-as-you-would-be-done-by tone

in his own Lectures. This, while it formed one of their brightest

ornaments, was just that without which all lectures must be held as

defective, which are addressed to young men about to enter an arduous

and responsible profession.

Abernethy stated nothing as facts but which were demonstrably such; and

with regard to any hypotheses which he employed in aid of explaining

them, he observed those conditions which philosophers agree on as

necessary, whether the hypotheses be adopted or otherwise. He did not

do even this, but for the very legitimate object of explaining the

views of the man on whose labours he was discoursing.

When those views of Mr. Hunter, which had been thus set forth and

illustrated, were attacked, he defended them with his characteristic

ability; and although we will not undertake to say that the defence

contains no single passage that might not as well have been omitted, we

are not aware that, from the beginning to the end, it is charged with a

single paragraph that does not fall fairly within the limits that the

most stringent would prescribe to scientific controversy.

The discussion of abstract principles is generally unprofitable. We

think few things more clear than that we know not the intrinsic nature

of _any_ abstract principle; and although it would be presumptuous

to say we never shall, yet we think it impossible for any reflecting

student in any science to avoid perceiving that there are peculiar

relations between the _laws_ of nature and the human capacity, which

most emphatically suggest that the study of the one is the _proper

business_, and the _prescribed limit_ to the power, of the other.

Still, the poverty of language is such, as regards the expression

of natural phenomena, that necessity has obliged us to clothe the

forces in nature with some attribute sufficiently in conformity with

our ideas to enable us to give them an intelligible expression; and,

whether we talk of luminous particles, ethereal undulations, electric

or magnetic fluids, matter of heat, &c. we apprehend that no one now

means more than to convey an intellectually tangible expression, of

certain _forces_ in nature, of which he desires to discourse; in order

to describe the _habitudes_ they observe, or the laws which they obey.

This is all we think it necessary to say on the scientific conduct of

the argument by Abernethy.

The public have long since expressed their opinion on Mr. Lawrence's

Reply and Lectures; and whatever may be regarded as their decision,

we have no disposition to canvass or disturb it. There was nothing

wonderful, however unusual, in a young man so placed, in a profession

like ours, getting into a controversy with a man of such eminence as

Abernethy, particularly on speculative subjects. There were in the

present case, to be sure, very many objections to such a position; but

these it was Mr. Lawrence's province to consider. On this, and many

other points, we have as little inclination as we have right, perhaps,

to state our opinion. Nevertheless, we must not omit a few words in

recognition of Mr. Abernethy's efforts, and a few observations on the

conduct of the governing body of the College at that time. In the

first place, we feel obliged to Mr. Abernethy for the defence he made

on that occasion: not from the importance of any abstract theory, but

from the tendency that his whole tone had to inculcate just views of

the nature and character of the profession. But we can by no means

acquit the Council of the College, at the time of the said controversy,

of what we must conceive to have been a great neglect of duty. There

is, amongst a certain class of persons, an idea that the medical

profession are sceptical on religious subjects; and many of these

persons are people of whom it is impossible not to value the respect

and good opinion. We never could trace any _legitimate_ grounds for the

conclusion. On inquiry, it has always appeared to be nothing more than

a "vulgar error," resting, as "vulgar errors" generally do, on general

conclusions drawn by people who have deduced them from insufficient

particulars.

Sometimes, the persons indulging in this idea have known a medical man

whom _they consider_ to be unstable in his religious views; another

knows that Mr. A. or B. never goes to church; sometimes, even political

differences have been held sufficient excuse for impugning the

soundness of a man's ideas on the all-important subject of religion. We

have never been able to discover any grounds on which they could, with

any show of justice, support so serious an imputation. For our parts,

we know not how the necessary data are to be obtained, and therefore

should shrink from anything so presumptuous as an attempt to describe

the religious character of any profession.

We have no means of obtaining the evidence necessary even to examine,

much less to support, so serious and difficult a generalization.

The great bulk of our profession are general practitioners; and in

forming opinions in regard to any class of men, we naturally look to

the greatest number. So far as our own experience has gone, we cannot

find the slightest ground for the degrading imputation. Like all other

medical men, their labours are incessant, their hours of recreation

few, and far between. In their requisitions on their time, the public

regard neither night nor day, nor the Sabbath, when they require

attention. Then, if we look to conduct as no unreasonable test of

religion, we may, like all other professions, have blots. We have, in

all grades, it may be, our fee-hunters and long-billed practitioners;

but whether we regard the physician, surgeon, or general practitioner,

we verily believe that there are no men in the kingdom who, as a body,

conduct themselves more honourably, none who are less mercenary, none

who, in relation to their position, are less affluent—no bad test—nor

who do one-tenth of the work which they do, without any remuneration

whatever.

With regard to the alleged absence from public worship, there may be

(however explicable) some ground for the remark, and especially as no

profession shows, in the general respectability of their conduct, a

more ready and respectful acquiescence in the established usages of

mankind.

But let the question be fairly stated. How many medical men can go to

church every Sunday, and to the same church, without a compromise of

a paramount duty? We are ready to concede, that the necessities which

professional calls impose on so many occasions, may have a tendency to

form habits, when impediments are less pressing; but is it not rather

the exactions of the public, than the choice of the profession, which

imposes the necessity? How many of the public would be satisfied, if

they wished to see a professional man on any pressing occasion, and

were told that he could not be seen for a couple of hours, as he was

going to church?

Highly as we venerate the benign and beautiful ordinance of the

Sabbath, important as we think it, that, on all accounts, it should be

observed with reverence and gratitude,—still we should hesitate before

we regarded the single act of attendance or absence on public worship

as a safe or charitable exposition of any man's religious stability.

We, therefore, as far as in us lies, repudiate the charge; we regard it

as groundless; and think that, as no profession affords more frequent

opportunities for a constant awakening and keeping alive the best

sympathies of our nature, so no profession can be more calculated to

impress the fragile nature of the body, as contrasted with the immortal

spirit which inhabits it, or the constant presence of that Power by

whose laws they are both governed. But groundless as we think the

charge, we must contend that the apathy of the Council of the College,

at the time Mr. Lawrence delivered the lectures in question, was a

serious neglect of duty. In those Lectures, Mr. Lawrence spoke of the

Old Testament in a tone which must, we think, be regarded as irrelevant

to, or at least unnecessary in, a course of Lectures on Comparative

Anatomy.

We hold no sympathy with that sort of persecution with which several

well-intentioned people visited the book; but we must always regard

the Council of the time as having been neglectful of their duty.

Lectures on Comparative Anatomy do not render it necessary to impugn

the historical correctness, or the inspired character, of the Old

Testament. What answer could private individuals make, or with what

influence could they oppose the prejudices of the public in relation

to the religious securities afforded by men in whom they confide, when

they saw a young professor allowed to introduce into lectures—given

to an audience composed of the most aged and eminent of the profession,

as well as of many of those who were just commencing their studies,

delivered, too, at the chartered College of the profession—matter

which was not only not at all necessary to the most ample exposition

of the subject, but which, as we have said, only alluded to the

Old Testament in a manner calculated to weaken its authority as an

historical document, and to impugn its inspired character?

