"It is as much commendation as any man can bear, to own him excellent; all beyond it is idolatry."—Dryden.

It has been stated by an acute observer that it was impossible for any man to be with Abernethy, even for a short time, without feeling that he was in communion with no common mind; and it was just, I think, the first effect he produced. In person, he was of middle stature, and well proportioned for strength and activity. He had a most interesting countenance; it combined the character of a philosopher and a philanthropist, lighted up by cheerfulness and humour. It was not that his features were particularly well formed or handsome, though there was not a bad one in the whole countenance; but the harmony of composition (if we may be allowed the expression) was so perfect.

A sufficiently high and ample forehead towered over two of the most observant and expressive eyes I almost ever saw. People differ about colour; they appeared to me always of a greyish-blue, and were characterized as the rule by a mirthful yet piercing expression, from which an overlaying of benevolence was seldom wanting; yet, as we have before observed, they would sometimes launch forth gleams of humour, anger, or pathos, as the case might be, which were such as the term dramatic can alone convey.

There was another expression of his eye which was very characteristic; it was when his benevolence was excited without the means of gratifying it, as would sometimes happen in the case of hospital patients, for whom he wanted good air, and things which370 their position did not allow them to procure. He would in this case step a pace or two from the bed, throw his head a little aside, and, talking to the dresser, exhibit an expression of deep feeling which was extremely peculiar; it was a mixture of suffering, of impatience, and sympathy; but the force which the scene drew from the dramatic character of his expressive countenance is entirely lost in the mere relation. If, at such times, he gave utterance to a few words, they were always extremely touching and expressive. On an occasion, for example, like the following, these characters were combined. A woman came into the hospital to have an operation performed; and Abernethy, as was his invariable custom, took some time to get her health into a more favourable condition. When the day for the operation was at hand, the dresser informed him that she was about to quit the hospital.

"Why, my good woman," said Abernethy, "what a fool you must be to come here to have an operation performed; and now, just as you are in a fit state for it, to go out again." Somebody here whispered to him that her father in the country "was dying." With a burst of indignation, his eyes flashing fire, he turned to the dresser, and said: "You fool, why did you not tell me this before?" Then, after a moment or two looking at the patient, he went from the foot up to the side of the bed, and said in the kindest tone possible: "Yes, my good woman, you shall go out immediately; you may come back again when you please, and I will take all the care I can of you."

Now there was nothing in all this, perhaps; but his manner gave it immense force. And I remember one of the old pupils saying to me: "How kind he was to that woman; upon my soul, I could hardly help crying."

Abernethy exemplified a very rare and powerful combination of intellectual qualities. He had a perception of the facts of a subject at once rapid, penetrating, and comprehensive, and a power of analysis which immediately elicited those relations which were most important to the immediate objects of the investigation; a power, of course, of the utmost value in a practical profession.

This faculty was never more marvellously displayed than sometimes in doubtful or difficult cases; and this had been always371 a striking excellence in him, even when a young man. I recollect hearing my father say, that to see Abernethy to advantage, you must observe him when roused by some difficulty, and in a case where other men were at fault, or puzzled. It was just so; his penetrating mind seemed to remove to either side at once what was foreign or doubtful, and go straight to the point with which alone he had to grapple. Allied to this, if not part of it, was that suggestive power which he possessed in so remarkable a degree, and which by a kind of intuition seemed to single out those pertinent relations and inquiries which the judgment is to examine, and reject, or approve, as the case may be; a faculty absolutely necessary to success in endeavours at extending the boundaries of a science. He was thus sometimes enabled, as has been shown, to convert facts to the highest purposes, in aid of practical improvement, which, with an ordinary observer, would have passed unnoticed.

These qualities, combined with a memory, as we have seen, peculiarly ready, capacious, and retentive, placed his resources at once at hand for practical application. Then, while his quick perception of relation always supplied him with abundant analogies, his imaginative faculty enabled him to illustrate, enforce, and adorn them with such a multitude and variety of illustration as seemed well-nigh inexhaustible.

