"eheu fugaces postume postume
labuntur anni: nec pietas moram
rugis et instanti senect?
adferet, indomit?que morti."
hor.
"how swiftly glide our flying years,
alas! nor piety, nor tears,
can stop the fleeting day;
deep-furrow'd wrinkles, frosting age,
and death's unconquerable rage,
are strangers to delay."
francis.
we have already observed that abernethy had begun to feel the wear and tear of an anxious and active life, when, after a tenure of office for twenty-eight years as assistant, he was appointed surgeon to st. bartholomew's hospital. after a few years, he took a house at enfield, where he occasionally went at leisure hours, on wednesday and saturday; and, as the spring course of lectures came near to a conclusion, and in the summer, sometimes on other afternoons. at this season, he had been accustomed to doff the black knee-breeches, silk stockings, and shoes, sometimes with, sometimes without, short gaiters, and refresh one's rural recollections with drab kerseymeres and top-boots; in which costume he would at that season not unfrequently come down to lecture. he was fond of riding, and had a favourite mare he called jenny; and many a time have we seen her jogging along on a fine summer afternoon, and her master356 looking as happy as any schoolboy that he was escaping from the botherations of bedford row and the smoke of london. jenny was a favourite mare, which abernethy had for nearly twenty-five years. she was a great pet, and her excellent qualities had been associated with almost every little excursion of relaxation or pleasure. all things, however, must have an end. at last, the poor animal became affected with a kind of rheumatism, attended with much suffering. after various hesitations, the pain of which those who are fond of animals can very well understand, the order was given that she should be destroyed. this took place in the stables behind bedford row. the family were all in one apartment, except mr. abernethy, who was heard pacing up and down his private room. a short pause, and the coachman is seen running from the stable to say that jenny was no more. one of his daughters ran to mr. abernethy's room to say, "it is all over, papa." "good girl," said he, patting her head, "to come and tell me so soon." he is said to have suffered greatly on this occasion.
some years before this, he met with what might have been a serious accident: in stooping forward, his horse threw up his head and struck him a violent blow on the forehead and nose; as mr. abernethy first thought, breaking the bones of the latter. he rode up a gateway, and, having dismounted, was endeavouring to adjust the bruise and staunch the blood, when some people ran to assist him, and, as he said, very kindly asked him if they should fetch him a doctor; "but," said abernethy, "i told them i thought they had better fetch me a hackney coach," which they accordingly did. he was conveyed home, and in a short time recovered from the accident.
his taking the house at enfield was probably a prudent measure; he seemed to enjoy it very much, and especially in getting a quiet friend or two down on a saturday to stay over till the monday; amongst whom, a very favourite visitor was our respected friend mr. clift, of whom we have already spoken. abernethy had always, however, had what he used aptly enough to term a fidgetty nervous system. from early life he had been annoyed by a particularly irritable heart. the first time he ever357 suffered materially from it was while he was yet a young man. he had been exceedingly depressed by the death of a patient in whose case he had been much interested, and his heart became alarmingly violent and disordered in its action. he could not sleep at night, and sometimes in the day it would beat so violently as to shake his waistcoat. he was afterwards subject to fugitive returns of this complaint, and few, unless by experience, know how distressing such attacks are.
we suspect that surgeons are more frequently thus affected than is generally supposed. a cold, half-brutal indifference is one thing, but a calm and humane self-possession in many of our duties is another, and, as we saw in cheselden, not obtained always without some cost; the effects of this sometimes appear only when the causes have ceased to recur, or are forgotten. a lively sensibility to impressions was natural to abernethy; but this susceptibility had been increased by the well-known influence of the air and excitement of crowded cities on people who are engaged in much mental exertion. his physical organization, easily susceptible of disturbance, did not always shake it off again very readily. at one period he suffered an unusually long time from the consequences of a wound in dissection.