Surely there was no more certain mode of giving an _ex cathedrâ_

sanction to the unfavourable impressions of the public; impressions

which tend to tarnish the lustre of a profession which founds its claim

to respect on its high office in kindly ministrations and unquestioned

utility; and to arm a vulgar and unfounded prejudice with all the

influence of Collegiate recognition. If, indeed, the College had

desired to support the alleged favourable tendency of Mr. Abernethy's

views, or the alleged opposite bearings of those to which he was

opposed, they could hardly have done better than to have allowed of

the irrelevant matter in question. But we have done. It is no part of

our business to quote passages, or further to renew discussions long

since passed away, than is necessary for our proper objects. But when

we consider on how many points Abernethy must have been hurt, the very

difficult and perplexing position in which he was placed, we cannot

too much admire the very measured tone he adopted throughout; or the

evidently wounded feeling, but still dignified yet simple statement in

the published Postscript in his Lectures; and though there had been no

subsequent exemplification of his forgiving temper—which was not the

case—we should still have felt obliged to regard the whole affair as

indicative of great goodness of heart; and, when all the circumstances

of disappointment and vexation are duly weighed, of almost unexampled

moderation.

It is just to Mr. Lawrence to observe, that, some few years after

this, the Governors of Bethlem Hospital, on the annual (and usually

formal) election of the surgeon, an office held by Mr. Lawrence, threw

the appointment open to competition; on which occasion Mr. Lawrence

published a letter expressing regret, in general terms, as to certain

passages in the Lectures in question, and his determination not to

publish any more on similar subjects. The coincidence of this letter

with the threatened tenure of office, of course gave rise to the usual

remarks; but, if a man say he is sorry for a thing, perhaps it is

better not to scan motives too closely. Mankind stand too much in need

of what Burns suggests, and with which we close this not very agreeable

subject:

"Then gently scan your brother man,

Still gentler sister woman;

Though they may gang a kennin wrang,

To step aside is human."

CHAPTER XXI.

"And though they prove not, they confirm the cause,

When what is taught agrees with Nature's laws."

DRYDEN'S RELIG. LAICI.

PREFATORY REMARKS.

In endeavouring to give some idea of Abernethy's manner in more

sustained compositions, we have made some selections from the Lectures

he delivered at the College of Surgeons. Without any pretensions to a

critically faultless style, there always seemed to us to be a peculiar

simplicity, combined with a broad and comprehensive range of thought.

Sometimes, too, he has almost a "curiosa felicitas" in the tone of

his expressions; though this was more remarkable, we think, when he

felt more free; that is, in his unrivalled teaching at the Hospital,

of which we shall endeavour to give a more particular account. As we

have before remarked, it is impossible to do full justice to Abernethy,

unless we were to publish his works, with a running commentary; and we

fear that in the selections we offer we have incurred a responsibility

which we shall not properly fulfil. To convey the full, the suggestive

merit of even some of the following passages, it would be necessary to

state carefully the relation they bear to the state of science, both

chemical and physiological, at the time they were written, and the

present.

The interest of the Lectures is so evenly distributed through the

whole, that selection is very difficult; and being obliged to consider

our limits, we have, in the absence of a better guide, selected the

passages at random, as suggested by our own impressions of them. We

therefore can only earnestly recommend the perusal of the Lectures

themselves, as equally entertaining and instructive to the general as

well as the professional reader. The varied expression and manner,

and his fine intellectual countenance, by which he imparted so

much interest to his delivery on every subject he touched, will be

considered in connection with his success in the art of lecturing, to

which these somewhat formal specimens may serve as an introduction.

THE APPARENT UNIVERSAL DISTRIBUTION OF SOME POWERFUL

FORCE LIKE ELECTRICITY, MAGNETISM, ETC.

"When, therefore, we perceive in the universe at large a cause of rapid

and powerful motions of masses of inert matter, may we not naturally

conclude that the inert molecules of vegetable and animal matter may be

made to move in a similar manner by a similar cause?"

REPUDIATION OF AN OFTEN-ALLEGED OPINION.

"It is not meant that electricity is life. There are strong analogies

between electricity and magnetism; and yet I do not know that any

one has been hardy enough to assert their absolute identity[40]. I

only mean to prove that Mr. Hunter's theory is verifiable, by showing

that a subtile substance of a quickly, powerfully mobile nature seems

to pervade everything, and appears to be the life of the world; and

therefore it is probable that a similar substance pervades organized

bodies, and produces similar effects in them.

"The opinions which, in former times, were a justifiable hypothesis,

seem to me now to be converted into a rational theory[41]."

IN RELATION TO MICROSCOPIC OBSERVATION.

"This general and imperfect sketch of the anatomy of the nervous system

relates only to what may be discovered by our unassisted sight. If by

means of the microscope we endeavour to observe the ultimate nervous

fibres, persons in general are as much at a loss as when, by the same

means, they attempt to trace the ultimate muscular fibres[42]."

ILLUSTRATION, OF MOTION NOT NECESSARILY IMPLYING SENSATION.

"Assuredly, motion does not necessarily imply sensation; it takes place

where no one ever yet imagined there could be sensation. If I put on

the table a basin containing a saturated solution of salt, and threw

into it a single crystal, the act of crystallization would begin from

the point touched, and rapidly and regularly pervade the liquor till

it assumed a solid form. Yet I know I should incur your ridicule if I

suggested the idea that the stimulus of salt had primarily excited the

action, or that its extension was the effect of continuous sympathy.

If, also, I threw a spark amongst gunpowder; what would you think, were

I to represent the explosion as a struggle resentful of injury, or the

noise as the clamorous expression of pain[43]?"

DIFFERENT NERVOUS SYSTEMS VARIOUSLY AFFECTED BY SIMILAR

IMPRESSIONS.

"Thus the odour of a cat, or the effluvia of mutton, the one

imperceptible, the other grateful to the generality of persons, has

caused individuals to fall on the ground as though bereaved of life,

or to have their whole frame agitated by convulsions. Substances which

induce disease in one person or animal, do not induce disease in

others[44]."

IMPORTANCE OF OPINIONS.

"Thinking being inevitable, we ought, as I said, to be solicitous to

think correctly. Opinions are equally the natural result of thought,

and the cause of conduct. If errors of thought terminated in opinions,

they would be of less consequence; but a slight deviation from the

line of rectitude in thought may lead to a most distant and disastrous

aberration from that line in action. I own I cannot readily believe

any one who tells me he has formed no opinion on subjects which must

have engaged and interested his attention. Persons both of sceptical

and credulous characters form opinions, and we have in general some

principal opinion, to which we connect the rest, and to which we make

them subservient; and this has a great influence on all our conduct.

Doubt and uncertainty are so fatiguing to the human mind, by keeping it

in continual action, that it will and must rest somewhere; and if so,

our inquiry ought to be where it may rest most securely and comfortably

to itself, and with most advantage to others.

"In the uncertainty of opinions, wisdom would counsel us to adopt those

which have a tendency to produce beneficial actions."

INDEPENDENCE OF MIND ON LIFE AS ARISING OUT OF THE IDEA

THAT LIFE WAS SUPERADDED TO ORGANIZATION—HIS DISPOSITION

TO ALLEGORY.

"If I may be allowed to express myself allegorically with regard to

our intellectual operations, I would say that the mind chooses for

itself some little spot or district, where it erects a dwelling, which

it furnishes and decorates with the various materials it collects.

Of many apartments contained in it, there is one to which it is most

partial, where it chiefly reposes, and where it sometimes indulges its

visionary fancies. At the same time, it employs itself in cultivating

the surrounding grounds, raising little articles for intellectual

traffic with its neighbours, or perhaps some produce worthy to be

deposited amongst the general stores of human knowledge. Thus my

mind rests at peace in thinking on the subject of life, as it has

been taught by Mr. Hunter; and I am visionary enough to imagine that

if these opinions should become so established as to be generally

admitted by philosophers, that if they once saw reason to believe that

life was something of an invisible and active nature _superadded_ to

organization, they would then see equal reason to believe that mind

might be superadded to life, as life is to structure. They would then,

indeed, still further perceive how mind and matter might reciprocally

operate on each other by means of an intervening substance. Thus,

even, would physiological researches enforce the belief which I say is

natural to man: that, in addition to his bodily frame, he possesses

a sensitive, intelligent, and _independent_ mind—an opinion which

tends in an eminent degree to produce virtuous, honourable, and useful

actions[45]."

