"Qui fit Mæcenas ut nemo quam sibi sortem,
Seu ratio dederit seu fors objecerit, illâ,
Contentus vivat?"[11]
is just as applicable as ever; and although human nature has almost everything ascribed to its natural infirmities, yet it appears quite as sensible, and not a whit less humble, to conclude, that paths chosen without consideration naturally lead to disappointment. The evil, like most others, carries with it the elements of self correction.
Parents are slow to encourage their children to select paths which they themselves have trodden with regret. This tends to distribute their professions to other families. Mutual interchanges of this kind serve to protect the interests of society, by, in some degree, limiting the number of cases in which men have failed to select the pursuits best adapted to them.
In almost all pursuits of life, success is determined, much more than many are disposed to imagine, by the homely qualities of steadiness and industry. We are apt—and sometimes not improperly—to ascribe peculiar excellence to peculiar powers. Yet the more insight we obtain into the histories of men, the more we perceive how constantly the most brilliant have been aided by the more homely qualifications to which we have adverted.
No doubt some minds are so constituted as to be moderately certain of success or distinction in almost any pursuit to which they might have been directed; and we are disposed to think that Abernethy's was a mind of that order; but there is abundant evidence to show that his talents were at least equalled by his industry. One paper of his, which contains a beautiful and discriminative adjustment of a difficult point of practice in Injuries of the Head—which contains no intrinsic evidence of such industry—was not published until after he had attended to every serious injury of the head in a large hospital for almost twenty years; besides examining the bodies of all the fatal cases. Nor can we estimate this industry properly, without recollecting that all this time he was only an assistant surgeon, whose duties, for the most part, neither required nor permitted him to do more than to observe the treatment; and that, therefore, the whole of this industry was simply in the character of a student of his profession[12]. All biography is full of this kind of evidence; and art, as well as science, furnishes its contribution. Who could have imagined that the peculiar, chaste composition, the easy and graceful touch of Sir Augustus Callcott, could have owed so much to industry as it undoubtedly must have done? It is known, for example, that he made no less than forty different sketches in the composition of one picture. We allude to his "Rochester." Had Abernethy been allowed to choose his profession, he, no doubt, would have selected the Bar. It is impossible to reflect on the various powers he evinced, without feeling that, had he followed the law, he would have arrived at a very distinguished position. "Had my father let me be a lawyer," he would say, "I should have known every Act of Parliament by heart." This, though no doubt intended as a mere figure of speech, was not so far from possibility as might be imagined, for it referred to one of his most striking characteristics; viz. a memory alike marvellously ready, capacious, and retentive—qualities common enough separately, but rare in powerful combination.
We may have opportunities by and by, perhaps, of further illustrating it. We will give one anecdote here. A gentleman, dining with him on a birthday of Mrs. Abernethy's, had composed a long copy of verses in honour of the occasion, which he repeated to the family circle after dinner. "Ah!" said Abernethy, smiling, "that is a good joke, now, your pretending to have written those verses." His friend simply rejoined, that, such as they were, they were certainly his own. After a little good-natured bantering, his friend began to evince something like annoyance at Abernethy's apparent incredulity; so, thinking it was time to finish the joke, "Why," said Abernethy, "I know those verses very well, and could say them by heart[13]." His friend declared it to be impossible; when Abernethy immediately repeated them throughout correctly, and with the greatest apparent ease. To return. However useful this quality might have been at the Bar, Abernethy was destined to another course of life—a pathway more in need, perhaps, of that light which his higher qualifications enabled him to throw over it, and which "his position" "in time" afforded him an opportunity of doing just when it seemed most required. He probably thus became, both during life and prospectively, the instrument of greater good to his fellow-creatures than he would have been in any other station whatever.
I have not been able to discover what the particular circumstances were which determined his choice of the medical profession. It is probable that they were not very peculiar. A boy thwarted in his choice of a profession, is generally somewhat indifferent as to the course which is next presented to him; besides, as his views would not have been opposed but for some good reason, a warm and affectionate disposition would induce him to favour any suggestion from his parents. Sir Charles Blicke was a surgeon in large practice; he lived at that time in Mildred's Court, and Abernethy's father was a near neighbour, probably in Coleman Street.
Abernethy had shown himself a clever boy, a good scholar; and he was at the top of Wolverhampton School before he was fifteen. Sir Charles Blicke was quick-sighted, and would easily discover that Abernethy was a "sharp boy." All that Abernethy probably knew of Sir Charles, was, that he rode about in his carriage, saw a good many people, and took a good many fees, all of which, though perhaps presenting no particular attractions for Abernethy, made a primâ facie case, which was not repulsive. Accordingly, in the year 1779, being then fifteen years of age, he became bound an apprentice to Sir Charles, and, probably, for about five years.