noble family without the consent of the parents, was treated with great
asperity. Having been told by the father that he was to expect no money
from him, the Doctor went home and wrote the following note to him:
"John Donne, Anne Donne, _undone_." This quibble had the desired
effect, and the distressed couple were restored to favour.
PREPARING FOR THE WORST AND BEST.
The historians of dissent record with pride the sedulous preparation of
Dr. Marryat, a tutor who belonged to the Independent body, to make the
best of either of the worlds to come. He was accustomed, we are told,
to sit up at his studies two or three nights in the week, the whole
year over. He learned by heart, at these times, the poets and prophets
of the Old Testament, the Epistles and Apocalypse of the New; and what
he had thus acquired, he sought to retain by careful recitation of them
annually. He had begun to do this while he was yet a young man; when,
"deeply convinced of his sinfulness and misery, he was afraid of
falling into hell, and formed the resolution that if that should be the
case, he would treasure up in his mind as much of the word of God as he
possibly could, and carry it with him to the place of torment. When
faith in his Redeemer afterwards communicated to his soul the peace and
consolations of the gospel, he still continued the practice, that he
might have a larger measure to carry to a better place."
GEORGE CRABBE, THE APOTHECARY POET.
Not the least distinguished among the names of doctors who have
distinguished themselves in the world of literature, is that of George
Crabbe. He was the son of the collector of salt dues at Aldborough, in
Suffolk, where he was born on Christmas Eve, 1754. His father strove to
give his children an education somewhat above their station in life;
and George was kept at school at Bungay and Stowmarket till his
fourteenth year--his comparative delicacy of constitution inducing his
father to destine him to a gentler pursuit than those followed by his
brothers. Leaving school, he was apprenticed to a country doctor, half
farmer half physician, at Wickham Brook, near Bury St. Edmunds, where
he shared the bed of his master's stable-boy. This and other
_désagrémens_ of the situation, however, did not suit Crabbe's likings
or his father's honest pride; and in a couple of years he was removed,
and placed with Mr. Page, a surgeon at Woodbridge, and a gentleman of
family and taste. Here he found time and circumstances favouring to
make his first essays in poetry; and in 1775 published his first work
of consequence, _Inebriety, a Poem: in three parts_. At the expiry of
his apprenticeship, Crabbe vainly tried to raise funds for a regular
course of study in London, and had to content himself with settling
down in his native village in a small practice as surgeon and
apothecary; but this proving an insufficient source of income, he
resolved to venture his fortunes in London, in dependence on his poetic
talent. "With this view he proceeded to London; and after a year spent
in that most trying of all situations, that of a literary adventurer
without money and without friends--a situation from the miseries of
which the unfortunate Chatterton, 'the wondrous boy,' escaped by
suicide--when on the point of being thrown into jail for the little
debts which he had unavoidably contracted, as a last resource, in an
auspicious moment, he had applied to Edmund Burke for assistance,
transmitting to him at the same time some verses as a specimen of his
abilities. In these sketches Burke at once recognised the hand of a
master. He invited the poet to Beaconsfield; installed him in a
convenient apartment; opened up to him the stores of his library;
watched over his progress, and afforded him the benefit of his taste
and literary skill." "The Library" soon appeared, and Crabbe was
famous. By Burke's advice he went into holy orders; he was appointed
chaplain to the household of the Duke of Rutland, obtained ample Church
preferment, and pursued his path to fame.
THE WAY TO PROMOTION.
Speed relates that Guymond, chaplain to Henry I., observing that for
the most part ignorant men were advanced to the best dignities of the
Church, one day, as he was celebrating divine service before the King,
and was about to read these words out of St. James, "It rained not upon
the earth iii years and vi months," read it thus: "It rained not upon
the earth one-one-one years and five-one months." The king noticed the
singularity, and afterwards took occasion to blame the chaplain for it.
"Sire," answered Guymond, "I did it on purpose, for such readers, I
find, are sooner advanced by your Majesty." The King smiled; and in a
short time thereafter presented Guymond to the benefice of St.