ATTRACTIONS OF PhYSIOLOGY—THE NECESSITY OF EXAMINING

BOTH HEALTH AND DISEASE A VERY IMPORTANT POINT JUST

NOW, AS TESTING THE VALIDITY OF CERTAIN VIEWS OF LIEBIG

AND OTHERS.

"No study can surely be so interesting as Physiology. Whilst other

sciences carry us abroad in search of objects, in this we are engaged

at home, and on concerns highly important to us, in inquiring into

the means by which 'we live, and move, and have our being.' To those,

however, engaged in the practice of Medicine, the study of Physiology

is indispensable; for it is evident that the nature of the disordered

actions of parts or organs can never be understood or judiciously

counteracted, unless the nature of their healthy actions be previously

known.

"The study of Physiology, however, not only requires that we should

investigate the nature of the various vital processes carried on in

our own bodies, but also that we should compare them with similar

processes in all the varieties of living beings; not only that we

should consider them in a state of natural and healthy action, but also

under all the varying circumstances of disorder and disease. Few indeed

have studied Physiology thus extensively, and none in an equal degree

with Mr. Hunter. Whoever attentively peruses his writings, must, I

think, perceive that he draws his crowds of facts from such different

and remote sources, as to make it extremely difficult to assemble and

arrange them[46]."

OF DISORDER AND DISEASE.

"Disorder, which is the effect of faulty actions of _nerves_,

induces disease, which is the consequence of faulty actions of the

_vessels_. There are some who find it difficult to understand how

similar swellings or ulcers may form in various parts of the body

in consequence of general nervous disorder, and are all curable by

appeasing and removing such general disorder. The fact is indisputable.

Such persons are not so much surprised that general nervous disorder

should produce local effects in the nervous and muscular systems;

yet they cannot so well understand how it should locally affect the

vascular system. To me there appears nothing wonderful in such events;

for the local affection is primarily nervous, and the vascular actions

are consequent. Yet it must indeed be granted that there may be other

circumstances leading to the peculiarities of local diseases, with

which, at present, we are unacquainted. Disorder excites to disease,

and when _important organs_ become in a degree diseased, they

will still perform their functions moderately well, _if disorder_

be relieved, which _ought to be the Alpha and Omega of medical

attention_[47]."

As we have seen, in the early part of our narrative, he was one of

the first to insist on the importance of Comparative Anatomy and

Physiology, and, as we shall have to relate, most active in securing

what has proved so greatly influential to its progress in this country

(the appointment of Professor Owen). Yet he modestly ignores any

positive pretensions which might be imputed to him from his endeavour

to illustrate a Museum dealing so largely with Comparative Anatomy.

"Gratitude to the former of the Museum, and also to the donors to

it, equally demand that its value and excellency should be publicly

acknowledged and displayed, which consideration has goaded me on to

undertake and imperfectly execute a task for which I feel myself not

properly qualified."

Here follows what is very candid in Abernethy, and honourable to Mr.

Clift, who had very many debtors who were less communicative.

"I cordially acknowledge that I have little acquaintance with the

subject, except what I derived from looking over the preparations

in the Museum, from reading Professor Cuvier's Lectures, and from

the frank and friendly communications of our highly praiseworthy

conservator, Mr. Clift. Permit me to say, gentlemen, though many know

it already, that Mr. Clift resided with Mr. Hunter, and was taught

by him to exhibit anatomical facts in preparations,—that he does

credit to his excellent instructor,—that he feels the same interest

and zeal that his patron did for the improvement of this department

of science,—and that he possesses the same candour and simplicity of

character[48]."

OF DEEP AND SUPERFICIAL THINKING.

"I now beg leave to add that there are many who think clearly,

who do not think deeply; and they have greatly the advantage in

expressing themselves, for their thoughts are generally simple and

easy of apprehension. Opinions immediately deduced from any series or

assemblage of facts may be called primary opinions, and they become

types and representatives of the facts from which they are formed,

and, like the facts themselves, admit of assortment, comparison, and

inference; so that from them we deduce ulterior opinions, till at

length, by a kind of intellectual calculation, we obtain some general

total, which in like manner becomes the representative and co-efficient

of all our knowledge, with relation to the subject examined and

considered.

"In proportion to the pains we have taken in this algebraical process

of the mind, and our assurance of its correctness, so do we contemplate

the conclusion or consummation of our labours with satisfaction[49]."

CHARACTERISTIC OF HIS INCLINATION TO THE LAW.

"Gentlemen (of the jury), I trust I can prove to your perfect

conviction, by ample and incontrovertible evidence, that my client

(John Hunter) died seized and possessed of very considerable literary

property, the hard-earned gainings of great talent and unparalleled

industry. It is not, however, for the property that I plead; because

already that is secured; it is fenced in; land-marks are set up; it

is registered in public documents. I plead only for the restitution

of a great and accumulated income of reputation derivable from that

property, which, I trust, you will perceive to be justly due, and will

consequently award to my client, and his country[50]."

OF MR. HUNTER—PROGRESS OF HIS MIND, ETC.

"Believing that no man will labour in the strenuous and unremitting

manner that Mr. Hunter did, and to the detriment of his own private

interest, without some strong incentive; I have supposed that at an

early period he conceived those notions of life which were confirmed

by his future inquiries and experiments. He began his observations on

the incubated egg, in the year 1755, which must either have suggested

or corroborated all his opinions with regard to the cause of the vital

phenomena. He perceived that, however different in form and faculty,

every creature was nevertheless allied to himself, because it was a

living being; and therefore he became solicitous to inquire how the

vital processes were carried on in all the varieties of animal and even

vegetable existence."

OF GENIUS AND JUDGMENT.

"In the progress of science, genius with light and airy steps often far

precedes judgment, which proceeds slowly, and either finds or forms

a road along which all may proceed with facility and security; but

the _direction_ of the course of judgment is often suggested, and its

actions are excited and accelerated, by the invocations of preceding

genius[51]."

REITERATION OF THE DENIAL THAT HE IDENTIFIED LIFE WITH

ELECTRICITY.

"As Sir H. Davy's experiments fully prove that electricity may be

superadded to, and that it enters into, the composition of all those

substances we call matter, I felt satisfied with the establishment

of the philosophy of Mr. Hunter's views, nor thought it necessary to

proceed further, but merely added: 'It is not meant to be affirmed that

electricity is life.' I only mean to argue in favour of Mr. Hunter's

theory, by showing that a subtile substance of a quickly and powerfully

mobile nature seems to pervade everything, and appears to be the life

of the world; and that therefore it is probable a similar substance

pervades organized bodies, and is the life of these bodies. I am

concerned, yet obliged, to detain you by this recapitulation, because

my meaning has been either misunderstood or misrepresented[52]."

CHEMISTRY OF LIFE.

"He (Mr. Hunter) told us that life was a great chemist, and, even in a

seemingly quiescent state, had the power of resisting the operations of

external chemical agency, and thereby preventing the decomposition of

those bodies in which it resided. Thus seeds may lie buried far beneath

the surface of the earth for a great length of time without decaying,

but being thrown up, they vegetate. Mr. Hunter showed us that this

chemist, 'Life,' had the power of regulating the temperature of the

substances in which it resides[53]."