these not uncommon accidents occur perhaps a hundred or a thousand times without being followed by any material results; but, if they happen in disordered conditions of health, either of mind or body, they are sometimes serious affairs, and usually of a more or less active kind—that is, soon terminating in death or recovery. not so in abernethy. the complaint went through various phases, so that it was nearly three years, he used to tell us, before he fairly and finally got rid of the effects of it. one of the most difficult things for a man so actively engaged in a profession in london as was abernethy, is to get the requisite quantity of exercise; whilst the great mental exertion which characterizes a london, as distinguished from almost any other kind of life, requires that the digestive organs should be "up to" pretty good living.
then, again, abernethy lived in the days of port wine; when every man had something to say of the sample his hospitality358 produced of that popular beverage. abernethy, who was never intemperate, was very hospitable, and always selected the finest port wine he could get, which, as being generally full and powerful, was for him perhaps the least fitted.
mr. lloyd, of fleet street, who was one of the old-fashioned family wine-merchants, and one of the best men of his day, was the purveyor of his falernian; never was there a more correct application of nomenclature than that which gave to him the title, by which he was best known, of "honest john lloyd." he was one of the kindest-hearted men i ever knew: he had a great regard for mr. abernethy; and was treated himself by almost everybody as an intimate friend. one day i went there just as abernethy had left. "well," says mr. lloyd, "what a funny man your master is!" "who?" said i. "why, mr. abernethy. he has just been here, and paid me for a pipe of wine; and threw down a handful of notes and pieces of papers with fees. i wanted him to stop to see if they were right, 'for,' said i, 'some of these fees may be more than you think, perhaps.' 'never mind,' said he; 'i can't stop; you have them as i took them,' and hastily went his way."
sedentary habits, however, as people now begin to find, do not harmonize well with great mental exertion, or constant and anxious occupation. in 1817, abernethy felt his combined duties as surgeon to the hospital, as lecturer there, and also at the college, becoming too onerous, and therefore in that year resigned the professorship. on this occasion, the council sent him the following unanimous expression of their appreciation of his services.
"at the court of assistants of the royal college of surgeons in
london, holden at the college on the 15th day of july, 1817;
"resolved unanimously:
"that the thanks of this court be presented to john abernethy, esq. for the series of lectures delivered by him in the theatre of this college, in the years 1814, 1815, 1816, 1817, with distinguished energy and perspicuity, by which he359 has elucidated the physiological and pathological opinions of john hunter, explained his design in the formation of the hunterian collection, illustrated the principles of surgery, and thereby has highly conduced to the improvement of anatomical and physiological knowledge, the art and science of surgery, and to the promotion of the honour of the college."
this seems to have gratified him, as, under all circumstances, we can readily understand it might do; and he accordingly replied to it as follows:
"to the master, governors, and council of the royal
college of surgeons.
"sir and gentlemen,
"to obtain the good opinion of others, is a universal object of human actions; and we often strive to acquire it by circuitous and absurd means; but to obtain the approbation of eminent and judicious characters, by pursuing the direct path of professional duty, is the most gratifying mode of seeking and receiving this object of general ambition.
"i have ventured to premise these observations, to show you, gentlemen, that i do not write inconsiderately, or merely as a matter of form, when i thus return you my warmest thanks for the distinguished honour you have conferred on me by your public approbation of my endeavours86 to discharge the duties of an arduous office, to which i was elected through your kindness and confidence.
"i have the honour to remain,????
"sir and gentlemen,??
"your very grateful and obedient servant,?
"john abernethy."
we insert in this place a letter which he wrote about this time to sir william blizard; because it shows two things which360 are characteristic: the one, how constant he was in not allowing any considerations to interfere with the lectures; and the other, the endurance of his old attachment to sir william blizard. it is an apology for not having been present at the council.
"dear sir william,
"i was yesterday desired to see a patient residing seven or eight miles from london. i could not go that day, for it was lecture evening; i cannot go to-morrow for the same reason; consequently i must go this evening. i hope you will consider these circumstances as an apology for my absence from the board.
"if you cite my example as one misleading future professors, be so good as to remember that i retired, leaving the task which i had undertaken incomplete, wherefore it became necessary to explain publicly to an indulgent audience my motives for resigning the professorship.
