But the body-snatcher did not always prac-edge. But, supposing the vessel reached, and tice as a resurrectionist. By a horrible dexterity a ligature applied, will the circulation be carried in his work of sacrilege, he as frequently fore- on, when thus cut off in full career? Will the stalled, as plundered, the grave of its appointed comparatively few and small arteries given off prey. In the years 1825 and 1826 there seems between the heart and the ligature be sufficient to have been an understanding between men of to supply the place of the main trunk? this class and the undertakers of London; brickbats and earth were substituted for the bodies of deceased persons; and over many a plundered coffin resounded the solemn service for the dead, or the sob of a broken heart, that was mocked, as well as utterly bereaved. Even the bodies of unfortunate creatures awaiting the judgment of a coroner's jury suddenly vanished, and to the mystery of their death-destined never to be cleared up in any earthly court-was now strangely added the mystery of their disap pearance. In May, 1816, Astley Cooper signalized himself by performing one of the most difficult operations in the whole compass of surgerythat of placing a ligature upon the aorta. Aneurism of the aorta, from the nature, and still more from the position, of the disease, as well as the magnitude of that great trunk artery, is one of the most perilous, and apparently hopeless, of all complaints to which the body of man is liable. The disease may occur in any of the arteries, and consists in a rupture of the inner coat of the vessel, forming a fissure, in which a small portion of blood becomes lodged and coagulates. The outer elastic coat yields to the pressure, and becomes gradually enlarged by fresh deposits of coagulum, till a tumor is formed. This gradually becomes thinner, till it bursts either from the pressure of the blood, or from some sudden exertion. In order to prevent this catastrophe, surgeons are in the habit of performing an operation, the object of which is to cut off the communication between the diseased blood-vessel and the heart, and thus prevent any further flow into the aneurismal swelling. The circulation is then thrown on the small collateral vessels, which gradually enlarge and adapt themselves to the new duties they are thus called upon to fulfill, while the former channel becomes contracted to a cord. In the year 1815 he migrated westward, and thus closed the busiest and most lucrative portion of his practice. For many years after this, during his residence in New-street, Spring-gardens, he carried on the leading surgical practice in the metropolis; but he never subsequently reached a point equal to the last year of his residence in the city. For several years his professional receipts averaged £15,000, or $75,000, per annum; but in the year alluded to they exceeded the enormous sum of £21,000, or $105,000. In 1821 he was created a baronet by George IV, to whom he had previously been appointed surgeon, and, during the remainder of his professional life, had under his care several members of the royal family, and many of the great officers of state, as well as illustrious persons from all parts of Europe. In 1827 he retired from the profession, intending to spend the remainder of his life, in the enjoyment of well-earned retirement, at his estate near Hemel-Hempstead. A short experience, however, soon convinced him that he was unfitted for a life of inglorious ease; and, with characteristic decision, he resolved to return, to practice his profession anew. In 1826, and again in 1837, he occupied the honorable position of President of the College of Surgeons, and continued his practice and pathological labors till his last illness. The first symptoms of disease came on him when walking to church at Strathfieldsaye, with the Duke of Wellington, when he was seized with a violent and irregular action of the heart, accompanied with great difficulty of breathing. After an illness of a few weeks' duration, he died of diseased heart, February 12, 1841, in his seventy-third year. JOHN ABERNETHY was born in the parish of St. Stephen, Coleman-street, on the 3d of April, 1764. After some preliminary home tuition, he was sent to the Wolverhampton Grammar School, where he appears to have obtained the character of a clever, shy, and passionate boy. The aorta being the great channel through which all the blood passes from the heart, nature has taken every means to protect it from injury; At the age of fifteen he was apprenticed to and thus we find it placed in front of the spine, Sir Charles Blicke, at that time a surgeon in defended by soft, yielding organs, and surrounded large practice, living in Mildred's-court. There by and closely connected with various other im- is evidence that, during his apprenticeship, young portant structures; so that to reach the vessel, Abernethy evinced a taste for chemical and physwithout