only the additional kindness of man- The effect of this frankness upon him it is not for me to paint. We will leave them to that most delicious of lovers' conversations-the 66 comparing notes," of the dates and progress of their affection. It was just a month after Elizabeth's wedding that Sir Walter brought his bride home to Arlescot. Eliza Arlescot, which were mounted in splendid frames, there was over the chimney-piece a full-length portrait of herself, as Ariel, mounting into the air, after her freedom has been given to her by Prospero. "How beautiful!" she exclaimed, in the first moment of her surprisebut then recollecting the interpretation her words might bear, she added quickly, and with blushes, "I mean the painting." "It is all beautiful!" said Sir Walter. "How often have I seen you look exactly thus as you have sung 'Merrily, merrily,' and I have almost thought you would rise into the air." wish to leave the blossoms of this bower.-But hark! I hear music." "I will change the word to Hapbeth herself was there to welcome pily,' now," said Lucy, in a low tone, her, and never did welcome spring" and you need not fear that I should more strongly from the heart. The idea of the union of her brother with her friend had never crossed her mind -but, when he wrote to inform her of his approaching marriage, she was in amazement that she had not always desired and striven to unite them. "Here is her bower, decked for Ariel" said Sir Walter, as he led his bride into this loved chamber, which was now changed from a bedroom to a boudoir. She started in addition to her favorite flowers growing in their accustomed beds, and her drawings of "Yes!" said Sir Arthur Leonard, who looked from the window-" there are the maidens of the village come to strew flowers for you to walk on as you go to the chapel-and there is old Crompton, with his followers, at their head. You hear what tune it is he is playing to herald you to your bridal." "Certainly I do," answered Lucy, in a low tone, "Good Sir Walter!"" TASSO'S CORONATION.* BY MRS. HEMANS. A crown of victory! a triumphal song! A TRUMPET'S note is in the sky, in the glorious Roman sky, Yet his chariot lingers, Yet around his home * Tasso died at Rome on the day before that appointed for his coronation in the Capitol. A thousand thousand laurel boughs are waving wide and far, A thousand haunts of olden gods have given their wealth of flowers, Sing, sing for Him, the Lord of song, for him whose rushing strain Yes, for him, the victor, The sun, the sun of Italy is pouring o'er his way, Where the old three hundred triumphs moved, a flood of golden day; Shut the proud bright sunshine From the fading sight! There needs no ray by the bed of death, Save the holy taper's light. The wreath is twined-the way is strewn-the lordly train are met- SKETCHES OF CONTEMPORARY AUTHORS, STATESMEN, &c. MR. ABERNETHY is, without excep- cluded by saying, "And what think you of Eton? I think I shall send my son there to learn manners.""It would have been as well, my dear," responded his wife, "had you gone there too." Now, much as we dislike to differ from any lady, more especially from a lady so highly gifted as Mrs. Abernethy, yet we must, on this occasion, refuse our assent to her opinion. Had John Abernethy been a polished man, we do not think that he would ever have been a popular one; indeed, it could not be. He would have been then one only of a cringing pulse-feeling race, with no other regard for the noble science of which he is so distinguished a profes sor, than its subserviency to his own personal interests. Abernethy and politeness are truly the antipodes of each other; but, for those external, meretricious, and artificial accomplishments, which, after all, are useful in their way, he possesses qualities of so brilliant and sterling a character as to constitute him a diamond,-rough enough, Heaven knows,-but still a diamond of the very first "water." Let us just trace Mr. Abernethy's professional career, and we shall soon see why he is so eccentric, and why he is so sought after. When, as a young practitioner, he first began that career, his eager and active mind, instead of wasting its strength in riot and debauchery, was feeding upon the beauties and wonders of the science, to which he intended to devote all its powers. At that time physiology, and its handmaiden, surgery, were emerging from the barbarous empiricism which had till then characterized them. The two Hunters were then teaching and elucidating the mysteries of Nature with a bold, unshrinking, and untiring hand. Rejecting with scorn the fusta dogmata of their bigoted predecessors, they held out to their disciples that the study of Nature, or, to use Mr. Abernethy's own expression, "of that curious concatenation which exists in all the works of Nature," was the true and only safe guide to that knowledge which is calculated to dispense relief to the sick, and comfort to the suffering. One of the most forward and favored of these disciples was young Abernethy; and we may easily judge of the influence which the talent and industry of John Hunter had upon the young physiologist, by the fruits which have sprung from his example, as