INTERESTING; ALSO SIGNIFICANT IN REGARD TO WHAT ARE PROBABLY

THE REAL SOURCES OF ANIMAL HEAT, AND IN RELATION

TO THE LUNGS, WHICH WE HAVE CONTENDED ARE REFRIGERATING

AND NOT HEATING ORGANS.

"The progress of science since Mr. Hunter's time has wonderfully

manifested that the beam, when dissected by a prism, is not only

separable into seven calorific rays of different refrangibility,

producing the iridescent spectrum, but also into calorific rays

refracted in the greatest degree or intensity beyond the red colour,

and into rays not calorific, refracted in like manner, to the opposite

side of the spectrum beyond the violet colour; and that the calorific

and uncalorific rays produce effects similar to those occasioned by

the two kinds of electricity; and thus afforded additional reasons for

believing that subtile, mobile substances do enter into the composition

of all those bodies which the sun illumines, or its beams can penetrate.

"Late observations induce the belief that even light may be

incorporated in a latent state with animal substances and afterwards

elicited by a kind of spontaneous separation by vital actions, or

by causes that seem to act mechanically on the substance in which

it inheres. All the late discoveries in science seem to realize the

speculations of ancient philosophers, and show that all the changes and

motions which occur in surrounding bodies, as well as those in which we

live, are the effect of subtile and invisible principles existing in

them, or acting on them. Mr. Ellis, who, with such great industry and

intelligence, has collated all the scattered evidences relative to the

production of heat in living bodies, and added so much to the collected

knowledge, seems to think that all the variations of temperature in

them may be accounted for by known chemical processes.

"Here, however, I must observe, that Mr. Hunter's opinion of life

having the power of regulating temperature was deduced, not only from

his own experiments, related in the 'Philosophical Transactions,' but

also from observing, that, in certain _affections of the stomach, the

heat of the body is subject to great vicissitudes, whilst respiration

and circulation remain unaltered_; and also that parts of the body are

subject to similar variations, which appear inexplicable upon any other

supposition than that of _local nervous excitement_, or torpor, or some

similar affections of the vital powers of the part which undergoes such

transitions[54]."

ALLEGED TENDENCIES OF A BELIEF IN THE INDEPENDENT

NATURE OF MIND.

"It is equally apparent that the belief of the distinct and independent

nature of mind incites us to act rightly from principle; to relieve

distress, to repel aggression, and defend those who are incapable of

protecting themselves; to practise and extol whatever is virtuous,

excellent, and honourable; to shun and condemn whatever is vicious and

base, regardless also of our own personal feelings and interests when

put in competition with our duty[55]."

OF PHRENOLOGY.

"There is nothing in the assertions of Drs. Gall and Spurzheim

contradictory to the results of general observation and experience. It

is admitted that the superior intellectual faculties can and ought

to control the inferior propensities. It is admitted that we possess

organs, which, nevertheless, may be inactive from general torpor or

want of education. General observation and experience proclaim that

susceptibility is the chief incentive to action, that it is the source

of genius; and that the character of the man greatly depends on his

education and habits. We educate our faculties; what is at first

accomplished with difficulty, by repetition is easily performed, and

becomes more perfect and established by habit. Trains of perceptions

and thoughts also become firmly concentrated, and occur in succession.

Even our feelings undergo the same kind of education and establishment.

Casual feelings of goodwill by repetition strengthen and produce

lasting friendships; whilst trivial sensations of disgust, in like

manner, may occasion inveterate hatred."

ON THE SAME.

"Should the result of our general inquiries, or attention to the

subjects proposed to us by Drs. Gall and Spurzheim, induce us to

believe that the peculiarities of our feelings and faculties were the

effects of variety of excitement, transmitted through a diversity

of organization, they would tend to produce mutual forbearance and

toleration. We should perceive how nearly impossible it must be that

any persons should think and feel exactly alike upon any subject. We

should not arrogantly pride ourselves on our own virtue and knowledge,

nor condemn the errors and weakness of others, since they may depend

upon causes which we can neither produce nor readily counteract. The

path of virtue is plain and direct, and its object distinctly before

us; so that no one can miss either, who has resolution enough never

to lose sight of them, by adverting to advantages and allurements

with which he may be presented on the one hand, or the menacings

with which he may be assailed on the other. Yet no one, judging from

his own feelings and powers, can be aware of the kind and degree of

temptation or terror, or the seeming incapacity to resist them, which

may have induced others to deviate. Now, though from the foregoing

considerations I am pleased with the speculations of Drs. Gall and

Spurzheim, I am quite incompetent to give any opinion as to the

probability of what they have suggested; because I see no mode by which

we can with propriety admit or reject their assertions, except by

pursuing the same course of investigations which they themselves have

followed; a task of great labour and difficulty, and one which, for

various reasons, I should feel great repugnance to undertake[56]."

Abernethy used to like very well to talk with Spurzheim, who resided

for some time in this country. One day, Abernethy, half-seriously,

half-humorously said to Spurzheim: "Well, Doctor, where do you place

the organ of common sense?" Spurzheim's reply certainly sustained the

coincidence of phrenological deductions with those of experience.

"There is no organ," said he, "for common sense, but it depends on the

equilibrium of the other organs."

THEOLOGICAL APPLICATION OF ANATOMICAL FACTS.

"Therefore, from this least interesting part of anatomy, we derive

the strongest conviction of there being design and contrivance in the

construction of animals. Equal evidences of design and contrivance and

of adaptation of means to ends may be observed in the construction of

the framework, as I may call it, of other animals, as in that of man,

which subject seems to me very happily displayed in Professor Cuvier's

Lectures[57].

"It was, however, the comparing the mechanism of the hand and foot

that led Galen, who they say was a sceptic in his youth, to the public

declaration of his opinion that intelligence must have operated in

ordaining the laws by which living beings are constructed. That Galen

was a man of a very superior intellect could readily be proved, were it

necessary. I have often known the passage I allude to made a subject

of reference, but not of quotation, and therefore I recite it on the

present occasion, and particularly because it shows that Galen was

not in the least degree tinctured with superstition. 'In explaining

these things,' he says, 'I esteem myself as composing a solemn hymn

to the great Architect of our bodily frame, in which I think there is

more true piety than in sacrificing whole hecatombs of oxen, or in

burning the most costly perfumes; for, first, I endeavour from His

works to know Him myself, and afterwards by the same means to show

Him to others, to inform them how great is His wisdom, goodness, and

power[58].'"

DISTINCTIVE CHARACTER OF LIVING BODIES.

"Those bodies which we call living are chiefly characterized by their

powers of converting surrounding substances into their own nature,

of building up the structure of their own bodies, and repairing the

injuries they may accidentally sustain[59]."

IN REPUDIATION OF CRUELTY AND EXPERIMENTS ON ANIMALS.

Very important in our view. The objection was very new at that time,

and has made very little way yet. We have already referred to this

subject. Considering the period of these Lectures (nearly forty years

ago), Abernethy's objections, though cautious, are very sound, and,

for him, very positive. We know that he felt still more strongly.

"Mr. Hunter, whom I should not have believed to be very scrupulous

about inflicting sufferings upon animals, nevertheless censures

Spalanzani for the unmeaning repetition of similar experiments. Having

resolved publicly to express my own opinion with respect to this

subject, I choose the present opportunity to do it, because I believe

Spalanzani to have been one of those who have tortured and destroyed

animals in vain. I do not perceive that in the two principal subjects

which he sought to elucidate, he has added any important fact to our

stock of knowledge; besides, some of his experiments are of a nature

that a good man would have blushed to think of, and a wise man ashamed

to publish, for they prove no fact requiring to be proved, and only

show that the aforesaid Abbé was a filthy-minded fellow."

ON THE SAME.