inflicting injury upon other important iological researches. He once observed, in referparts, requires the most minute anatomical knowl-ence to a certain disease, "When I was a boy, I half ruined myself in buying oranges and other things, to ascertain the effects of different kinds of diet in this disease." In July, 1787, Mr. Abernethy was elected to the office of assistant-surgeon to St. Bartholomew's hospital. The early years of Abernethy's manhood were years of incessant toil. He lectured upon anatomy, physiology, pathology, and surgery-subjects which are now divided among three or four teachers. In the commencement of 1800 Mr. Abernethy, who had shortly before removed to Bedfordrow, entered the marriage state. His mode of procedure was highly characteristic, and would be open to severe remark by the sterner critics of the proprieties, did we not consider the peculiar disposition of the man, as well as the circumstances in which he was placed. During a professional attendance upon a family at Edmonton, he had met with a young lady, Miss Anne Threlfall, the daughter of a retired merchant, and had been much impressed by her kindness and attention. One of Abernethy's most striking faculties was his keen insight into character. Lively, lady-like, and agreeable manners came in aid of the moral qualifications, and his choice was made. But how bring about the important affair? He was very shy, and extremely sensitive, and wholly absorbed in studying, teaching, and practicing his profession, so as to have no time to carry on a regular siege. He therefore wrote a note, stating his wishes, and requesting the lady to take a fortnight to consider of her reply. We have only to add, that the answer was favorable, and that the marriage was in every respect a happy one. It is not a little amusing to find, that both Astley Cooper and Abernethy came down to lecture on the evening of their marriage-day. Abernethy's treatise upon the "Constitutional Origin of Local Diseases," popularly known as "my book," was published in 1804. This is the best known of his works, and has undoubtedly exercised much influence upon the modern practice of medicine. The general belief is, that it is concerned exclusively with digestion, and that Abernethy looked to the stomach alone as the great fons et origo of all human ailments, and that he had but one mode of exorcising the de but the suggestive and scrutinizing quality of his mind, together with his talent for clear statement of complicated truths, enabled him to carry his inquiries, in this direction, farther, and announce them more luminously, than had previously been done. The facts, indeed, or at least some of them, had been known and commented upon since the time of Hippocrates. John Hunter had paid considerable attention to the subject, and had asserted "that the organ secondarily affected-as, for instance, in headache from deranged stomach-sometimes appeared to suffer more than the organ to which the disturbance had first been directed." It was Abernethy's function to trace out this sympathy, as it is called, more fully, and to add ampler illustrations of its nature, its complications, and its range. Abernethy's strong point, after all, was his lecturing. In this he was unrivaled. His thorough acquaintance with his subject, and wonderful facility in conveying his knowledge, were assisted by a combination of physical and intellectual accessories, which greatly added to the effect. His person was graceful, slender, and delicate looking, with a pleasing combination of benevolence and humor in his eye. He was remarkably free from technicality, and unusually rich in illustration. By the first he smoothed the rudimentary progress of his pupil, and avoided a premature burdening of the memory. The latter peculiarity was so prominent as to suggest the possession of no small portion of genius, and gave an indescribable charm to his discourses. But his chief characteristics were his humor and his dramatic power. The combination of these sufficed to make him equally entertaining and impressive. He thus could rouse the attention, stamp a fact or principle upon the mind, or touch the moral sensibilities, at will. In relating a case, particularly when repeating a dialogue with a shrewd or witty patient, he was inimitably droll, especially when the recital made against himself. But Abernethy's humor, unlike that of Sidney Smith and other wits, was greatly indebted to manner, and is not effective on repetition. His directions for making a poultice are amusing, as found in his published lectures; but those who heard them say that nothing could exceed the raciness with which they were given. Parts of his lectures, printed exactly as they were delivered, are as amusing as any book of light reading; and in the "Eventful History of a Compound Fracture" may be seen how important information may be conveyed, upon a subject undoubtedly grave, without a trace of