"No, I thank you, sir. I hope you will soon be better. Good morning."
"Stay, sir," said the old gentleman; "I shall insist on this, if you please;" in a tone which at once made the surgeon feel that it would be painful and improper to refuse. He accordingly took it. The old gentleman then said, "I am very much obliged to you, sir; for had you not taken your fee, I could not again have the advantage of your advice. I sent for you because I had understood that you were a pupil of Mr. Abernethy's, for whom I could not send again, because he would not take his fee; and I was so hurt, that I am afraid I was almost rude to him. I suppose, judging from the appearance of things here that I could not afford it, he refused his fee; on which I begged him not to be deceived by appearances, but to take it. However, he kept retreating and declining it, until, forgetting myself a little, and feeling somewhat vexed, I said, 'By G—, sir, I insist on your taking it!' when he replied, 'By G—, sir, I will not!' and, hastily leaving the room, closed the door after him."
This gentleman has been dead some years. He lived to a very advanced age—nearly, if not quite, ninety—and had many instructive points of character. He was really in very good circumstances; but he lived in a very humble manner, to enable him to assist very efficiently some poor relations. To do this, he saved all that he could; and although he insisted on the surgeon taking a fee when he visited him, he said that he should not hesitate to accept his kindness when he called on the surgeon. The intercourse continued many years; but with rather a curious result.
After a time, growing infirmities converted what had been a visit—perhaps once or twice a year—into occasional attendances, when the rule he had prescribed to himself, of paying visits at home, became characterized by very numerous exceptions; and, at last, by so many, that the rule and the exception changed places. The surgeon, however, went on, thinking that the patient could not do other without disturbing existing arrangements. When, however, the old gentleman died, about four hundred guineas were found in his boxes, wrapped up, and in various sums, strongly suggestive of their having been (under the influence of a propensity too common in advancing life) savings, from the somewhat unnecessary forbearance of his medical attendant. We know one other very similar occurrence.
Sometimes Mr. Abernethy would meet with a patient who would afford a useful lesson. A lady, the wife of a very distinguished musician, consulted him, and, finding him uncourteous, said, "I had heard of your rudeness before I came, sir; but I did not expect this." When Abernethy gave her the prescription, she said, "What am I to do with this?"
"Anything you like. Put it in the fire, if you please."
The lady took him at his word—laid his fee on the table, and threw the prescription into the fire, and hastily left the room. Abernethy followed her into the hall, pressing her to take back her fee, or to let him give her another prescription; but the lady was inexorable, and left the house.
The foregoing is well-authenticated. Mr. Stowe knows the lady well, who is still living. But many of these stories, to our own knowledge, were greatly exaggerated. Abernethy would sometimes offend, not so much by the manner as by the matter; by saying what were very salutary, but very unpleasant truths, and of which the patient perhaps felt only the sting. We know a gentleman, an old fox-hunter, who abused Abernethy roundly; but all he could say against him was: "Why, sir, almost the moment I entered the room, he said: 'I perceive you drink a good deal,'" which was very true. "Now," added the patient, very naïvely, "suppose I did, what the devil was that to him!"
Another gentleman, of considerable literary reputation, but who, as regarded drinking, was not intemperate, had a most unfortunate appearance on his nose, exactly like that which frequently accompanies dram-drinking. This gentleman used to be exceedingly irate against Abernethy, although all I could gather from him amounted to nothing more than this, that when he said his stomach was out of order, Abernethy observed, "Ay, I see that by your nose," or some equivalent expression.
However rough Abernethy could occasionally be, there was, on grave occasions, no feature of his character more striking than his humanity. Dr. Barnett[74] had a case where Abernethy was about to perform a severe operation. The Doctor, at that time a young man, was anxious to have every thing duly prepared, and had been very careful. When Abernethy arrived, he went into the room into which the patient was to be brought, and, looking on the instruments, &c. on the table, said: "Ay, yes, that is all right;" then, pausing for a moment, he said: "No, there is one thing you have forgotten;" and then, throwing a napkin over the instruments, added: "It is bad enough for the poor patient to have to undergo an operation, without being obliged to see those terrible instruments."