"i remain, dear sir william,??
"yours unremittingly,?
"john abernethy."
abernethy had at various periods of his life been subject to an inflammatory sore throat of a very active kind, which would on some days impede so as almost to prevent his swallowing, and then suddenly terminate in abscess, leaving him perfectly well again. he was young when these sorts of attack began; for in his lectures he used to speak of one of them having subsided only the night before he had some lectures to deliver before the council of the college, when they were accustomed to meet in the old bailey.
as he advanced in life, the disposition to disorder of the digestive organs, which had hitherto shown a tendency to terminate in inflammation of the mucous membrane of the throat, began to affect other structures; and he became teazed and subsequently greatly tortured by rheumatism. the disorder so termed (a kind of general name for various conditions of disorder very different from each other, and which occasionally affect, not only361 joints, but other structures) is in many cases, as we all know, extremely painful; and is never more excruciating than when muscular parts thus conditioned are affected by spasm. these spasms were a source of much acute suffering to abernethy. his constant occupations gave him no opportunity of relieving himself from work, except there was that accommodation of indisposition to convenient times, which of course seldom happens.
in the early parts of his life, abernethy, when he was out of health, would take the first opportunity which his occupations allowed of going a little way into the country; and there, by diet, and amusing himself by reading and exercise, he would soon get well. but as he advanced in life, he was not so ready to attend to himself as perhaps he ought to have been. besides, he would occasionally do things which incurred unnecessary risks, which we ourselves have sometimes ventured to mention to him.
living, at the time to which we are now alluding, in ely place, and attending his lectures long after we had commenced practice, we frequently walked down with him to lecture; sometimes in the rain, when we used to think his knee-breeches and silk stockings looked most uncomfortable. besides this, he was very careless about his umbrella; i never recollect him on such occasions calling a coach, and i hardly ever knew him come down to his evening lecture in his carriage. he generally came to the two-o'clock lecture some minutes before the time; and, as he often complained of cold feet, he would stand opposite one of the flue openings in the museum. one day, i ventured to suggest to him that the transition of temperature to the cold place he occupied in the theatre rendered this hardly prudent, when he said, "ay!" and moved away. though temperate, without being very particular in his diet, these other imprudences were unfortunate; because we saw him, every year almost, becoming troubled more and more by his painful visitor. the time, however, was now arriving when he was about to resign the surgeoncy of the hospital.
we have seen that, when elected to that appointment, he had been no less than twenty-eight years assistant surgeon; he, however, took no pains to indemnify himself for this long and profitless362 tenure of a subordinate post; but, mindful of what he had himself suffered, immediately on his appointment he did the best he could at once to provide against others being subjected to such an unrequited service. he accordingly, on his election, addressed a letter to the governors of the hospital, of which, when the first edition went to press, we had no copy. as we then stated, our friend, mr. e. a. lloyd, a friend and favourite pupil of abernethy's, had found one, and kindly laid it aside for us; but he unfortunately again mislaid it; and there is no copy of it on the books of the hospital. subsequently, mr. pettigrew has most kindly sent us a volume containing the letter in question. to us it is a very interesting document; but as we had already mentioned the most important fact in it, we have not thought it necessary to reprint the letter. we must not fail to repeat publicly our thanks to mr. pettigrew for his kind assistance.
the object of the letter was to recommend some alteration in the arrangement of the duties of the surgeons of the hospital; and, amongst other things, that they should resign at the age of sixty, with a retiring salary. nothing could, we think, be more just or considerate than such a proposal; and it came very well from abernethy, who had just stepped into the lucrative appointment. the proposal, however, was not acted upon; and it would appear that his successors, however much they may have at the time approved of the precept, have not been in haste to follow the example. there is little doubt that abernethy's proposal was as just and considerate of the interests of all parties, as it was in favour of those of science. we cannot think that any one, who considers the whole subject without prejudice, will arrive at any other conclusion.
the absence, however, of any law on the subject, made no difference to abernethy; he had expressed his own intention of resigning at the age of sixty; and when that time arrived, he accordingly did so. the governors, however, would not, on that occasion, accept his resignation, but requested him to continue. this he did for about another year, when, in 1827—having been elected in 1815,—he finally resigned the hospital, in the following letter, addressed to the president of the hospital:
363
"st. bartholomew's hospital,?
