"My dear Anne,
"I am much concerned to tell you that your Grandmother died last night, about nine o'clock. Death came to her unattended with pain or terrors. It is highly probable that she neither felt uneasiness of body or mind, from the time she was first seized with the fit. To have lived to her age, respectably and respected, in health, and to die without bodily or mental sufferings, is a fate which falls but to the lot of few; so that her friends have no reason to repine at her death; and it seems to be a merciful dispensation of Providence. If the servant has left Putney for Radcliff, of course the house is shut up; if not, it ought to be so. You and the children ought also to stay within doors, and have the front windows closed. She loved you all very much, and you ought to love and respect her memory. To you, who are apt to indulge your feelings too much, I must add, that it would be wrong to grieve much for what is in reality, as I have said, a cause to rejoice. I mean that the pains and decrepitude of age should be spared to the Individual whose fate we mourn. I have always esteemed it an excellence in your Mother's character, that though she feels acutely, yet she bears her lot in the dispensations of Providence with a gentleness and submission which indeed serve to diminish their severity. I trust she will do so on this occasion. You will see her to-morrow at Putney, if not before. On all occasions, and under every circumstance, rely on it that I remain
"Most affectionately yours,
"John Abernethy.""Bedford Row,
"Friday Morning, August, 1812."
TO MRS. ABERNETHY.
"Dearest,
"The first incident worth relating happened at Cirencester. I hobbled in haste to Mr. Lawrence's; his dressing room was open, and articles of apparel, &c. lay about, as if he had been lately engaged in the (to some agreeable, to others annoying) operation of dressing himself. His maid servant, however, sought him in vain, even in the church-yard. She looked mysterious and alarmed. 'Perhaps,' said I, 'he is gone to Mr. Warner's.' Sure enough there he was, examining a shoulder said to have been dislocated; and he would make me examine it likewise. So much time having been lost as to the object of my visit, I had merely time to tell him that you were at Cheltenham, and would come to see him; and he to tell me that Mrs. Lawrence was at Malvern. The guard sounded his tin horn in an imperative manner; the sound was repeated, and I received a verbal reproof from the coachman for not instantly obeying the summons. A little way out of Cirencester, on the road to Tetbury, there is a neat and stile-ish house and grounds which I anticipated belonged to Charles Lawrence; and my presentiment was confirmed by a Compagnon de Voyage. Arrived at the York House, Bath, I was shown into a bed-room which had not been dusted, as you would think, properly since a fortnight before the fire. So, with the fear of bugs and other blood-sucking insects, I took up those of the papilionacious tribe belonging to Mr. Marriott, and proceeded to his abode; approaching which, I encountered Mr. Wood. By his recommendation, I procured apartments in a house, as Bourdillon would say, the entirety of which could only be obtained by persons in general. Behold me, then, sole occupant of a spacious and well-furnished house (being No. 9, St. James's Square), with a garden terminating in a road, beyond which fields only are visible, and within ken of the brow of Lansdown. The front and back rooms communicate, and the windows of each being open, there is perflation in excess. (Diary.) Monday. Descending Gay Street, in my way to the bath, I called at Soden's, and found him in great distress, and that Hodgson had gone forth to seek for me. Mrs. Soden is very ill, and Hodgson had come once to see her. She has lots of medical attendants, who, to use ——'s phrase, dovetail their opinions and practice before they prescribe for their patient. In perambulating Bath with Mr. Hodgson, we encountered Mr. Leifchild, who recited his case to the former, in proof of the efficacy of diet, with the eloquence of a public orator; and it happened to be a case in point. I scrubbed myself for half an hour, and drank half a pint of water at the pump room; then reascended the hill; looked in at Wilson Brown's, whose wife is quite well. No doubt the state of her digestive organs was the source of her various maladies. Her father, Dr. Chichester, whom you saw at Mr. Acres', now resides at Cheltenham. I went with Mr. Brown to the Riding School, thinking that if I could meet with a kind of shooting pony, I might be tempted to get on his back. But I escaped temptation, dined on mutton chop or chops, drank half a pint of ale, felt quiet, dosed a little. Descended to Queen Square; left a card for Sir George Gibbs, who is at Weymouth; called on Mr. Gore, who had been called out to a casualty (Bath phrase); went to the White Hart, found the coach did not come in until nine o'clock; thinking that if I did not see Mr. Battiscombe until then, we should both be as weary of seeing each other as of the day's toil, I reascended the hill, and went to bed. It was necessary that a day should elapse, that I might tell you how time passed; so that I have complied with your request of writing as soon as possible. No doubt that the days will be so monotonous as to render a second account unnecessary. I calculate I shall be tout-à-fait ennuyé in a fortnight; so that I expect I shall set off to Cheltenham, in the coach I came by, next Monday sennight, which I believe will arrive there about eight or nine in the evening, when I hope to find you all well. On Friday I think we might visit Oxford, and house ourselves again at the Angel; from whence, if we start at nine, we may be in London by four o'clock on Saturday.
