On a birthday anniversary of Mrs. Abernethy, mother of John, a gentleman
recited a long copy of verses, which he had composed for the occasion.
"Ah," said young Abernethy, "that is a good joke, pretending you have
written these verses in honor of my mother. Why, sir, I know those lines
well, and can say them by heart."
"It is quite impossible, as no one has seen the copy but myself," rejoined
the gentleman, the least annoyed by the accusation of plagiarism.
Upon this Abernethy arose, and repeated them throughout, correctly, to the
no small discomfiture of the author. Abernethy had remembered them by
hearing the gentleman recite them but once!
"A boy thwarted in his choice of a profession is generally somewhat
indifferent as to the course next presented to him." Residing next door
neighbor to Abernethy's father was Dr. Charles Blicke, a surgeon in
extensive practice. This was very convenient. Sir Charles is represented
as having been quick-sighted enough to discover that "the Abernethy boy"
was clever, a good scholar, and withal a "sharp fellow." Thus, between the
indifference of the parent, and the selfishness of the surgeon, the
would-be lawyer, John Abernethy, was apprenticed to the "barber-surgeon"
for five years. He was then but fifteen years of age.
"All that young Abernethy probably knew of Sir Charles was, that he rode
about in a fine carriage, saw a great many people, and took a great many
fees; all of which, though presenting no further attractions for
Abernethy, made a _prima facie_ case not altogether repulsive."
We must not forget to mention that young Abernethy was of a very inquiring
mind. "When I was a boy," he said in after years, "I half ruined myself in
buying oranges and sweetmeats, in order to ascertain the effects of
different kinds of diet on diseases."
Whether he tried said "oranges and other things" on himself or some
unfortunate victim, my informant saith not; but I leave the reader to
decide by his own earlier appetites and experiences. "When I was a boy," I
think is significant of the probabilities that it was his own digestive
organs that were "half ruined."
Be it as it may, it reminds me of the case of a little country boy, who,
on his first advent to the city on a holiday, was chaperoned by his
somewhat older and sharper city cousin,--"one of the b'hoy's,"--who
exercised a sort of vigilance over the uninitiated rustic, that the little
fellow might not surfeit himself by too great a rapacity for peanuts,
gingerbread, candies, and oranges, often generously sharing the danger by
partaking largely of the small boy's purchases in order to spare his more
delicate stomach.
Finding the ignorant little rustic about to devour a nice-looking orange,
his cousin pounced upon him just in time to prevent the rash act.
"Here, Sammy; don't you know that is one of the nastiest and most
indigestiblest things you could put into your stomach? Give it here!"
Rustic, whose faith in the wisdom of his maturer cousin, though very
great, was yet quite counterbalanced by the sweets in the orange, slightly
held back, when the other continued,--
"Leastwise, Sammy, let's have a hold of it, and suck the abominable juice
out for you."
(For this digression I beg the pardon of the reader; for the idea I thank
Frank Leslie.)
George Macilwain, M. D., F. R. C. S., etc., in prefacing the life of the
great London surgeon, gives a brief and interesting sketch of his own
boyhood, also his early impressions of Abernethy, and his first attendance
on his lectures.
"My father practised on the border of a forest, and when he was called at
night to visit a distant patient, it was the greatest treat to me, when a
little boy, to be allowed to saddle my pony and accompany him. I used to
wonder what he could find so 'disagreeable' in that which was to me the
greatest possible pleasure; for whether we were skirting a bog on the
darkest night, or cantering over the heather by moonlight, I certainly
thought there could be nobody happier than I and my pony. It was on one of
these occasions that I first heard the name of 'Abernethy.' The next
distinct impression I have of him was derived from hearing father say that
a lady patient of his had gone up to London to have an operation performed
by Dr. Abernethy, though my father did not think the operation necessary
to a cure, and that Abernethy entirely agreed with him; that the operation
was not performed; that he sent the lady back, and she was recovering.
This gave me a notion that Dr. Abernethy must be a good man, as well as a
great physician.
"As long as surgery meant riding across the forest with my father, holding
his horse, or, if he stopped in too long, seeing if his horse rode as well
as my pony, I thought it a very agreeable occupation; but when I found
that it included many other things not so agreeable, I soon discovered
that there was a profession I liked much better....
"Disappointed in being allowed to follow the pursuit I had chosen, I
looked on the one I was about to adopt with something approximating to
repulsion; and thus one afternoon, about the year 1816, and somewhat to my
own surprise, I found myself walking down Holborn Hill on my way to Dr.
Abernethy's lecture at St. Bartholomew's.
"When Dr. Abernethy entered, I was pleased with the expression of his
countenance. I almost fancied he sympathized with the melancholy with
which I felt oppressed. At first I listened with some attention; as he
proceeded, I began even to feel pleasure; as he progressed, I found myself
entertained; and before he concluded, I was delighted. What an agreeable,
happy man he seems! What a fine profession! What wouldn't I give to know
as much as he does! Well, I will see what I can do. In short, I was
converted."
All who ever heard him lecture agree that Dr. Abernethy had a most happy
way of addressing students. Notwithstanding he has often been represented
as rough in his every-day intercourse with men, he was easy, mild, and
agreeable in the lecture-hall, and kind and compassionate in the
operating-room.
After having carefully studied all that has been written respecting his
style and manner as a lecturer and delineator, and also studiously
listened to and watched the ways and peculiarities of our most excellent
lecturer on anatomy at Harvard, I find many striking resemblances between
Dr. Abernethy and Professor Oliver Wendell Holmes.
"The position of Abernethy was always easy and natural, sometimes almost
homely. In the anatomical lecture he always stood, and either leaned
against the wall, with his arms folded before him, or rested one hand on
the table; sometimes one hand in his pocket. In his surgical lecture he
usually sat. He was particularly happy in a kind of cosiness, or
friendliness of manner, which seemed to identify him with his audience, as
if we were about to investigate something interesting together, and not
as though we were going to be 'lectured at,' at all. His voice seldom rose
above what we term the conversational, and was always pleasing in quality,
and enlivened by a sort of archness of expression."
He always kept his eye on the audience, except slightly turning to one
side to explain a diagram or subject, "turning his back on no man."
"He had no offensive habits. We have known lecturers who never began
without making faces;" we might add, "and with many a hem and haw, or
nose-blowing."
"Not long ago we heard a very sensible lecturer, and a very estimable man,
produce a most ludicrous effect by the above. He had been stating very
clearly some important facts, and he then observed,--
"'The great importance of these I will now proceed to show--' when he
immediately began to apply his pocket-handkerchief most vigorously to his
nose, still facing his audience."
The ludicrousness of this "illustration" may well be imagined. Of course
the students lost their gravity, and laughed and cheered vigorously.
Going in to hear Dr. Holmes lecture, at one o'clock one afternoon,
recently, the writer was both shocked and astonished, on the occasion of
the professor slipping in a pleasing innuendo, by hearing the students
cheer with their hands, and stamp with their thick boots on the seats.
I shall have occasion to refer to this splendid man, the pleasing
lecturer, the skilful operator, the able author, the ripe scholar, the
pride of Harvard and the state,--Dr. O. W. Holmes,--in another chapter.