"The design of experiments is to interrogate nature; and surely

the inquirer ought to make himself acquainted with the language of

nature, and take care to propose pertinent questions. He ought further

to consider the probable kind of replies that may be made to his

inquiries, and the inferences that may be warranted in drawing from

different responses, so as to be able to determine whether, by the

commission of cruelty, he is likely to obtain adequate instruction.

Indeed, before we make experiments on sensitive beings, we ought

further to consider whether the information we seek may not be

attainable by other means. I am aware of the advantages which have been

derived from such experiments when made by persons of talent, and who

have properly prepared themselves; but I know that these experiments

tend to harden the feelings which often lead to the inconsiderate

performance of them.

"Surely we should endeavour to foster, and not stifle, benevolence,

the best sentiment of our nature, that which is productive of

the greatest gratification both to its possessor and to others.

_Considering the professors in this place as the organs of the Court

of the College_, addressing its members, I feel that I act as becomes

a senior of this institution, whilst admitting the propriety of the

practice under the foregoing restrictions, I, at the same time,

express an earnest hope that the character of an English surgeon may

never be tarnished by the commission of inconsiderate or unnecessary

cruelty[60]."

A VERY EARLY EXCELLENCE OF ABERNETHY: EXCEEDINGLY NECESSARY

AT ONE TIME IN RELATION TO THE ERRONEOUS

NOTIONS ON WHICH ANATOMICAL INVESTIGATIONS WERE CONDUCTED;

ADVANCING SCIENCE HAS FULLY CONFIRMED THE

JUSTICE AND GOOD SENSE OF HIS REMARKS.

"To me, however, who confide more in the eye of reason than in that

of sense, and would rather form opinions from analogy than from the

imperfect evidence of sight, it seems too hasty an inference to

conclude that, in the minute animals, there are no vessels nor other

organization because we cannot see them, or that polypes are actually

devoid of vessels, and merely of the structure described, because we

can discern no other. Were it, however, really so, such facts would

then only show with how little and with what various organization life

could accomplish its principal functions of assimilation, formation,

and multiplication. Who has seen the multitudinous distribution of

absorbing vessels, and all the other organization, which doubtless

exists in the vitreous humour of the eye, than which no glass ever

appeared more transparent or more seemingly inorganic[61]? How strange

is it that anatomists, above all other members of the community of

science, should hesitate to admit the existence of what they cannot

discern, since they, more than all the rest, have such constant

assurance of the imperfection and fallibility of sight[62]?"

REITERATION OF AN IMPORTANT AXIOM, QUITE NECESSARY AT THIS TIME TO THE

CHEMICAL PHYSIOLOGISTS.

"Our physiological theories should be adequate to account for all the

vital phenomena both in health _and disorder_, or they can never be

maintained as good theories[63]."

OF RESPIRATION. CAUTIOUS REASONING. HAD ALL REASONED

THUS, WE MIGHT HAVE ESCAPED MUCH UNSOUND THEORIZING

ON THIS IMPORTANT PROCESS.

"Chemists have considered the change as contributory to the production

of animal heat, which opinion may, indeed, be true, though the manner

in which it produces such an effect has not, as yet, been explained.

Mr. Hunter, who believed that life had the power of regulating

temperature, _independently of_ respiration, says nothing of that

process as directly contributing to such an effect. He says: 'Breathing

seems to render life to the blood, and the blood conveys it to every

part of the body,' yet he believes the blood derives its vitality

also from the food. I am at a loss to know what chemists now think

respecting heat, whether they consider it to be a distinct species of

matter, or mere motion and vibration. Among the curious revolutions

which this age has produced, those of chemical opinions have a fair

claim to distinction. To show which, I may add, that a lady[64], on

her first marriage, was wedded to that scientific champion who first

overthrew phlogiston, and established, in its stead, the empire of

caloric; and after his decease, on her second nuptials, was united to

the man who vainly supposed he had subverted the rule of caloric and

restored the ancient but long-banished dynasty of motion and vibration.

In this state of perplexity, I cannot, with prudence or probable

security, advance one step further than Mr. Hunter has led me. I must

believe respiration to be essential to life, and that life has the

power, by its actions, of maintaining and regulating temperature[65]."

CHARACTERISTIC, BOTH AS TO ILLUSTRATION AND MORAL

BEARING.

"Those of the medical profession must readily accord with the remark

of Shakspeare, that such affections (disturbed states of the nervous

system) which may well indeed be called 'master passions,' sway us

to their mood in what we like or loathe. For we well know that our

patients and ourselves, from disturbance of the nervous functions of

the digestive organs, producing such affections of the brain, may

become irritable, petulant, and violent about trifles, or oppressed,

morose, and desponding. Permit me, however, to add that those of the

medical profession must be equally apprized that when the functions

of the mind are not disturbed by such affections, it displays great

energy of thought, and evidence of established character, even in

death. Have we not lately heard that the last words of Nelson were:

'Tell Collingwood to bring the fleet to an anchor?' Shakspeare has

also represented Mercutio continuing to jest, though he was mortally

wounded; the expiring Hotspur thinking of nothing but honour, and the

dying Falstaff cracking his jokes on Bardolph's nose. I request you

to excuse this digression, which I have been induced to make, from

perceiving that, if such facts were duly attended to, they would

prompt us to a more liberal allowance for each other's conduct, under

certain circumstances, than we are accustomed to do; and also incite us

to the more active and constant performance of the great business of

human life—the education of the mind; for, according to its knowledge

and dispositions, do we possess the ability of contributing to our own

welfare and comfort, and that of others[66]."

[Illustration: "_The proposition is this:—I say that Local disease,

injury, or irritation, may disturb the whole system, and conversely,

disturbance of the whole system, may affect any part._" (_Surgical

Lectures_.)]

[Footnote 40: Oersted's experiments, which by some are regarded as

identifying these powers, occurred in 1820, four or five years after

the delivery of this Lecture.]

[Footnote 41: Anatom. Lect. I, p. 51.]

[Footnote 42: Anat. Lect. II, p. 62.]

[Footnote 43: Ibid. p. 84.]

[Footnote 44: Ibid. p. 85.]

[Footnote 45: Anat. Lect. II, p. 92.]

[Footnote 46: Physiol. Lect. I, p. 3. 1817.]

[Footnote 47: Introd. Lect. p. 117. 1815.]

[Footnote 48: Physiol. Lect. I, p. 14.]

[Footnote 49: Ibid. p. 22.]

[Footnote 50: Physiol. Lect. I, p. 16.]

[Footnote 51: Physiol. Lect. I, p. 19.]

[Footnote 52: Ibid. p. 26.]

[Footnote 53: Physiol. Lect. I, p. 27.]

[Footnote 54: Physiol. Lect. I, p. 37.]

[Footnote 55: Physiol. Lect. I, p. 51.]

[Footnote 56: Physiol. Lect. III, p. 99.]

[Footnote 57: Physiol. Lect. III, p. 151.]

[Footnote 58: Physiol. Lect. III, p. 152.]

[Footnote 59: Physiol. Lect. IV, p. 155.]

[Footnote 60: Physiol. Lect. IV, p. 164.]

[Footnote 61: Physiol. Lect. V, p. 203.]

[Footnote 62: Physiol. Lect. V, p. 209.]

[Footnote 63: Ibid. p. 229.]

[Footnote 64: Madame Lavoisier, whose celebrated husband was

guillotined, afterwards married Count Rumford.]

[Footnote 65: Physiol. Lect. V, p. 237.]

[Footnote 66: Lect. VI, p. 257.]

CHAPTER XXII.

ABERNETHY AS A TEACHER.

