“It is quite impossible, as no one has seen the copy but myself,” rejoined the gentleman, the least annoyed by the accusation of plagiarism.
Upon this Abernethy arose, and repeated them throughout, correctly, to the no small discomfiture of the author. Abernethy had remembered them by hearing the gentleman recite them but once!
“A boy thwarted in his choice of a profession is generally somewhat indifferent as to the course next presented to him.” Residing next door neighbor to Abernethy’s father was Dr. Charles Blicke, a surgeon in extensive practice. This was very convenient. Sir Charles is represented as having been quick-sighted enough to discover that “the Abernethy boy” was clever, a good scholar, and withal a “sharp fellow.” Thus, between the indifference of the parent, and the selfishness of the surgeon, the would-be lawyer, John Abernethy, was apprenticed to the “barber-surgeon” for five years. He was then but fifteen years of age.
“All that young Abernethy probably knew of Sir Charles was, that he rode about in a fine carriage, saw a great many people, and took a great many fees; all of which, though presenting no further attractions for Abernethy, made a prima facie case not altogether repulsive.”
We must not forget to mention that young Abernethy was of a very inquiring mind. “When I was a boy,” he said in after years, “I half ruined myself in buying oranges and sweetmeats, in order to ascertain the effects of different kinds of diet on diseases.”
Whether he tried said “oranges and other things” on himself or some unfortunate victim, my informant saith not; but I leave the reader to decide by his own earlier appetites and experiences. “When I was a boy,” I think is significant of the probabilities that it was his own digestive organs that were “half ruined.”
Be it as it may, it reminds me of the case of a little country boy, who, on his first advent to the city on a holiday, was chaperoned by his somewhat older and sharper city cousin,—“one of the b’hoy’s,”—who exercised a sort of vigilance over the uninitiated rustic, that the little fellow might not surfeit himself by too great a rapacity for peanuts, gingerbread, candies, and oranges, often generously sharing the danger by partaking largely of the small boy’s purchases in order to spare his more delicate stomach.
Finding the ignorant little rustic about to devour a nice-looking orange, his cousin pounced upon him just in time to prevent the rash act.
“Here, Sammy; don’t you know that is one of the nastiest and most indigestiblest things you could put into your stomach? Give it here!”
Rustic, whose faith in the wisdom of his maturer cousin, though very great, was yet quite counterbalanced by the sweets in the orange, slightly held back, when the other continued,—