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, 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 PRÆSES,
QUI INGENIO, PROBITATE, BENIGNITATE
EXIMIE PRÆDITUS
ARTEM MEDICAM PER ANNOS PLURIMOS,
SUMMA CUM DILIGENTIA, SOLERTIA, FELICITATE
COLUIT, EXERCUIT, DOCUIT, AUXIT,
ET SCRIPTIS HOC MARMORE PERENNIORIBUS
POSTERITATI 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, ÆTATIS SUÆ 67.
PLACIDE IN CHRISTO OBDORMIVIT.
[86] Underscored in the original.
[87] Our excellent Conservator at that time, of whom we have already spoken, and a great favorite of Abernethy's.