Of his humour we have already spoken; but the same properties which served him so well in more important matters were really, as it appears to us, the foundation of much of that humour by which his conversation was characterized—we mean his quick perception of relation, and his marvellously retentive memory. Many of the things that he said, "told," not because they were original, so much as that they were ready at hand; not because they were intrinsically good, as so apposite in application; and, lastly, because they were further assisted by his inimitable manner. Nevertheless, sometimes his quick perception would be characterized by a corresponding felicity of expression. Bartleman was an intimate friend of Abernethy\'s; and those who remember the magnificent voice and peculiarly chaste style of that celebrated singer, will appreciate the felicity of the expression372 applied to him by Abernethy, when he said, "Bartleman is an orator in music."

Abernethy had the talent of conveying, by his manner, and apparently without the smallest effort, that which in the drama is scarcely known but as the result of constant and careful study. It was a manner which no analysis of his character can convey, of which none of his own compositions even give an adequate idea. The finest colours are often the most fugitive. This is just the case with that heightened expression which we term dramatic. Who can express in words the thrilling effect that an earnest, heartfull delivery of a single phrase has sometimes conveyed. But brilliant as these endowments were, they were graced by moral qualities of the first order.

Quick as he was to see everything, he was necessarily rapid in his perception of character, and would sometimes at a glance hit on the leading influence of this always difficult assemblage of phenomena, with the same rapidity that marked his dealings with facts which were the more usual objects of his inquiries. But, though quick in his perception of character, and therefore rapidly detective of faults, his views were always tempered by generosity and good sense. Indignant at injustice and oppression, and intolerant only of baseness or cruelty, he was kind and charitable in his construction of more common or excusable failings.

He loved man as his brother, and, with enlarged ideas of the duties of benevolence, never dispensed it as a gift which it was creditable to bestow, so much as an obligation which it would have been immoral to have omitted. It was not that he did anything which the world calls noble or great in giving sums of money to this or that person. There were, indeed, plenty of instances of that sort of generosity and benevolence, which would creep out, in spite of him, from those whom he had benefited; and no man knew how to do it better. A gentleman, for example, came up from the country to the school, and went to Bedford Row, to enter the lectures. Abernethy asked him a few questions about his intentions and his prospects, and found that his proceedings would be little doubtful, as they were contingent on the receipt of some funds which were uncertain.373 Abernethy gave him a perpetual ticket to all his own lectures. "And what made so much impression on me," said the gentleman, "was, that instead of paying me less attention, in asking me to his house, than the other pupils, if there were any difference, he paid me rather more." We have seen this gentleman within a few days, and we are happy to say he has had a happy and prosperous career.

The benevolence, however, to which we allude, was not merely shown in giving or remitting money; that, indeed, would be a marvellous overcoming of the world with many people, but not with Abernethy; his benevolence was no fitful suggestion of impulse, but a steadily glowing principle of action, never obtrusive, but always ready when required. It has been said, "a good man\'s life is a constant prayer." It may be asserted that a good surgeon\'s life should be a gentle stream of benevolent sympathies, supporting and distributing the conscientious administration of the duties of his profession. That this really intrinsic part of his character should have been occasionally overlaid by unkindness of manner, is, indeed, much to be regretted; and, we believe, was subsequently deplored by no one more sincerely than himself, and those who most loved and respected him. The faults of ordinary acquaintances are taken as matters of course; but the errors of those who are the objects of our respect and affection, are always distressing. We feel them almost as a personal wrong; and, in a character like Abernethy, where every spot on so fair a surface became luminously evident, such defects gave one a feeling of mortification which was at once humiliating and oppressive. But, whilst we are the last to conceal his failings, we cannot but think he was, after all, himself the greatest sufferer; we have no doubt they originated, at least, in good motives, and that they have been charged, after all, with much good.

Unfortunately, we have at all times had too many Gnathos in our profession, too much of the
"Quidquid dicunt laudo, id rursum si negant, laudo id quoque.
Negat quis? nego. ait? aio."

These assenting flatterers are the bane of an honest man, and,374 under the name of tact and the influence of an uncompromising ambition to get on, merge the highest duties into a mere desire to please; and, adopting the creed of Gnatho, appropriately arrive at the same climax as their conclusion:
"Postremo imperavi egomet mihi
Omnia assentari."