well as by the great respect which Mr. Abernethy always expresses for his memory. "I was acquainted with John Hunter," he says, "at a period of his life when he must have greatly interested any one, who duly appreciated the result of his talents and labors, or who had any sympathy for the highly susceptible mind of genius, rendered still more so by excess of exertion, and the perturbed feeling incident to bodily disease. He seemed to me conscious of his own desert, of the insufficiency and uncertainty of his acquirements, and of his own inability to communicate what he knew and thought. He felt irritated with the opposition he had met with in establishing his opinions, and still more by finding, when he had surmounted this difficulty, that those opinions were, by the malice of mankind, ascribed to others. All which, I think, may be inferred from a single sentence, which he one day addressed to me. 'I know, I know,' said he, 'I am but a pigmy in knowledge, yet I feel as a giant when compared with these men.' It interested me to find among his manuscripts a long extract from a French author, who was said to have taught the same opinions relative to absorption before him. Mr. Hunter had made his own commentary upon several of the passages; and, as it seemed to him, that, by nothing short of a new construction of words and sentences, could any resemblance of opinion be made to appear, he was induced to add,—This reminds me of a dispute which took place between a zealous convert to the Newtonian philosophy, and a Hutchinsonian, in which the latter having, by garbling and transporting certain passages from the Scriptures, seemingly made good a very absurd proposition, the former retorted, Yea, but it is also written, Judas went out and hanged himself;" moreover, it is added, Go thou and do likewise.' Those who were acquainted with Mr. Hunter knew full well that he had a great deal of drollery in his composition." In such a school as this, and with such a model for imitation-with a mind, moreover, so well calculated to search out the hidden wonders of science, and, having found them, to convert them into a source of extensive utility-John Abernethy became very speedily eminent, though young, in his profession. He was the first man who was bold enough to discard that patchwork system with which surgery had hitherto been disgraced. His enlarged views of Nature's operations, both in health and in disease, enabled him to discover the uncertainty of all those empirical plans which marked the practice of his brethren, old and young, eminent or obscure; and without regarding their convenience, or even their reputation, the young physiologist, having but one duty to perform, and that an honest one, gave his opinion openly, boldly, and justly. Independence, the most uncompromising independence, characterized, and still characterizes, the practice of Mr. Abernethy; and no hope of retaining a rich patient-no by-play or intriguing of a brother practitioner, could ever induce him to depart from that line of conduct which he considers the duty of an honest man to follow. "The education and course of life of medical men," he says, in one of his lectures, "tend to make them soberminded, moral, and benevolent; and their professional avocations equally require that they should possess such characters and dispositions. On no other terms can they be admitted with confidence into the bosoms of those families which may require their medical aid. Whoever, therefore, inculcates opinions tending to subvert morality, benevolence, and the social interests of mankind, deserves the severest reprobation from every member of our profession, because his conduct must bring it into distrust with the public." Independence, when well directed and consistent, must find favor with a liberal-minded public; and Mr. Abernethy's upright conduct soon rendered him a distinguished object of public patronage. His splendid talents had now full scope for exercise; and those, too, brought him into notice, and made him an object of requisition among his professional brethren, which we take to be the best proof possible that those talents were not meretricious. Of his independence and strict veneration of what is right, we have many examples. Among others, the following is characteristic-A certain noble personage, now enjoying a situation of great res ponsibility in the Sister Kingdom, had been waiting for a long time in the Surgeon's ante-room, when, seeing those who had arrived before him successively called in, he became somewhat impatient, and sent his card in. No notice was taken of the hint; he sent another card-another-another-and another; still no answer. At length he gained admission in his turn; and, full of nobility and choler, he asked, rather aristocratically, why he had been kept waiting so long?