"july 24, 1827.
"finding myself incompetent to discharge the duties of surgeon to your hospital in a satisfactory manner, and having led my junior to believe that i should resign my office at a certain period of my life, i hereby tender my resignation accordingly. at the same time, i beg leave to assure the governors of my gratitude for their appointment to the offices which i have held under them, and for the good opinion and confidence which they have manifested towards me. i annex a draft for ￡100 for the use of the hospital.
"i am, dear sir,???
"your obedient servant,?
"john abernethy."
"to rowland stephenson, esq."
at the next meeting of the "court" of governors, it was proposed by dr. latham, seconded by mr. wells, and unanimously resolved:
"that this court accept, with great regret, the resignation of mr. abernethy as one of its surgeons, an office which he has discharged with consummate ability for forty years; and the court offers him their best, their most unanimous, and warmest thanks for his very long and important services.
"july 25, 1827."
there is something significant in this vote of thanks, merging his long period of assistant surgeon in the general expression of his services as surgeon. it is very suggestive of the influence which had been felt from the presence of his master mind, although so long in a position which necessarily restricted its useful energies in regard to hospital matters. we have little doubt that, had abernethy become surgeon to the hospital at a time of life when his physical energies were unimpaired, he would have suggested many improvements on the system; but, with little real power in this respect, and with men who were opposed to him, he364 was just the last man in the world to commence a crusade against the opinions of those with whom he was associated. the moment he became surgeon, we see him endeavouring to remove an evil from which he had greatly suffered, and which is obviously a most undesirable state of things; namely, that men should so often arrive at a post in which their active energies are most required, at a time of life when those energies have been, perhaps, necessarily addressed to other objects, have become weary with hope deferred, or already on the wane.
he was, also, very averse to so spacious a portion of the hospital being devoted to the festive meetings of the governors; and, on showing it, would sometimes go so far as to say—"ay, this is what i call the useless portion of the hospital." he continued to lecture another year, when he resigned the lectures; and, in 1829, his appointment at the college of surgeons also.
in may, 1829, he wrote to mr. belfour, the secretary of the college of surgeons (whose politeness and attention in facilitating our inquiries at the college we are happy thus publicly to acknowledge), as follows:
"my dear sir,
"early in april, the thermometer was above 70°, and i had so violent a relapse of rheumatism, that i have not been able (nor am i now able) to leave this place since that time. apologize to the president, therefore, for my non-attendance on monday. entre nous: as i think i shall not be able to perform the duties of those situations which i now hold at the college, i think of resigning them; yet i will not decide till i have talked with clift87 upon it. if he could come down this or the following saturday, i should be glad to see him.
"i remain, my dear sir,???
"yours very sincerely,?
"john abernethy.
?"enfield, may 21.
"to edmund belfour, esq."
365
he accordingly, in july of 1829, resigned his seat at the court of examiners, when the following memorial was sent him by the court of examiners:
"at the college, at the court holden on friday, the 17th of july, 1829:
"present: mr. thomas, president; mr. headington, mr. keate, vice-presidents; sir william blizard, mr. lynn, sir a. cooper, bart., sir a. carlisle, mr. vincent, and mr. guthrie:
"resolved, that the following memorial be entered in the minutes of this court:
"conscious of having been enlightened by the scientific labours of mr. abernethy; convinced that teachers of anatomy, physiology, and of surgery (and consequently their pupils), have derived most important information from these sources of knowledge; and impressed that the healing art has been eminently advanced by the writings of that excellent individual; the members of the court of examiners lament the tendered resignation of an associate so endowed, and whose conduct in the court has always been so exemplary.