Now, Abernethy knew this well, and detested it with a repulsion deep and sincere. He had no knowledge of Gnathonics. He felt that he was called on to practise a profession, the legitimate object of which was alone achieved when it ministered to real suffering; and that mere assentation to please patients was a prostitution of the highest qualities of mind to the lowest purposes. If one may so say, he felt like a painter who has a feeling for the highest department of his art, and who could see nothing in an assenting Gnathonicism but an immoral daub.

Neither was this without use to others; for though he looked, as the public may be assured many others have done, on a "parcel of people who came to him with nothing the matter," yet even in his roughness he was discriminate, and sometimes accomplished more good than the most successful time-server by all his lubricity. One day, for example, a lady took her daughter, evidently most tightly laced—a practice which we believe mothers now are aware is mischievous, but scarcely to the extent known to medical men. She complained of Abernethy\'s rudeness to her, as well she might; still he gave her, in a few words, a useful lesson. "Why, madam," said he, "do you know there are upwards of thirty yards of bowels squeezed underneath that girdle of your daughter\'s? Go home and cut it, let Nature have fair play, and you will have no need of my advice."

But, if we must acknowledge and regret, as we do, his occasional rudenesses of manner, let us also give him the credit of overcoming these besetting impulses. In all hospitals, of course, there are occasional vexations; but who ever saw Abernethy really unkind to a hospital patient? Now, we cannot affirm any thing beyond our own experience. We had, as dresser, for a considerable period, the care of many of his patients, and we continued frequently to observe his practice from the commencement375 of our pupilage, which was about a year or a little more after his appointment as surgeon, until the close of his hospital labours. We speak subject to correction, therefore, but we cannot charge our memory with a single instance of unkindness to a hospital patient; whilst we are deeply impressed by the constant prevalence of a generally kind and unaffected sympathy with them.

The quickness with which he observed any imperfection in the execution of his directions, was, on the contrary, the source of many a "rowing," as we apprehend some of his dressers well enough remember; whilst he seldom took a dresser without making more than usual inquiries as to his competency. In private practice, also, any case that really required skill and discrimination was pretty sure to meet with the attention that it deserved. This was noticed in the remarks made on the character of Abernethy, at the time of his death, by the Duke of Sussex, at the Royal Society, at their anniversary meeting on the 30th of November, 1831, of which the following is a report, copied from the books of the Society:

    His Royal Highness observed that "Mr. Abernethy was one of those pupils of John Hunter who appears the most completely to have caught the bold and philosophical spirit of his great master. He was the author of various works and memoirs upon physiological and anatomical or surgical subjects, including papers which have appeared in our Transactions. Few persons have contributed more abundantly to the establishment of the true principles of surgery and medical science in those cases which require that minute criticism of the symptoms of disease, upon the proper knowledge and study of which the perfection of medical art must mainly depend.

    "As a lecturer, he was not less distinguished than as an author; and he appears to have attained the art of fixing strongly the attention of his hearers, not less by the just authority of his opinions than by his ready command of apt and forcible illustrations. He enjoyed, during many years of his life, more than an ordinary share of public favour in the practice of his profession; and, though not a little remarkable376 for the eccentricities of his manner and an affected roughness in his intercourse with his ordinary patients, he was generally kind and courteous in those cases which required the full exercise of his skill and knowledge, and also liberal in the extreme when the infliction of poverty was superadded to those of disease."

The high character of his benevolence was shown also in the ready forgiveness of injuries; and he was as grateful as he was forgiving. How constant his attachment to his early friend and teacher, Sir William Blizard. There is something very characteristic of this, when, in the decline of life, he writes "Yours unremittingly," to one whose unusually lengthened years had enabled him to witness Abernethy\'s entry into life, and, at the conclusion of the labours of his distinguished pupil, to join with a public body in expressing the high sense entertained of the obligations which he had conferred on science and mankind. Few men could have been placed in positions more trying than that in which he found himself in his controversy with Mr. Lawrence. When the time arrived at which, in the ordinary course, that gentleman would have been elected into the Council of the College, there was a very strong feeling on the part of some of the members against his admission. Abernethy, however, proposed him himself, and it was by his casting vote that the election terminated in Mr. Lawrence\'s favour.

