* A Highland game-keeper, when asked why a certain terrier,
of singular pluck, was so much more solemn than, the other
dogs, said, "Oh, Sir, life's full o' sariousness to him—he
just never can get eneuch o' fechtin'."
You must have often observed the likeness of certain men to certain animals, and of certain dogs to men. Now, I never looked at Rab without thinking of the great Baptist preacher, Andrew Fuller. * The same large, heavy, menacing, combative, sombre, honest countenance, the same deep, inevitable eye, the same look, as of thunder asleep, but ready,—neither a dog nor a man to be trifled with.
Next day, my master, the surgeon, examined Ailie. There was no doubt it must kill her, and soon. It could be removed—it might never return—it would give her speedy relief—she should have it done. She curtsied, looked at James, and said, "When?"
"To-morrow," said the kind surgeon—a man of few words. She and James and Rab and I retired. I noticed that he and she spoke little, but seemed to anticipate everything in each other. The following day, at noon, the students came in, hurrying up the great stair. At the first landing-place, on a small well-known black-board, was a bit of paper fastened by wafers, and many remains of old wafers beside it. On the paper were the words,—"An operation to-day.—J. B. Clerk."
Up ran the youths, eager to secure good places: in they crowded, full of interest and talk. "What's the case?"
"Which side is it?".
Don't think them heartless; they are neither better nor worse than you or I: they get over their professional horrors, and into their proper work; and in them pity, as an emotion, ending in itself or at best in tears and a long-drawn breath, lessens,—while pity, as a motive, is quickened, and gains power and purpose. It is well for poor human nature that it is so.
* Fuller was, in early life, when a farmer lad at Soham,
famous as a boxer; not quarrelsome, but not without "the
stern delight" a man of strength and courage feels in their
exercise. Dr. Charles Stewart of Dunearn, whose rare gifts
and graces as a physician, a divine, a scholar, and a
gentleman, live, only in the memory of those few who knew
and survive him, liked to tell how Mr. Fuller used to say,
that when he was in the pulpit, and saw a buirdly man come
along the passage, he would instinctively draw himself up,
measure his imaginary antagonist, and forecast how he would
deal with him, his hands meanwhile condensing into fists,
and tending to "square." He must have been a hard hitter if
he boxed as he preached—what "The Fancy" would call "an
ugly customer."
The operating theatre is crowded; much talk and fun, and all the cordiality and stir of youth. The surgeon with his staff of assistants is there. In comes Ailie: one look at her quiets and abates the eager students. That beautiful old woman is too much for them; they sit down, and are dumb, and gaze at her. These rough boys feel the power of her presence. She walks in quickly, but without haste; dressed in her mutch, her neckerchief, her white dimity short-gown, her black bombazeen petticoat, showing her white worsted stockings and her carpet shoes. Behind her was James with Rab. James sat down in the distance, and took that huge and noble head between his knees. Rab looked perplexed and dangerous; for ever cocking his ear and dropping it as fast.