"resolved also, that a copy of the foregoing memorial be delivered by the secretary to mr. abernethy."
he had by this time become a great sufferer—walked very lamely; and this difficulty, interfering more than ever with his exercise, no doubt tended to make matters worse. he consulted nobody, i believe, but his old friend dr. roberts, of st. bartholomew's. he was induced to go for some time into the country; and on his return, hearing that he was again in bedford row, and not having seen him for some time, i called on him one morning, about eleven o'clock.
i knew that he had been very ill; but i was not in the least prepared to see him so altered. when i was shown into his room, i was so struck with his appearance, that it was with difficulty i concealed the emotion it occasioned; but i felt happy in observing that i had succeeded.
he appeared, all at once as it were, to have become a very old366 man; he was much thinner; his features appeared shrunk. he had always before worn a good deal of powder; but his hair, which used to hang rather thickly over his ears, was now thin, and, as it appeared to me, silvered by age and suffering.
there was the same expressive eye which i had so often seen lit up by mirth or humour, or animated by some more impassioned feeling, looking as penetrating and intellectual as ever, but with a calmness and languor which seemed to tell of continued pain, and which i had never seen before. he was sitting at a table, on a sort of stool, as it appeared to me, and had been seeing patients, and there were still several waiting to see him. on asking him how he was, his reply was very striking.
it was indeed the same voice which i had so often listened to with pleasure; but the tone was exceedingly changed. it was the subdued character which is expressive of recent suffering, and sounded to me most mournfully. "ay," say he, "this is very kind of you—very kind indeed!" and he somewhat distressed me by repeating this several times, so that i hardly knew what to reply. he said he was better, and that he could now walk pretty fairly again, "as," said he, "you shall see."
he accordingly slowly dismounted from his seat, and, with the aid of two sticks, began to walk; but it was a melancholy sight to me. i had never seen him nearly so lame before.
i asked him what he was going to do. he said he was going to enfield on the morrow, and that he did not think he should return. i suggested that he might possibly try a drier air with more advantage; that i feared enfield might be a little low and damp, and not, possibly, the best place for him. "well," he said, "anything is better than this." i very shortly after took my leave; not sorry to be again alone; for i felt considerably depressed by the unexpected impressions i had received from this interview. it was too plain that his powers were rapidly waning. he went to enfield on the following day (a wednesday, i think), and never returned again to practice. he lingered about another year, during which time i once went to see him, when i found him something better. he was able to see his friends occasionally, and at times seemed to rally. in the spring, however, of 1831,367 he gradually got weaker, and died on the 20th of april in that year.
he perfectly retained his consciousness to the last, and died as tranquilly as possible. in exhausted conditions of the body, persons will sometimes linger much longer than the medical attendant had considered possible; in other cases, the flickering lamp becomes extinguished many days before they had been apprehensive of immediate danger. the latter was the case with mr. abernethy. dr. roberts had just been to see him; and the family, who scarcely ever left him, had followed the doctor down into the dining room, anxious to hear his report. this, although it gave them no hope as to the ultimate result, expressed no apprehension of immediate danger. on returning to mr. abernethy, but a few minutes had elapsed when he gently laid his head back and expired; but with such entire absence of any struggle, alteration of countenance, or other indication, that for a short time it was difficult to realize the fact that he was no more. his body was not examined; but, from the history and symptoms of his case, there could be little doubt that there would have been found organic changes, in which the valvular structures of the heart had more or less participated.
he was buried in the parish church of enfield. the funeral was a private one; and there is a plain tablet on the wall over his vault, with the following inscription:
h. s. e.
?
johannes abernethy, r. s. s.
regii chirurgorum collegii quondam pr?ses,
qui ingenio, probitate, benignitate
eximie pr?ditus
artem medicam per annos plurimos,
summa cum diligentia, solertia, felicitate
coluit, exercuit, docuit, auxit,
et scriptis hoc marmore perennioribus
368posteritati tradidit,
morbo demum gravissimo confectus
cujus angores haud aliter domandos
pio et constanti animo subegit.
conjugi, liberis, amicis, discipulis,
humano generi, cui tantopere succurrerat
flebilis,
aprilis die 20, a. d. 1831, ?tatis su? 67.
placide in christo obdormivit.