Within this volume, it may almost be said, "keeps death his antic court."
It comprises biographies of celebrated persons, who have died within the
year, as well as a General Biographical List of others lower in the roll
of fame. The biographies are 31 in number: among them are memoirs of Henry
Mackenzie, Elliston, Jackson the artist, Abernethy, Mrs. Siddons, Rev.
Robert Hall, Thomas Hope, Carrington, the poet of Dartmoor, Northcote the
artist, and the Earl of Norbury, and William Roscoe. These names alone
would furnish a volume of the most interesting character, and they are
aided by others of almost equal note. The memoirs are from various sources,
in part original; but, as we have cause to know the difficulty of
procuring biographical particulars of persons recently deceased, from
their surviving relatives, we are not surprised at the paucity of such
details in the present volume. Nevertheless some of the papers are stamped
with this original value; as the memoirs of Mrs. Siddons and Mr. Thomas
Hope. Our extracts are of the anecdotic turn.
_Abernethy._
An anecdote illustrative of the sound integrity, as well as of the humour,
of Mr. Abernethy's character, may here be introduced. On his receiving the
appointment of Professor of Anatomy and Surgery to the Royal College of
Surgeons, a professional friend observed to him that they should now have
something new.--"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Abernethy. "Why," said the
other, "of course you will brush up the lectures which you have been so
long delivering at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, and let us have them in an
improved form."--"Do you take me for a fool or a knave?" rejoined Mr.
Abernethy. "I have always given the students at the Hospital that to which
they are entitled--the best produce of my mind. If I could have made my
lectures to them better, I would certainly have made them so. I will give
the College of Surgeons precisely the same lectures, down to the smallest
details:--nay, I will tell the old fellows how to make a poultice." Soon
after, when he was lecturing to the students at St. Bartholomew's, and
adverting to the College of Surgeons, he chucklingly exclaimed, "I told
the big wigs how to make a poultice!" It is said by those who have
witnessed it, that Mr Abernethy's explanation of the art of making a
poultice was irresistibly entertaining.
"Pray, Mr. Abernethy, what is a cure for gout?" was the question of an
indolent and luxurious citizen. "Live upon sixpence a-day--and earn it!"
was the pithy answer.
A scene of much entertainment once took place between our eminent surgeon
and the famous John Philpot Curran. Mr. Curran, it seems, being personally
unknown to him, had visited Mr. Abernethy several times without having had
an opportunity of fully explaining (as he thought) the nature of his
malady: at last, determined to have a hearing, when interrupted in his
story, he fixed his dark bright eye on the "doctor," and said--"Mr.
Abernethy, I have been here on eight different days, and I have paid you
eight different guineas; but you have never yet listened to the symptoms
of my complaint. I am resolved, Sir, not to leave this room till you
satisfy me by doing so." Struck by his manner, Mr. Abernethy threw himself
back in his chair, and assuming the posture of a most indefatigable
listener, exclaimed, in a tone of half surprise, half humour,--"Oh! very
well, Sir; I am ready to hear you out. Go on, give me the whole--your
birth, parentage, and education. I wait your pleasure; go on." Upon which
Curran, not a whit disconcerted, gravely began:--"My name is John Philpot
Curran. My parents were poor, but I believe honest people, of the province
of Munster, where also I was born, at Newmarket, in the County of Cork, in
the year one thousand seven hundred and fifty. My father being employed to
collect the rents of a Protestant gentleman, of small fortune, in that
neighbourhood, procured my admission into one of the Protestant
free-schools, where I obtained the first rudiments of my education. I was
next enabled to enter Trinity College, Dublin, in the humble sphere of a
_sizer_:"--and so he continued for several minutes, giving his astonished
hearer a true, but irresistibly laughable account of his "birth, parentage,
and education," as desired, till he came to his illness and sufferings,
the detail of which was not again interrupted. It is hardly necessary to
add, that Mr. Abernethy's attention to his gifted patient was, from that
hour to the close of his life, assiduous, unremitting, and devoted.
In lecturing, Mr. Abernethy's manner was peculiar, abrupt, and
conversational; and often when he indulged in episodes and anecdotes he
convulsed his class with laughter, especially when he used to enforce his
descriptions by earnest gesticulation. Frequently, while lecturing, he
would descend from his high stool, on which he sat with his legs dangling,
to exhibit to his class some peculiar attitudes and movements illustrative
of the results of different casualties and disorders; so that a stranger
coming in, unacquainted with the lecturer's topics, might easily have
supposed him to be an actor entertaining his audience with a monologue,
after the manner of Matthews or Yates. This disposition, indeed, gave rise
to a joke among his pupils of "_Abernethy at Home_," whenever he lectured
upon any special subject. In relating a case, he was seen at times to be
quite fatigued with the contortions into which he threw his body and limbs;
and the stories he would tell of his consultations, with the dialogue
between his patient and himself, were theatrical and comic to the greatest
degree.