dullness. But it was in the more serious portion of his discourse, when reciting some act of neglect or cruelty, that the better qualities of the lecturer were apparent. His voice faltered with emotion, his eye flashed fire, and his whole soul seemed stirred within him. His sympathy with poverty in distress frequently appeared in his illustrations, and proved, when taken in connection with his many recorded acts of benevolence to the poor, the kindly nature of the man. The foundation of Abernethy's character was unswerving honesty. But having said this, we would protest against the rudenesses in which he allowed himself to indulge. It is to be lamented, not only as a serious blot upon the reputation of an able and honorable man, but also as a precedent which seems to keep in countenance a herd of vulgar imitators, who, devoid of his talents and real benevolence, aim at similar celebrity by copying his greatest defects. It is to be lamented, moreover, since it has served to call away the attention of the public from Abernethy's true merits, and caused him to appear, in the eyes of many, who only know him through the medium of stories—a large number of which are apocryphal-in the character of a savage or a buffoon. and arm. His family, becoming alarmed, wrote up to his brother to request Mr. Abernethy to go down and visit the patient. Abernethy inquired, "Who attends your brother?" "Mr. Davis, of Andover." "Well, I told him all I knew about surgery, and I know that he has not forgotten it. You may be perfectly satisfied. I shall not go." Here, as the narrator says, he might have had another sixty guineas. We are aware that these and similar instances in which he combated the morbid exaggerations of those who consulted him, and endeavored to reason them into abstaining from undue indulgence in medicine, are looked upon by some as foolish instances of abnegation; but we trust that the claims of honesty and conscience will generally-we can not expect invariably-be held paramount by the members of an honorable profession, even when self-interest comes backed by a plausible but lax morality. Abernethy's reputation steadily increased, till there were few practitioners in London more consulted by the sick of all classes. From distant parts of the country they flocked, returning, in many cases, with strange tales of his odd and brusque manner. These tales added fresh wings to his fame. Nor were there wanting traducers, His uprightness of character and entire free- who maintained that the rude speeches and undom from selfishness might be illustrated by couth behavior were adopted as means of acquir many examples. A gentleman had the misfor- ing notoriety. But his merits were sufficient to tune to meet with a compound dislocation of the support his fame. He was no charlatan, colankle-an accident, by the by, which Abernethy lapsing as soon as his trick is discovered from was mainly instrumental in redeeming from ha- very emptiness. The honors of his profession bitual amputation on the road between Andover were bestowed upon him by his brethren, who and Salisbury. An able practitioner of the former have more accurate means of judging of scientific place was called in, and replaced the parts. He and practical merit than the public can possess. then said to the patient, "Now, when you get The fact has recently transpired, that it was the well, and have, as you most likely will, a stiff intention of the King to create him a baronetjoint, your friends will tell you, 'Ah! you had a an honor which he modestly declined, partly country doctor;' so, sir, I would advise you to from indifference to titular honors, and partly send for a London surgeon, to confirm or correct from prudential reasons connected with his comwhat I have done." The patient consented, and paratively limited fortune. During the last few sent for Abernethy, who reached the spot by years of his life, he curtailed his engagements mail about two in the morning. He looked care- on account of declining health, and spent a porfully at the limb, saw that it was in a good position of his time in the country. His constitution, and was told what had been done. He then said, "I am come a long way, sir, to do nothing. I might, indeed, pretend to do something; but, as any unavoidable motion of the limb must necessarily be mischievous, I should only do harm. You are in very good hands, and I dare say will do very well. You may, indeed, come home with a stiff joint, but that is better than a wooden leg." He took a check for his fee, sixty guineas, and made his way back to London. Soon after a wealthy clergyman in the same neighborhood had a violent attack of erysipelas in the head tion was never robust, and he began to show marks of age at a somewhat early period. In 1827 he resigned the appointment of Surgeon to St. Bartholomew's Hospital, under circumstances highly characteristic of his disinterestedness and sense of fairness to his