Frideswid's, in Oxford.
BOLD APPLICATION OF BOURDALOUE.
Louis Bourdaloue--who claims the proud distinction of being "the
reformer of the pulpit and the founder of genuine pulpit eloquence in
France"--was sent for by Louis XIV. to preach the Advent Sermon in
1670. Bourdaloue, at that time at the age of thirty-eight, acquitted
himself before the Court with so much success, that he was for many
years afterwards retained as a preacher at Court. He was called the
King of Preachers, and the Preacher to Kings; and Louis himself said,
that he would rather hear the repetitions of Bourdaloue, than the
novelties of another. With a collected air, he had little action; he
kept his eyes generally half closed, and penetrated the hearts of his
hearers by the tones of a voice uniform and solemn. On one occasion he
turned the peculiarity of his external aspect to account in a very
memorable fashion. After depicting in soul-awakening terms a sinner of
the first magnitude, he suddenly opened his eyes, and, casting them
full on the King, who sat opposite to him, he cried in a voice of
thunder, "Thou art the man!" The effect was magical, confounding. When
Bourdaloue had made an end of his discourse, he immediately went, and,
throwing himself at the feet of his Sovereign, said, "Sire, behold at
your feet one who is the most devoted of your servants; but punish him
not, that in the pulpit he can own no other master than the King of
kings!" This incident was characteristic of Bourdaloue's style of
preaching, for he gave his powers to attacking the vices, passions, and
errors of mankind. In his later days he renounced the pulpit, and
devoted himself to the care of hospitals, prisons, and religious
institutions. He died in 1704; and his sermons have been translated
into several tongues.
GARRICK'S PRECEPTS FOR PREACHERS.
The celebrated actor Garrick having been requested by Dr. Stonehouse to
favour him with his opinion as to the manner in which a sermon ought to
be delivered, sent him the following judicious answer:--
"MY DEAR PUPIL,--You know how you would feel and speak in a parlour
concerning a friend who was in imminent danger of his life, and with
what energetic pathos of diction and countenance you would enforce the
observance of that which you really thought would be for his
preservation. You could not think of playing the orator, of studying
your emphases, cadences, and gestures; you would be yourself; and the
interesting nature of your subject impressing your heart would furnish
you with the most natural tone of voice, the most proper language, the
most engaging features, and the most suitable and graceful gestures.
What you would thus be in the parlour, be in the pulpit, and you will
not fail to please, to affect, and to profit. Adieu, my dear friend."
GEORGE II. AS AN AMATEUR SURGEON.
It is related in the _Percy Anecdotes_, that a gentleman, after taking
tea with a friend who lived in St. James's Palace, took his leave, and
stepping back, immediately fell down a whole flight of stairs, and with
his head broke open a closet door. The unlucky visitor was completely
stunned by the fall; and on his recovery, found himself sitting on the
floor of a small room, and most kindly attended by a neat little old
gentleman, who was carefully washing his head with a towel, and fitting
with great exactness pieces of sticking plaster to the variegated cuts
which the accident had occasioned. For some time his surprise kept him
silent; but finding that the kind physician had completed his task, and
had even picked up his wig, and replaced it on his head, he rose from
the floor, and limping towards his benefactor, was going to utter a
profusion of thanks for the attention he had received. These were,
however, instantly checked by an intelligent frown, and significant
motion of the hand towards the door. The patient understood the hint,
but did not then know that for the kind assistance he had received he
was indebted to George II., King of England.
BLUNDERS OF BLOOD-LETTERS.
A noble fee, in the interests of humanity, was given by a French lady
to a surgeon, who used his lancet so clumsily that he cut an artery
instead of a vein, in consequence of which the lady died. On her
deathbed she made a will, bequeathing the operator a life annuity of
eight hundred livres, on condition "that he never again bled anybody so
long as he lived."