"Trace Science, then, with Modesty thy guide;

First, strip off all her equipage of pride;

Deduct what is but vanity of dress,

Or learning's luxury, or idleness,

Or tricks to show the stretch of human brain,

Mere curious pleasure, or ingenious pain."

Lecturing after a fashion is easy enough; _teaching_ is a very

different affair. The one requires little more than good information,

some confidence, and a _copia verborum_; the other establishes

several additional requisitions. These requisitions, when rendered

comparatively easy by nature, are seldom perfectly matured without art

and careful study. The transmission of ideas from one mind to another,

in a simple, unequivocal form, is not always easy; but, in teaching,

the object is not merely to convey the idea, but to give a lively

and lasting impression—something that should not merely cause the

retention of the image, but in such connection as to excite another

process, "thought."

There was no peculiarity in Abernethy more striking than the power he

possessed of communicating his ideas, and of sustaining the interest

of the subject on which he spoke. For this there is no doubt he was

greatly indebted to natural talent; but it is equally clear that he had

cultivated it with much care. His ability as a lecturer was, we think,

unique. We never saw his like before: we hardly dare hope we shall

again.

There is no doubt that a great part of his success depended on a

facility of giving that variety of expression, and that versatility

of manner, which falls within the province of what we must call

dramatic; but then it was of the very highest description, in that it

was perfectly natural. It was of that kind which we sometimes find in

an actor, and which conveys the impression that he is speaking his

own sentiments, rather than those of the author. It is a species of

talent which dies with its possessor, and cannot, we think, be conveyed

by description. Still there were many things in Abernethy that were

observable, and such as could hardly have been acquired without study.

If we examine any lecturer's style, and ask ourselves what is his

fault, we shall find very few in whom we cannot detect one or more.

When we do this, and then reflect on Abernethy, we are astonished

to find how many he avoided. We shall endeavour to make this as

intelligible as we can, by citing some of the points which our

attention to different lecturers have suggested.

"Simplicity" has struck us as a feature which, in some sense or

other, is very commonly defective. Simplicity appears so important,

that perhaps, by not a very illegitimate extension of its meaning, it

might be made to include almost all the requisitions of this mode of

teaching. Let us think of it in relation to language and illustration.

In all sciences, the _facts_ are simple; the laws are yet _more

so_; increasing knowledge tends to impress on us an ever-increasing

and comprehensive simplicity. In explaining simple things, no doubt

language should be simple too. If we employ language unnecessarily

technical, we use symbols to which the learner is unaccustomed.

He has not to learn the facts _only_; but he has the _additional

labour_ of something allied to learning it in a foreign language. The

_unnecessary_ use of technicalities should then surely be avoided.

Abernethy was obliged to use them, because there were often no other

terms; but he always avoided any needless multiplication of them. When

they were difficult or objectionable, he tried some manœuvre to lighten

the repulsiveness of them.

There are many muscles in the neck with long names, and which are

generally given with important parts of surgical anatomy. Here he used

to chat a little; he called them the _little_ muscles with the _long_

names; but he would add, that, after all, they were the best-named

muscles in the body, because their names expressed their attachments.

This gave him an excuse for referring to what he had just described,

in the form of a narrative, rather than a dry repetition. Then, with

regard to one muscle, that he wished particularly to impress, the name

of which was longer than any of the others, he used to point it out as

a striking feature in all statues; and then, repeating its attachments,

and pointing to the sites which they occupied, say it was impossible to

do so without having the image of the muscle before us.

In other parts of the Lectures, he would accompany the technical name

by the popular one. Thus he would speak of the pancreas, or sweetbread;

cartilage, or gristle. Few people are aware how many difficulties are

smoothed by such simple manœuvres. Nothing interests people so much as

giving anything _positive_. We think it not improbable that many a man

has heard a lecture, in which animals have been described with whose

habits he had been perfectly familiar, without having recognized his

familiar acquaintances in the disguise afforded by a voluminous Greek

compound. Abernethy seemed always to lecture, not so much as if he was

telling us what he _knew_, as that which _we_ did _not_ know. There was

an absence of all display of any kind whatever.

To hear some lecturers, one would almost think that they adopted the

definition of language which is reported of Talleyrand—that it was

intended to conceal our ideas. Some make simple things very much

otherwise by the mode of explaining them. This reminds us of a very

worthy country clergyman, in the west of England, who, happening to

illustrate something in his sermon by reference to the qualities of

pitch, thought he should help his rustic congregation by enlarging a

little on the qualities of that mineral. He accordingly commenced by

saying, "Now, dear brethren, pitch is a bituminous substance:" rather a

difficult beginning, we should think, to have brought to a successful

conclusion.

Sometimes we have heard a very unnecessary catalogue of technicalities

joined with several propositions in one sentence. It is hardly to

be imagined how this increases the difficulty to a beginner; whilst

it impresses the excellence of that simplicity and clearness which

were so charming in Abernethy. We give an example of this defect. The

lecturer is describing the continuation of the cuticle over the eyes

of the crustacea, as lobsters, &c.: "The epidermis (the cuticle) in

the compound eyes of the crustacea passes transparent and homogeneous

over the external surface of the thick layer of the prismatic corneæ,

which are here, as in insects, generally hexagonal, but sometimes

quadrangular; and to the internal ends of the prismatic corneæ are

applied the broad bases of the hard, tapering, transparent lenses,

which have their internal truncated apices directed to the retinal

expansions of the numerous optic nerves."

The high respect we entertain for the lecturer here alluded to,

withholds us from attempting to supply a more homely version of the

foregoing passage. But what an idea this must give to a student who

reads it in "the outlines" of a science of which he is about to

commence the study. There is nothing whatever difficult in the ideas

themselves; but what a bristling _chevaux-de-frise_ of hard words,

what a phalanx of propositions! We fear we should never arrive at the

knowledge of many of those beautiful adaptations which all animals

exemplify, if we had to approach them by such a forbidding pathway.

As contrasted with simple facts thus obscured by an unnecessary

complexity of expression, we may see in Abernethy how a very

comprehensive proposition may be very simply expressed. Take almost the

first sentence in his Surgical Lectures, the germ, as it were, of a

new science: "Now I say that local disease, injury, or irritation, may

affect the whole system; and conversely, that disturbance of the whole

system may affect any part."

We have sometimes thought that lecturers who have had several desirable

qualifications have materially diminished the attraction of them by

faults which we hardly know how to designate by a better term than

vulgarity, ill-breeding, or _gaucherie_. Now Abernethy had, in the

first place, that most difficult thing to acquire, the appearance of

_perfect ease, without_ the slightest _presumption_. Some lecturers

appear painfully "in company;" others have a self-complacent

assurance, that conveys an unfavourable impression to most well-bred

people. Abernethy had a calm, quiet sort of ease, with that expression

of thought which betokened respect for his task and his audience, with

just enough of effort only, to show that his mind was in his business.

He had no offensive tricks. We have known lecturers who never began

without making faces; others who intersperse the lecture with unseemly

gesticulations. Some, on the most trivial occasion, as referring to

a diagram, are constantly turning their backs _completely_ to the

audience. This is, we know, disagreeable to many people, and, unless a

lecturer is very clear and articulate, occasionally renders his words

not distinctly audible. Even in explaining diagrams, it is seldom

necessary to turn quite round; the smallest inclination towards the

audience satisfies the requisitions of good breeding, reminds them

agreeably of a respect with which they never fail to be pleased, and of

the lecturer's self-possession.