— "Whew!" responded the Professor; "because you did'nt come sooner, to be sure. And now, if your Lordship will sit down, I will hear what you have to say." After all, now that age and much bodily suffering have soured his disposition, Mr. Abernethy is a strange compound of eccentricity, ill-humor, benevolence, and talent. His churlishness-we must say, much exaggerated-is familiar to all, and various causes have been assigned for its existence. Those who know Mr. Abernethy best, attribute it in some measure to affectation, and to an impatient ill-humor, induced by study and illness. He is certainly not enthusiastically attached to the wearing and tearing drudgeries of the profession. He would rather be consulted at home; and, until very recently, he would rather be employed amidst his pupils at the hospital, than amongst his patients out of it. Most of our popular surgeons have risen to eminence, not altogether by their talent, but by extreme attention, and by skill in operating-two qualifications most assiduously shunned by Mr. Abernethy. As to the first, he is too indolent, and too capricious to attend to it, excepting in cases of real and extreme urgency; and as to the second, he regards it almost with contempt. An operation, he says, is the reproach of surgery, and a surgeon should endeavor to avoid such an extremity by curing his patient without having recourse to it. It is upon this principle that Mr. Abernethy has acted during the whole course of his long professional career; and it is astonishing how much good he has effected by so acting, to the great annoyance of the pupils, by the way, who used to complain bitterly of the paucity of operations at "Bartholomew's." In fact, Mr. Abernethy is a man of profound, unrivalled practical science. His in timate knowledge of anatomy, and more especially of practical physiology and chemistry; his comprehensive and well-informed mind; his acute perception, and his habits of deep and constant reflection, enable him to effect that good which, notwithstanding his churlishness, so many have experienced; and those who have seen him, as we have, going round the wards of the hospital, and attending to the complaints and sufferings of the poor patients with all the interest of true benevolence, would lament that he should so studiously withhold such attention from the wealthier and more respectable classes of society. Yet, notwithstanding the occasional rudeness of his manner (for, after all, it is only occasional), there is no person in the profession whose opinion we prize so much. In a case of real danger and importance, he will evince all the attention and anxiety that are necessary; but it must be indeed a "trial of temper," to a person whose mind is so constantly and so deeply occupied, to be eternally tormented by the neverending details and tiresome twaddle of a selfish and bewildered hypochondriac. We have said that Mr. Abernethy is only occasionally restive, and we speak from the conviction of our own experience. We hesitate not to declare that, to us, Mr. Abernethy has always appeared full of whim and drollery, replete with agreeable information, always willing to lend an attentive ear to necessary questions, and to impart that professional knowledge of which he possesses such an extensive store. But one thing he cannot abide, that is, any interruption to his discourse. This it is, in fact, which so often irritates him, so often causes him to snarl. "People come here," he has often said to us, "to consult me, and they will torture me with 38 ATHENEUM, VOL. 1, 3d series. their long and foolish fiddle-de-dee stories; so we quarrel, and then they blackguard me all about this large town; but I can't help that." Let those who wish for Abernethy's advice, and it is well worth having, observe this rule, and they and he will part excellent friends. Let them tell their case in as plain and as few words as possible, and then listen to their adviser's remarks without interruption; this is the only secret of managing this professional bugbear, and it is a secret worth knowing. That Abernethy is odd all the world knows; but his oddity is far more amusing than repulsive, far more playful than bearish. Yates's picture of him last year was not bad; neither was it good-it wanted the raciness of the original. Let the reader imagine a smug, elderly, sleek, and venerablelooking man, approaching seventy years of age, rather (as novel-writers say) below than above the middle height, somewhat inclined to corpulency, and upright in his carriage withal; with his hair most primly powdered, and nicely curled round his brow and temples: let them imagine such a person habited in sober black, with his feet thrust carelessly into a pair of unlaced half-boots, and his hands into the pockets of his "peculiars ;" and they have the "glorious John" of the profession before their eyes. The following colloquy, which occurred not many days since, between him and a friend of ours, is so characteristic of the professor, that we cannot resist its insertion. Having entered the room, our friend "opened the proceedings,"-"I wish you to ascertain what is the matter with my eye, Sir. It is very painful, and I am afraid there is some great mischief going on." "Which I can't see," said Abernethy, placing the patient before the window, and looking closely at the eye. "But-" interposed our friend. "Which I can't see," again said, or rather sung the professor. "Perhaps not, Sir, but-" "Now don't bother!" ejaculated the other; "but sit down, and I'll tell you |