In the _Journal Encyclopédique_ of May 1773, a somewhat similar story
is told of a Polish princess, who lost her life in the same way. In her
will, made _in extremis_, there was the following clause:--"Convinced
of the injury that my unfortunate accident will occasion to the unhappy
surgeon who is the cause of my death, I bequeath to him a life annuity
of two hundred ducats, secured by my estate, and forgive his mistake
from my heart. I wish this may indemnify him for the discredit which my
sorrowful catastrophe will bring upon him."
A famous French Maréchal reproved the awkwardness of a phlebotomist
less agreeably. Drawing himself away from the operator, just as the
incision was about to be made, he displayed an unwillingness to put
himself further in the power of a practitioner who, in affixing the
fillet, had given him a blow with the elbow in the face. "My Lord,"
said the surgeon, "it seems that you are afraid of the bleeding." "No,"
returned the Maréchal, "not of the bleeding--but the bleeder."
BISHOPS AND THE POOR.
A nobleman once advising a French bishop to add to his house a new wing
in modern style, received this answer:--"The difference, my Lord,
between your advice and that which the devil gave to our Saviour is,
that Satan advised Jesus to change the stones into bread, that the poor
might be fed--and you desire me to turn the bread of the poor into
stones!"
Ethelwold, Bishop of Winchester in the time of King Edgar, sold the
sacred gold and silver vessels belonging to the Church, to relieve the
poor during a famine,--saying that there was no reason that the
senseless temples of God should abound in riches, while his living
temples were perishing of hunger.
Butler, Bishop of Durham, being asked for a charitable subscription,
asked his steward what money he had in the house. The steward informed
him that there were five hundred pounds. "Five hundred pounds!" cried
the bishop; "it is a shame for a bishop to have so much in his
possession!" and he ordered the whole sum to be immediately given to
the poor.
BISHOP BURNET AGAINST PLURALITIES.
Bishop Burnet, in his charges to the clergy of his diocese, used to be
extremely vehement in his exclamations against pluralities. In his
first visitation to Salisbury, he urged the authority of St. Bernard;
who, being consulted by one of his followers whether he might accept of
two benefices, replied, "And how will you be able to serve them both?"
"I intend," answered the priest, "to officiate in one of them by a
deputy." "Will your deputy suffer eternal punishment for you too?"
asked the saint. "Believe me, you may serve your cure by proxy, but you
must suffer the penalty in person." This anecdote made such an
impression on Mr. Kelsey, a pious and worthy clergyman then present,
that he immediately resigned the rectory of Bemerton, in Berkshire,
worth £200 a year, which he then held with one of greater value.
ABERNETHY CONQUERED BY CURRAN.
To curb his tongue, out of respect to Abernethy's humour, was an
impossibility to John Philpot Curran. Eight times Curran (who was
personally unknown to Abernethy) had called on the great surgeon; and
eight times Abernethy had looked at the orator's tongue (telling him
that it was the most unclean and utterly abominable tongue in the
world); had curtly advised him to drink less, and not abuse his stomach
with gormandizing; had taken a guinea, and had bowed him out of the
room. On the ninth visit, just as he was about to be dismissed in the
same summary fashion, Curran 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 the room till you satisfy me by doing so."
With a good-natured laugh, Abernethy leaned back in his chair and said,
"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. Pray
be as minute and tedious as you can." Curran gravely began:--"Sir, 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 sizar--." And so he
went steadily on, till he had thrown Abernethy into convulsions of
laughter.
WITTICISMS OF ARCHBISHOP WHATELY.
"What is the difference," asked Archbishop Whately of a young clergyman
he was examining, "between a form and a ceremony? The meaning seems
nearly the same; yet there is a very nice distinction." Various answers
were given. "Well," he said, "it lies in this: you sit upon a _form_,
but you stand upon _ceremony_."
"Morrow's Library" is the Mudie's of Dublin, and the Rev. Mr. Day a
popular preacher. "How inconsistent," said Archbishop Whately, "is the
piety of certain ladies here! They go to _Day_ for a sermon, and to
_Morrow_ for a novel!"