juniors. On his appointment in 1815, after a service of twenty-eight years in the subordinate and unremunerated capacity of Assistant-Surgeon, he had expressed his opinion to the Governors, that it was not to the advantage of the institution for a surgeon to retain the office after the age of sixty. When that time arrived, although his enjoyment of the advantages of the surgeoncy had been short in comparison with his earlier labors, and although he might have followed the precedents of his predecessors and cotemporaries, he resolved to illustrate his own precept, and retire; a resolution which the remonstrances of the Governors could only postpone one year. In May, 1829, he retired from the office of Examiner at the College of Surgeons, on which occasion a memorial was entered in the Minutes of the Court, signed by the leading surgeons of the day, eulogizing in high terms his scientific labors, and attributing much of the recent advancement of the healing art to his writings. The latter part of his life was spent at his house at Enfield, where, after a prolonged period of declining strength, he expired, April 20, 1831.-London (Wesleyan) Quarterly Review. THE INFIDEL AND HIS WIFE. AN INCIDENT FROM THE MEMORY OF AN OLD METHODIST PREACHER. IN BY HARMONY. N the early stages of my father's ministry, nearly fifty years ago, his lot was cast for a season on one of those large circuits which was three or four hundred miles around it. The preachers of those early days had many long rides on horseback through the wide and thinly inhabited wilderness, over almost impassable roads, and across unbridged streams; the difficulties they encountered were sufficient to appal the stoutest heart. Yet these devoted men entered upon their labors with a zeal that knew no limit, and a devotedness that surmounted every severity to which they were exposed. Truly, their mission was a high and holy one; and they endeavored carefully to cultivate the soil, and with great difficulty broke up, and sowed with the good seed-the word of the kingdom. It was nearly noon, on a bright summer's day, when my father entered a little village in Pennsylvania, on his way to a distant part of his circuit. He rode musingly through it toward the upper end of the street, and stopped at the house of a friend, to feed his horse and get dinner. ever, had forbidden any Christian visiting the house, and declared that he would shoot the first person that attempted it, for the purpose of conversing or praying with his wife. My father said he would make an attempt to see her, if his friend would accompany him to the house. But Mr. C., with whom my father was staying, declined going, on the ground that the man was a very bad-tempered person, and he thought it hardly safe to venture. My father thought he would make an attempt at any rate; inasmuch as, for some reason, he said, he could not tell why, he felt a particular desire to see the sick woman. He therefore directed his course toward the house, with some feeling of personal fear, however. Yet he thought that fear should not prevent his doing what he felt to be a duty. With these feelings he entered the house. A little girl ushered him into a little back room, where he saw, as soon as the door was opened, the sick woman, seated in an arm-chair, propped up by pillows. She was a fine, interesting woman, with that peculiar beauty of complexion, softness of feature, and brightness of the eye, which are the frequent attendants of consumption, and which were all hightened by the effects of the ardor of feeling that in each feature seemed to be laboring for expression. My father seated himself beside her. He told her that he was a minister of the Gospel, and all the circumstances that had induced him to call and see her. She thanked him, and said she was very glad that her husband was not at home. "But do tell me," said she, "for you are a minister, may I expect to go to heaven? I do want to hear of mercy. My husband does not understand it. He says I need not feel so; that I have been a good woman; my conduct has been irreproachable; that there is no cause for all this alarm. But he does not know what an evil heart I have." Then she gave a deep convulsive sigh, which seemed to tell that the burden of her sin was too heavy for her feeble frame. "O," said she again, "is there any salvation? is there any hope for me?" My father now found himself called upon to perform the most delightful part of a minister's work-to speak of the unsearchable riches of While they were at dinner, his friend remarked Christ to a soul that longed to possess them. that there was a neighbor at a little distance He said some few things about sin, the holiness whose wife was very sick, and that she was of God, the worth of the soul; but he found her in a very distressing state of mind, and wished alive to all these that it was needless to add to see some person that could speak to her about any thing, and that all