A member of the Council having expressed his surprise that Mr. Abernethy should propose a gentleman with whom he had had so unpleasant a difference—"What has that to do with it?" rejoined Abernethy. Some friends of Mr. Lawrence wished to pay that gentleman the compliment of having his portrait drawn, and a subscription was to be entered into for this purpose. It was suggested that it would be very desirable to get Mr. Abernethy to allow his name to be in the list; and our friend, Mr. Kingdon88, with the best intentions no doubt, ventured to ask377 Mr. Abernethy to put his name at the head of the list. But there was nothing of Quixotism in Abernethy. He would have been very glad to do a kind thing to anybody; and any obstacle affecting him personally was much more likely to be an argument in favour than otherwise. He liked justice for its own sake; but he was circumspect as well as penetrative. At first he seemed inclined to do it, but asked a day to consider of it; and then wrote the following letter, into a more particular examination of which we need not enter:

    "1828–9.

    "My dear sir,

    "\'Fiat Justitia\' is, as I flatter myself, the rule of my conduct. At all times have I expressed my approbation and respect for William Lawrence, on account of his professional learning, and of his ability as a writer and public speaker. But, if I do what you would have me, I should do much more, and be made to appear as a leader in a scheme the object of which is indefinite; so that persons will be at liberty to put what construction they please upon my conduct. Being desirous of doing what you wish, I have been for some time in a state of perplexity and hesitation.

    "At length I have resolved—that since I cannot determine what ought to be done—to follow a useful rule of professional conduct, and to do nothing. Vexed to refuse you anything, I hope you will still believe me,

    "My dear sir,??
    "Your obliged and very sincere friend,?
    "John Abernethy."

The question of how far letters are to be relied on as expositions of character, has been much discussed.

The remarks of Dr. Johnson on the subject, in his Life of Pope, are put with great force, and almost carry us with him; but, on reflection, they appear too general; they do not, perhaps, get close enough to the question in which the student in Biography is chiefly interested.

378

Although letters obviously afford opportunities for a variety of affectation—and Pope seems to have seldom been quite natural—yet we cannot think that "friendship has no tendency to produce veracity." But it seems impossible to generalize on the subject. We might as well ask whether oral evidence is to be relied on. There is no one quality that we can think of that can be said to be so universally distributed in letters as to be safe to generalize on. Common sense tells us that the testimony they give may be false or true. They are, like witnesses, capable of telling truth, but having, under different circumstances, all the characters of all other kinds of witnesses. Strictly, the dependence one would place on them would be on the abstract probability of that which they suggest; or as supported by any corroborative evidence.

The following is a note to his daughter, the late Mrs. Warburton, thanking her for a watch-chain:

    "Bedford Row,?
    "Sept. 30.

    "My dear Anne,

    "I am quite accablé by the liberality of the Dr. and yourself; but I\'ve been thinking that the Dr. is leading me into temptation, and that you are spending your money for an ornament which will never be seen, and which will only increase my apprehensions of having my pocket picked. However, what is meant in kindness should be received according to its design. Thus occasionally shall I taste the old rum; though, according to the phrase of the Doctor\'s schoolfellow (who reiterated that the wine was capital), blue ruin might have done as well. Thus also shall I wear the chain in remembrance of a chain which attaches me to you; one forged by Nature, and riveted by your good conduct and excellent disposition.

    "I am, my dear Anne,??
    "Your affectionate and attached?
    "John Abernethy."

379

TO MRS. ABERNETHY.

    "My dear Anne,

    "Sir James, becoming a Governor, observed, he could not be both master and servant, and therefore must relinquish his labours. I was three hours going round the hospital for the first time. It is Sir James\'s taking-in day on Thursday. The admitted patients must be seen on Friday. I cannot leave town until Saturday, unless Mrs. A.89 pleases to encounter the chance of sleeping on the road. I suppose she will have luggage; and I cannot in reason allow less than seven hours, with a rest of two to Miss Jenny, with such additional weight.

    "I wish you had seen Dr. Powell; not that I believe he could do aught more than your own reason would suggest, or else you should never, with my goodwill, have gone to Southend. I know nought of —— Could you not return by water? By engaging a suitable vessel, the whole party might then be transported—ay, even to Putney. I should think ten or twelve pounds well bestowed on such a desideratum. Do not think of expense; for money cannot be put in competition with your welfare. If you are healthy and long-lived, I should be surprised if the children were not good and prosperous. I say nothing about myself, because I am no Professor, although they so nickname me.

    "Yours in all events,??
 &nbs............