There are, indeed, occasions when the lecturer had better turn a

little aside. Not long ago, we heard a very sensible lecturer, and a

very estimable man, produce an effect which was rather ludicrous—a

very inconvenient impression when not intended. He had been stating,

very clearly, some important facts, and he then observed: "The great

importance of these facts I will now proceed to explain to you;" when

he immediately began to apply the pocket-handkerchief he had in his

hand most elaborately to his nose, still fronting the audience. It had

the most ridiculous effect, and followed so closely on the preceding

remark, as to suggest to the humorously inclined that it was part of

the proposed explanation.

Some think it excusable to cast their eyes upwards, with an expression

of intense thought, or even to carry their hands to their heads or

forehead for the same purpose. But this conveys a painful feeling to

the audience, whose attention is apt to be diverted from the subject by

sympathy with the apparent embarrassment of the lecturer. Sometimes it

conveys the impression of affectation, which of course is one form of

vulgarity.

Abernethy was remarkably free from anything of the kind. The

expression of his countenance was, in the highest degree, clear,

penetrative, and intellectual; and his long, but not neglected,

powdered hair, which covered both ears, gave altogether a philosophic

calmness to his whole expression that was peculiarly pleasing. Then

came a sort of little smile, which mantled over the whole face, and

lighted it up with something which we cannot define, but which seemed a

compound of mirth, archness, and benevolence.

The adjustment of the quantity of matter to the time employed in

discussing it, is an important point in teaching. A lecture too _full_,

is as objectionable as a lecture _too long_. If the matter is spread

too thinly, the lecture is bald and uninteresting, and apt to fall

short of representing any integral division of a subject; if it be too

thick, it is worse, for then all is confused and difficult. A man's

brain is like a box packed in a hurry; when all is done, you neither

know what you have got, nor what you have forgotten.

Here again Abernethy was in general very happy. Various circumstances

would sometimes, indeed, in the Anatomical Course, oblige him to put

more into one lecture than was usual; but he had always, in such a

case, some little manœuvre to sustain the attention of his audience.

No man was ever a more perfect master of the _ars est celare artem_.

Everything he did had its object, every joke or anecdote its particular

errand, which was in general most effectively fulfilled.

The various ways in which Abernethy managed to lighten up the general

lecture, or to illustrate single points, can hardly be conveyed by

selection of particular examples. There was a sort of running metaphor

in his language, which, aided by a certain quaintness of manner, made

common things go very amusingly. Muscles which pursued the same course

to a certain point, were said to travel sociably together, and then to

"part company." Blood-vessels and nerves had certain habits in their

mode of distribution contrasted in this way; arteries were said to

_creep_ along the sides or between muscles. Nerves, on the contrary,

were represented as penetrating their substance "_without ceremony_."

Then he had always a ready sympathy with his audience. If a thing was

difficult, he would, as we have said, anticipate the feelings of the

student. This is always encouraging; because, when a student finds a

point difficult, if he is merely diffident, he is depressed; if he is

disposed to be lazy, he finds too good an excuse for it.

Abernethy's illustrations were usually drawn from some source already

familiar; and if they were calculated to impress the fact, he was not

very scrupulous whence he drew them. This would sometimes lead him

into little trippings against refinement; but these were never wanton.

Everything had its object, from the most pathetic tale down to the

smallest joke. When the thing to be impressed was not so much single

facts or propositions, as a more continued series, he had an admirable

mode of pretending to con over the lecture in a manner which he would

first recommend students to do—something after this fashion: "Let me

see—what did he say?" "Well, first he told us that he should speak of

Matter in general; then he said something about the Laws of Matter,

of Inertia, &c. Well, I did not understand much of that; and I don't

think he knew much about it himself;" and so on. There would now be a

general smile; the attention of the class would be thoroughly alive;

and then he would, in this "conning over," bring forward the points

he most wished to impress of the whole lecture. A very striking proof

of how much power he had in this way, came out in a conversation I

had with Dr. Thomas Rees. This gentleman knew Abernethy well, and, in

kindly answering some inquiries I made of him, he spoke of his power

in lecturing. Amongst other things, he said: "The first lecture I ever

heard him give, impressed me very much; I thought it admirable. His

skill appeared so extraordinary! At the conclusion of the lecture,"

said Dr. Rees, "he proposed to the students to con over the lecture,

which he proceeded to do for them." Dr. Rees then continued repeating

the heads of the lecture, and this after at least thirty, perhaps forty

years.

Lecturers will sometimes endeavour to illustrate a point which is

difficult or obscure by something more difficult still, or something

borrowed from another branch of science. Sometimes the illustrations

are so lengthy, or intrinsically important, that a pupil forgets _what

principle_ it was that was _to be illustrated_. When we are desirous

of learning something about water or air, it is painful for a pupil

to be "reminded" of the "properties of angles," which it is an even

chance he never knew. It is equally uncomfortable to many an audience,

in lectures on _other subjects_, to have the course of a cannon-ball,

which three pieces of string would sufficiently explain, for mere

purposes of illustration, charged with the "laws of projectiles," the

"composition of forces," &c. We are of course not thinking of learn_ed_

but learn_ing_ audiences. To the former, lectures are of no use; but

we allude to learners of mixed information and capacity; like young

men who have been residing with medical men in the country; who come

to a lecture for information, and who require to be interested, in

order that they may be instructed. Abernethy's illustrations were

always in simple language. Rough ridden sometimes by a succession of

many-footed Greek compounds, the mind of a student loves to repose on

the refreshing simplicity of household phrases.

Abernethy had stories innumerable. Every case almost was given with the

interest of a tale; and every tale impressed some lesson, or taught

some relation in the structure, functions, or diseases of the body. We

will give one or two; but their effect lay in the admirable manner in

which they were related.

If he was telling anything at all humorous, it would be lighted up by

his half-shut, half-smiling, and habitually benevolent eye. Yet his eye

would easily assume the fire of indignation when he spoke of cruelty or

neglect, showing how really repulsive these things were to him. Then

his quiet, almost stealthy, but highly dramatic imitation of the manner

of some singular patient. His equally finished mode of expressing pain,

in the subdued tone of his voice; and then when something soothing or

comfortable had been successfully administered to a patient, his "Thank

you, sir, thank you, that is very comfortable," was just enough always

to interest, and never to offend. Now and then he would sketch some

patient who had been as hasty as he himself was sometimes reported to

be. "Mr. Abernethy, I am come, sir, to consult you about a complaint

that has given me a great deal of trouble." "Show me your tongue,

sir. Ah, I see your digestive organs are very wrong." "I beg your

pardon, sir; there you are wrong yourself; I never was better in all my

life," &c. All this, which is nothing in telling, was delivered in a

half-serious, half-Munden-like, humorous manner, and yet so subdued as

never to border on vulgarity or farce.

His mode of relating cases which involved some important principle,

showed how really interested he had been in them. A gentleman having

recovered from a very serious illness, after having failed a long time

in getting relief, was threatened, by the influence of the same causes,

with a return of his malady. "He thought," said Abernethy, "that if he

did not drink deeply, he might eat like a glutton." He lived in the

country, and Mr. Abernethy one day went and dined with him. "Well,"

said Mr. Abernethy, "I saw he was at his old tricks again; so, being

a merchant, I asked him what he would think of a man who, having been

thriving in business, had amassed a comfortable fortune, and then went

and risked it all in some imprudent speculation?" "Why," said the

merchant, "I should think him a great ass." "Nay, then, sir," said

Abernethy, "thou art the man."

On another occasion, a boy having suffered severely from disease of the

hip, Abernethy had enjoined his father to remove him from a situation

which he was unfitted to fill, and which, from the exertion it

required, would expose him to a dangerous recurrence of his complaint.