_Northcote and the present King._
A certain Royal Duke was at the head of those who chaperoned Master Betty,
the young Roscius, at the period when the _furor_ of fashion made all the
_beau monde_ consider it an enviable honour to be admitted within
throne-distance of the boy-actor. Amongst others who obtained the
privilege of making a portrait of this chosen favourite of fortune, was Mr.
Northcote.
The royal Duke to whom we allude was in the habit of taking Master Betty
to Argyll Place in his own carriage; and there were usually three or four
ladies and gentlemen of rank, who either accompanied his Royal Highness,
or met him at the studio of the artist.
Northcote, nothing awed by the splendid coteries thus assembled,
maintained his opinions upon all subjects that were discussed,--and his
independence obtained for him general respect, though one pronounced him a
cynic--another an eccentric--another a humorist--another a
free-thinker--and the prince, with manly taste, in the nautical phrase,
dubbed him a d----d honest, independent, little old fellow.
One day, however, the royal Duke, being left with only Lady ----, the
young Roscius, and the painter, and his patience being, perhaps, worn a
little with the tedium of an unusually long sitting, thought to beguile an
idle minute by quizzing the personal appearance of the Royal Academician.
Northcote, at no period of life, was either a buck, a blood, a fop, or a
maccaroni; he soon dispatched the business of dressing when a young man;
and, as he advanced to a later period, he certainly could not be called a
dandy. The loose gown in which he painted was principally composed of
shreds and patches, and might, perchance, be half a century old; his white
hair was sparingly bestowed on each side, and his cranium was entirely
bald. The royal visiter, standing behind him whilst he painted, first
gently lifted, or rather twitched the collar of the gown, which Mr.
Northcote resented, by suddenly turning and expressing his displeasure by
a frown. Nothing daunted, his Royal Highness presently, with his finger,
touched the professor's grey locks, observing, "You do not devote much
time to the toilette, I perceive--pray how long?"
Northcote instantly replied, "Sir, I never allow any one to take personal
liberties with me;--you are the first who ever presumed to do so, and I
beg your Royal Highness to recollect that I am in my own house." He then
resumed his painting.
The Prince, whatever he thought or felt, kept it to himself; and,
remaining silent for some minutes, Mr. Northcote addressed his
conversation to the lady, when the royal Duke, gently opening the door of
the studio, shut it after him, and walked away.
Northcote did not quit his post, but proceeded with the picture. It
happened that the royal carriage was not ordered until five o'clock;--it
was now not four. Presently the royal Duke returned, reopened the door,
and said, "Mr. Northcote, it rains; pray lend me an umbrella." Northcote,
without emotion, rang the bell; the servant attended; and he desired her
to bring her mistress's umbrella, that being the best in the house, and
sufficiently handsome. The royal Duke patiently waited for it in the back
drawing-room, the studio door still open; when, having received it, he
again walked down stairs, attended by the female servant. On her opening
the street door, his Royal Highness thanked her, and, spreading the
umbrella, departed.
"Surely his Royal Highness is not gone,--I wish you would allow me to ask,"
said Lady ----. "Certainly his Royal Highness is gone," replied Northcote;
"but I will inquire at your instance." The bell was rung again, and the
servant confirmed the assertion.
"Dear Mr. Northcote," said Lady ----, "I fear you have highly offended
his Royal Highness."--"Madam," replied the painter, "I am the offended
party." Lady ---- made no remark, except wishing that her carriage had
arrived. When it came, Mr. Northcote courteously attended her down to the
hall: he bowed, she curtsied, and stepping into her carriage, set off with
the young Roscius.
The next day, about noon, Mr. Northcote happening to be alone, a gentle
tap was heard, and the studio door being opened, in walked his Royal
Highness. "Mr. Northcote," said he, "I am come to return your sister's
umbrella, which she was so good as to lend me yesterday." The painter
bowed, received it, and placed it in a corner.
"I brought it myself, Mr. Northcote, that I might have the opportunity of
saying that I yesterday thoughtlessly took a very unbecoming liberty with
you, and you properly resented it. I really am angry with myself, and hope
you will forgive me, and think no more of it."
"And what did you say?" inquired the first friend to whom Northcote
related the circumstance. "Say! Gude God! what would 'e have me have said?
Why, nothing? I only bowed, and he might see what I felt. I could, at the
instant, have sacrificed my life for him!--such a Prince is worthy to be a
King!" The venerable painter had the gratification to live to see him a
King. May he long remain so!
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