"I think I have written a ladylike letter: no attempt at condensation. I hope to hear from you in return, and that you will be able to say all's well. I will write to Anne to-morrow, because you say she wishes it—perhaps to-day.
"Love to Miss Moggy and Miss Madge.
"Yours for ever and for aye,
"John Abernethy."Bath, 8th September, 1828."
He was fond of joining in anything that could delight and amuse his children. In summer, when he returned home, the "upstairs bell" was generally the signal for the young people to come to have a game of play. Of games, battledore and shuttlecock was a favourite, at which he was as expert and pleased as any of them. Sometimes there would be a petition for stories; and he would delight them all by little histories or tales, in which he appears to have shown the same talent as he did in his lectures. The same stories were often repeated, yet they always had something of the fun or freshness, as the case might be, of things that were heard for the first time. One Christmas, the family, desirous of amusing some friends, proposed to get up some private theatricals. The anxious question being, what papa would say to it? Well, this was very soon known, by a ready assent. But what was the play to be? They replied, "The Iron Chest." But now rather an important difficulty arose, of who was to take the part of Sir Edward Mortimer? This was as unexpectedly as joyfully solved, by Mr. Abernethy taking it himself.
But, of all the home sports to which he seems to have given such zest, all yielded to the superior attractions of the Magic lantern. This was generally a gambol reserved for Christmas, when the whole establishment were admitted. The fun lay in the number and variety of the stories and remarks which accompanied the optical illustrations.
Every "slide" had remarks and stories made off-hand, which, as stories were of this or that kind, either greatly increased the interest or were the occasion of hearty merriment or peals of laughter.
He was very fond of the country and his garden, and nothing he enjoyed more than driving down to Enfield with Mr. Clift, and having a holiday. On such occasions, sometimes, even before he went into the house he would set to work in the garden. They used both to be very active in cutting out the dead wood from the laurels and other shrubs. In these domestic operations the children would assist without any of the party recollecting that bonnets and gowns were not the best costume for making way amongst the trees and shrubs, which, however, only assisted to increase the fun and excitement. At other times, there would be an expedition against the duck-weed on the water. In short, he always seems to have been the life of the party, and to have invested even the most ordinary occupations with liveliness and interest, for which he was certainly gifted with unwonted powers. Occasionally he would go to the theatre, which he sometimes enjoyed very much. Like his brother, he was a great lover of our immortal Shakspeare, and scarcely less familiar with most of the wonderful creations of his mighty genius.
When we contemplate Abernethy in a single phase only of his character, we see a "fidgetty" physical organization, influencing an habitual irritability of which it was too much a supporter, if it were not the original cause; but the moment we penetrate this thin and only occasional covering, we meet with nothing but rare and splendid endowments; and, as we proceed in our examination, we are at a loss which most to admire, the brilliant qualities of his intellect, or the moral excellences of his heart.