The father, however, put the boy back to his situation. One day,

Abernethy met both father and son in Chancery Lane, and he saw the

boy, who had a second time recovered, again limping in his walk. After

making the necessary inquiry—"Sir," said he to the father, "did I not

warn you not to place your son in that situation again?" The father

admitted the fact. "Then, sir," said Abernethy, "if that boy dies, I

shall be ready to say you are his murderer." Sure enough, the boy had

another attack, and did die in a horrible condition.

This story, and others of a similar kind, were intended to impress

the paramount importance of keeping diseased parts, _and joints

especially_, in a state of _perfect repose_; and to prevent a

recurrence of mischief, by avoiding modes of life inappropriate to

constitutions which had exhibited a tendency to this serious class of

diseases.

He was remarkably good on the mode of examining and detecting the

nature of accidents; as fractures and dislocations. In regard to the

latter, he had many very good stories, of which we will presently cite

a ludicrous example. He could, however, throw in pathos with admirable

skill when he desired it. The following lamentable case he used to tell

to an audience singularly silent. He is speaking of the course of a

large artery.

"Ah," said he, "there is no saying too much on the importance of

recollecting the course of large arteries: but I will tell you a

case. There was an officer in the navy, and as brave a fellow as ever

stepped, who in a sea-fight received a severe wound in the shoulder,

which opened his axillary artery. He lost a large quantity of blood;

but the wound was staunched for the moment, and he was taken below. As

he was an officer, the surgeon, who saw he was wounded severely, was

about to attend him, before a seaman who had just been brought down.

But the officer, though evidently in great pain, said: 'Attend to that

man, sir, if you please; I can wait.' Well, his turn came; the surgeon

made up his mind that a large artery had been wounded; but, as there

was no bleeding, dressed the wound, and went on with his business. The

officer lay very faint and exhausted for some time, and at length began

to rally again, when the bleeding returned. The surgeon was immediately

called, and, not knowing where to find the artery, or what else to do,

told the officer he must amputate his arm at the shoulder joint. The

officer at once calmly submitted to this additional, but unnecessary

suffering; and, as the operator proceeded, asked if it would be long.

The surgeon replied that it would soon be over. The officer rejoined:

'Sir, I thank God for it!' But he never spake more."

Amidst the death-like silence of the class, Abernethy calmly concluded:

"I hope you will never forget the course of the axillary artery."

His position was always easy and natural—sometimes homely, perhaps.

In the Anatomical Lecture, he always stood, and either leant against

the wall, with his hands folded before him, or resting one hand on the

table, with the other perhaps in his pocket. In his Surgical Lecture,

he usually sat, and very generally with one leg resting on the other.

He was particularly happy in a kind of coziness, or friendliness of

manner, which seemed to identify him with his audience; as if we were

all about to investigate something interesting _together_, and not as

if we were going to be "Lectured at" at all. He spoke as if addressing

each individual, and his discourse, like a happy portrait, always

seemed to be looking you in the face. On very many accounts, the tone

and pitch of the voice, in lecturing, are important. First: That it may

not be inaudible; nor, on the contrary, too loud. The one of course

renders the whole useless; the other is apt to give an impression of

vulgarity. We recollect a gentleman who was about to deliver a lecture

in a theatre to which he was unaccustomed. He was advised to ascertain

the loudness required, and to place a friend in the most distant part,

to judge of its fitness; but he declined it as unnecessary. When he had

given the lecture, which was a very good one, on a very interesting

subject, he was much mortified in finding that he had been inaudible to

at least one half of the audience.

Abernethy was very successful in this respect. His voice seldom rose

above what we may term the conversational, either in pitch or tone;

it was, in general, pleasing in quality, and enlivened by a sort of

archness of expression. His loudest tone was never oppressive to those

nearest to him; his most subdued, audible everywhere. The _range_

of pitch was very limited; the expression of the eye, and a _slight

modulation_ of the voice being the means by which he infused through

the lecture an agreeable variety, or gave to particular sentiments

the requisite expression. There was nothing like declamation; even

quotations were seldom louder than would have been admissible in a

drawing-room. We have heard lecturers whose habitually declamatory tone

has been very disagreeable; and this seldom fails to be mischievous. A

declamatory tone tends to divert the attention, or to weary it when

properly directed. On almost every subject, it is sure to be the source

of occasional bathos, which now and then borders on the ridiculous.

Conceive a man, describing a curious animal in a diagram, saying,

"This part, to which I now direct my rod, is the point of the tail,"

in a sepulchral tone, and heavy cadence, as if he had said, "This

is the end of all things." Another inconvenience often attending a

declamatory tone, as distinguished from the narrative or descriptive,

is the tendency it has to make a particular cadence. Sometimes we have

heard lecturers give to every other sentence a peculiar fall; and this

succession of rhythmical samenesses, if the lecturer be not otherwise

extremely able, sends people napping.

Another fault we observe in some lecturers is, a reiteration of

particular phrases. In description, it is not easy always to avoid

this; but it seldom occurred in any disagreeable degree in Abernethy.

We have heard some lecturers, in describing things, continually

reiterating such phrases as "We find," "It is to be observed," in such

quick and frequent succession, that people's sides began to jog in

spite of them.

Provincial or national idiom, or other peculiarity, is by no means

uncommon, and generally more or less disagreeable, Abernethy was

particularly free from either. He could, in telling stories, slightly

imitate the tone and manner of the persons concerned; but it was always

touched in the lightest possible manner, and with the subdued colouring

and finish of a first-rate artist. His power of impressing facts, and

of rendering them simple and interesting by abundance and variety of

illustration, was very remarkable, and had the effect of imparting an

interest to the driest subject. In the first place, he had an agreeable

mode of sympathizing with the difficulty of the student. If he were

about to describe a bone or anything which he knew to be difficult,

he would adopt a tone more like that in which a man would teach it to

himself than describe it to others. For example, he would say, perhaps:

"Ah! this is a queer-looking bone; it has a very odd shape; but I

plainly perceive that one may divide it into two parts." Then pointing

with a probe to the division he proposed, he would begin, not so much

to _describe_ as to _find_, as if for the first time, the various

parts of which he wished to teach the names and uses; the description

being a kind of running accompaniment to his tracing of the bone, and

in a tone as if half-talking to himself and half to the audience.

Every one feels the value of order, and clearness of arrangement.

Of Abernethy's, we have already spoken generally: simplicity, and

impressing the more essential facts, were his main objects. He showed

very frequently his perception of the importance of order, and would

often methodize for the students. He knew very well that A B C was much

more easily remembered than Z K J; and he would sometimes humorously

contrast the difference between a man whose knowledge was well packed,

and one whose information was scattered and without arrangement. This

he usually did by supposing two students under examination. The scene

would not _tell_ upon paper; but it never failed to create a good deal

of mirth in the theatre, during which he would contrive to repeat the

facts he meant to impress, without the tedium of mere reiteration.

Various people have been more or less deeply impressed with different

parts of his lectures, most persons having their favourite passages. In

his anatomical course we were never more pleased than by his _general_

view of the structure of the body. He adopted on that occasion the

synthetical plan, and in imagination put the various parts together

which were to be afterwards taught analytically. In his surgical

course, the manner in which he illustrated the practical points, and

his own views in the "Eventful History of a Compound Fracture," was, we

think, the most successful triumph, both as to matter and manner, which

we have ever witnessed.

An abundance of resource and manœuvres of the kind we have mentioned,

gave a great "liveliness" to his lecture, which _in its quiet form so

as not to divert or disturb_, is a great difficulty in lecturing.

Memoirs of John Abernethy With a View of His Lectures, His Writings, and Character; with Additional Extracts from Original Documents, Now First Published · 第 37 / 41 章

He told me once of an interview he had with Lord Castlereagh, which