she wanted was to be religion. Her husband, a wicked infidel, how-directed to the Lamb of God. He then unfolded the doctrine of the Savior, and spoke of the great salvation, and the great grace of the mighty Deliverer. And the poor, convinced sufferer drank in these soul-quickening doctrines with an eagerness and a joy, which, my father says, he could never forget. "O," said she, as he told her of a Savior's love, "that is what I want, that is what I have been seeking, and nobody about me could tell me of it!" My father now took up a small Bible which lay on the stand, and read a portion of the word of God, and made a few remarks on the encouragement it afforded to every true penitent; after which he lifted up his heart in solemn and earnest prayer for divine grace to enable the sorrowing woman to commit her spirit into the hands of Jesus. She entered with great interest and emotion into every petition which was put up on her behalf, and seemed earnestly herself to put up prayer to God. Her husband now came into the house, and he was greatly enraged; he slammed the doors, and threw the chairs about the room, not quite near enough, however, to hit the preacher, who was on his knees praying. He cursed and swore all the while most bitterly; ordering the preacher to be gone; said he wanted none of his prayers in his house. When my father rose from his knees, tears of an overflowing joy were falling from the eyes of the interesting sufferer. She had found peace in believing, and she was rejoicing as one that findeth a great prize. She expressed great delight in the seasonable truths which had been unfolded to her. Her fears were wholly removed, and calmness and resignation had taken their place. When my father took her hand at parting, she said, with much earnestness, "I am so thankful that you came to see me, notwithstanding my husband's opposition, to talk with me of a Savior's love. This is just what I have long wanted. I have but a few days to live; heaven is a happy place; I long to be there. My husband does not like it, because you came here, I know. You had better go, for he is greatly excited, and he may do you some harm." My father then left the house, followed by the awful curses of the man, till he was out of the hearing of them. "This," said my father, "was a very striking, a very interesting case. I think I never met with one more so. It was one of those cases in which the influence and instruction of a pious, exemplary mother is never lost. The woman VOL. XV.-28 said she had a pious mother, who taught her in her childhood to pray and love her Bible." Mr. C. said to my father, as he entered the door, that he did not expect to see him return without being injured in some way, for he knew the man was a most bitter opposer of Christianity, and that his equal for infidelity and profaneness was not to be found in all the country. He was kind to his sick wife, who he thought to be in the last stages of consumption, in every other respect, but he perpetually tried her feelings by refusing to have any person come to the house to converse with her on the subject of religion. All this she bore with the spirit of a true Christian; she entreated, but he was deaf to her entreaties. When the minister of the Gospel entered his house unbidden, he durst not, as he had threatened, take his life. But his rage when he found him in prayer for his wife seemed, indeed, more like the malice of Satan than any thing characteristic of merely human depravity. Poor infatuated man! Very soon after this occurrence my father was removed to a distant field of labor, and, amid the importunity and multiplicity of new duties, new engagements, and new scenes, it was overlooked, and he never ascertained the final history of this interesting woman or her infidel husband. He now, at the distance of many years, looks upon this occurrence as one of those sudden and interesting, yet painful incidents, which seem to smile upon the dreariness of the path of the early itinerant preacher, and, in the midst of his hard labor and numerous discouragements, was truly a sweet refreshment and a powerful stimulus to be faithful in the discharge of every duty, which the office of a Gospel minister imposed upon him. We are all more inclined to listen to facts than to feel the force of reasoning, however forcible and however seasonable. Sometimes an individual on whom all the power of persuasion, entreaty, and argument has been expended in vain, has been won by some striking occurrence, or arrested by some unusual fact. If this brief narrative should be the means of producing in the mind of any individual who has been religiously educated, a conviction of the importance of making a choice of none but those who have been similarly educated as a partner for life, the object of the writer will most certainly be attained. A WORD Once let fall, says a Chinese proverb, can not be brought back by a chariot and six horses. |