At a dinner-party Archbishop Whately called out suddenly to the host:
"Mr. ----!" There was silence. "Mr. ----, what is the proper female
companion of this John Dory?" After the usual number of guesses the
answer came: "_Anne Chovy._"
WHITFIELD AND THE KINGSWOOD COLLIERS.
The crowds that attended the preaching of Whitfield, first suggested to
him the thought of preaching in the open air. When he mentioned this to
some of his friends, they judged it was mere madness; nor did he begin
to practise it until he went to Bristol, when, finding the churches
denied to him, he preached on a hill at Kingswood to the colliers.
After he had done this three or four times, his congregation is said to
have amounted to twenty thousand persons. He effected a great moral
reform among these colliers by his preaching. "The first discovery," he
tells us, "of their being affected, was to see the white gutters made
by their tears, which plentifully fell down their black cheeks, as they
came out of their coal-pits." After this he preached frequently in the
open air in the vicinity of London, and in other parts of the country,
to thousands of auditors.
SIR HANS SLOANE.
This illustrious physician, President of the Royal Society and the
College of Physicians, and the founder of the British Museum, was born
at Killaleagh, in the north of Ireland, in 1660. He settled in London
in 1684, and was in great repute as a practitioner in the time of
Radcliffe, with whom he was acquainted, though they were never friends.
On his arrival in London, he waited on Sydenham with a letter of
introduction, in which a friend had set forth his qualifications in
glowing language, as "a ripe scholar, a good botanist, a skilful
anatomist." Sydenham read the recommendation, and eyed the young man
very narrowly; then he said, "All this is mighty fine, but it won't do.
Anatomy--botany--nonsense! Sir, I know an old woman in Covent Garden
who understands botany better; and as for anatomy, my butcher can
dissect a joint just as well. No, no, young man, this is all stuff; you
must go to the bedside,--it is there alone that you can learn disease."
In spite of this mortifying reception, however, Sydenham afterwards
took the greatest interest in Sloane, frequently making the young man
accompany him in his chariot on his favourite airing. It was against
the strongly expressed wish of Sydenham that Sloane went to
Jamaica--where he gathered abundant materials for the book on the
natural history of that island, which he published at intervals from
1707 till 1725. He neglected, when he was settled in successful
practice in London, no means that could advance the interests of
literature and science. He presented to the Apothecaries' Company the
fee-simple of their gardens, on conditions as honourable to their fame
as to his own. It was his public spirit and humanity that suggested the
plan of the "Dispensary," the opposition to which gave rise to the
beautiful and famous poem of Garth, which alone preserves the memory of
the contest and the disputants on this much-vexed subject. Sloane was
made a baronet in 1716; but his greatest glory was his succession to
Sir Isaac Newton in the Presidency of the Royal Society. Sloane had
previously acted as secretary; and an evidence is given of the high
sense entertained by that body for his services and his virtues, by
their expulsion of Dr. Woodward from the council, for affronting him by
making grimaces, and by interrupting him, while reading a paper of his
own composition, with a grossly insulting remark. Sir Isaac Newton was
in the chair when the expulsion of Woodward came under discussion; and
some one pleading in his favour that he was a good natural philosopher,
Newton interfered with the remark, that "in order to belong to that
Society, a man ought to be a good moral philosopher as well as a good
natural one." In 1746 Sloane retired from practice; and in 1748 he was
visited by the Prince of Wales, the father of George III., who went to
see a collection and library that were the ornament of the nation. The
Prince duly estimated the value and excellence of the collection, and
at the same time remarked "how much it must conduce to the benefit of
learning, and how great an honour must redound to Britain, to have it
established for public use to the latest posterity." It is probable
that by this time the intention of Sir Hans to bequeath his collection
to the nation had transpired; at all events, when he died, in 1752, it
was found by his will that his collections, which had cost £50,000, and
included 50,000 books and manuscripts, had been left to the nation, on
condition of the payment of £20,000 to his heirs. Parliament voted
£100,000 to fulfil the bargain and increase the collection; and in 1759
the British Museum, founded on Sir Hans Sloane's bequest, was first
opened at Montague House. Sir Hans had the reputation of being one of
the most abstemious and parsimonious of eminent physicians--his
absorbing love for his museum forbidding us to blame or sneer at a
failing from which the country reaped such splendid fruit. He is said
to have given up his winter soirees in Bloomsbury Square, to save the
tea and bread and butter he had to dispense to the guests. At one of
the latest of these entertainments, Handel was present, and gave grave
offence to the scientific baronet by laying a muffin on one of his
books. "To be sure it was a gareless trick," said the composer, a
little brutally, when telling the story, "bud it tid no monsdrous
mischief; bud it pode the old poog-vorm treadfully oud of sorts. I
offered my best apologies, bud the old miser would not have done with
it. If it had been a biscuit it would not have mattered; but muffin and
pudder! And I said, 'Ah, mine Gotd, that is the rub!--it is the
pudder!' Now, mine worthy friend, Sir Hans Sloane, you have a nodable
excuse, you may save your doast and pudder, and lay it to that
unfeeling gormandizing German; and den I knows it will add something to
your life by sparing your burse.'"
THE REV. ROWLAND HILL,
While once travelling alone, was accosted by a footpad, who, by the
agitation of his voice and manner, appeared to be new to his
profession. After delivering to the assailant his watch and purse,
curiosity prompted Mr. Hill to examine him as to the motives that had
urged him to so desperate a course. The man candidly confessed, that
being out of employment, with a wife and children who were perishing of
want, despair had forced him to turn robber; but that this was the
first act of the kind in which he had been engaged. Mr. Hill, struck
with the apparent sincerity of the man, and feeling for his distress,
gave his name and address, and asked him to call on him the next day.
The man did so, and was immediately taken into the service of the
humane divine, where he continued till his death. Nor did Mr. Hill ever
divulge the circumstance, until he related it in the funeral sermon
which he preached on the death of his domestic. The same clergyman
being called to visit a sick man, found a poor emaciated creature in a
wretched bed, without anything to alleviate his misery. Looking more
narrowly, he observed that the man was actually without a shirt, on
which Mr. Hill instantly stripped himself, and forced his own upon the
reluctant but grateful object; then, buttoning himself up closely, he
hastened homewards, sent all that was needed to relieve the destitute
being he had left, provided medical aid, and had the satisfaction of
restoring a fellow-creature to his family.
"MAKE THE MOST OF HIM."
Dr. Moore, the author of _Zeluco_, told the following little story,
which suggests that physicians are not always disinclined to recoup
themselves for their generosity, by making the rich and foolish pay
through the nose:--"A wealthy tradesman, after drinking the Bath
waters, took a fancy to try the effect of the Bristol hot wells. Armed
with an introduction from a Bath physician to a professional brother at
Bristol, the invalid set out on his journey. On the road he gave way to
his curiosity to read the Doctor's letter of introduction, and
cautiously prying into it read these instructive words: 'Dear sir, the
bearer is a fat Wiltshire clothier--make the most of him.'"
A PACIFIC SHE.
Sir William Dawes, Archbishop of York, loved a pun very well. His
clergy dining with him for the first time after he had lost his lady,
he told them he feared they did not find things in so good order as
they used to be in the time of poor Mary; and, looking extremely
sorrowful, he added with a deep sigh, "She was, indeed, _Mare
Pacificum_." A curate, who knew pretty well what the deceased lady had
been in her domestic relations, said, "Aye, my Lord, but she was _Mare
Mortuum_ first!"
TIME AND ETERNITY.
When Archbishop Leighton was minister of a parish in Scotland, the
question was asked of the ministers in their Synod or provincial
meeting, whether they preached the duties of the times. When it was
found that Leighton did not, and he was blamed for his remissness, he
made the answer and defence: "If all the brethren have preached on the
_times_, may not one poor brother be suffered to preach on _eternity_?"
PHYSICIANS AND CLERGYMEN.