Kitabı oku: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 19, No. 530, January 21, 1832», sayfa 4
VAMPIRE BAT
This species of bat is abundant at Tongatabu, and most of the Polynesian Islands. At the sacred burial place at Maofanga (island of Tongatabu) they were pendant in great numbers from a lofty Casuarina tree, which grew in the enclosure. One being shot, at Tongatabu, it was given to a native, at his request, who took it home to eat. From the number of skulls found in the huts at the island of Erromanga (New Hebrides group), and the ribs being also worn in clusters, as ornaments, in the ears, they very probably form an article of food among the natives. Capt. S.P. Henry related to me, that when at Aiva (one of the Fidji group) he fired at some of these bats, which he had observed hanging from the trees, on which they all flew up, making a loud screaming noise, at the same time discharging their foeces on the assailants.—Mr. G.B.'s MS. Journal, August, 1829.
THE SELECTOR AND LITERARY NOTICES OF WORKS
ANNUAL BIOGRAPHY AND OBITUARY OF 1831
Within this volume, it may almost be said, "keeps death his antic court." It comprises biographies of celebrated persons, who have died within the year, as well as a General Biographical List of others lower in the roll of fame. The biographies are 31 in number: among them are memoirs of Henry Mackenzie, Elliston, Jackson the artist, Abernethy, Mrs. Siddons, Rev. Robert Hall, Thomas Hope, Carrington, the poet of Dartmoor, Northcote the artist, and the Earl of Norbury, and William Roscoe. These names alone would furnish a volume of the most interesting character, and they are aided by others of almost equal note. The memoirs are from various sources, in part original; but, as we have cause to know the difficulty of procuring biographical particulars of persons recently deceased, from their surviving relatives, we are not surprised at the paucity of such details in the present volume. Nevertheless some of the papers are stamped with this original value; as the memoirs of Mrs. Siddons and Mr. Thomas Hope. Our extracts are of the anecdotic turn.
Abernethy.
An anecdote illustrative of the sound integrity, as well as of the humour, of Mr. Abernethy's character, may here be introduced. On his receiving the appointment of Professor of Anatomy and Surgery to the Royal College of Surgeons, a professional friend observed to him that they should now have something new.—"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Abernethy. "Why," said the other, "of course you will brush up the lectures which you have been so long delivering at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, and let us have them in an improved form."—"Do you take me for a fool or a knave?" rejoined Mr. Abernethy. "I have always given the students at the Hospital that to which they are entitled—the best produce of my mind. If I could have made my lectures to them better, I would certainly have made them so. I will give the College of Surgeons precisely the same lectures, down to the smallest details:—nay, I will tell the old fellows how to make a poultice." Soon after, when he was lecturing to the students at St. Bartholomew's, and adverting to the College of Surgeons, he chucklingly exclaimed, "I told the big wigs how to make a poultice!" It is said by those who have witnessed it, that Mr Abernethy's explanation of the art of making a poultice was irresistibly entertaining.
"Pray, Mr. Abernethy, what is a cure for gout?" was the question of an indolent and luxurious citizen. "Live upon sixpence a-day—and earn it!" was the pithy answer.
A scene of much entertainment once took place between our eminent surgeon and the famous John Philpot Curran. Mr. Curran, it seems, being personally unknown to him, had visited Mr. Abernethy several times without having had an opportunity of fully explaining (as he thought) the nature of his malady: at last, determined to have a hearing, when interrupted in his story, he fixed his dark bright eye on the "doctor," and said—"Mr. Abernethy, I have been here on eight different days, and I have paid you eight different guineas; but you have never yet listened to the symptoms of my complaint. I am resolved, Sir, not to leave this room till you satisfy me by doing so." Struck by his manner, Mr. Abernethy threw himself back in his chair, and assuming the posture of a most indefatigable listener, exclaimed, in a tone of half surprise, half humour,—"Oh! very well, Sir; I am ready to hear you out. Go on, give me the whole—your birth, parentage, and education. I wait your pleasure; go on." Upon which Curran, not a whit disconcerted, gravely began:—"My name is John Philpot Curran. My parents were poor, but I believe honest people, of the province of Munster, where also I was born, at Newmarket, in the County of Cork, in the year one thousand seven hundred and fifty. My father being employed to collect the rents of a Protestant gentleman, of small fortune, in that neighbourhood, procured my admission into one of the Protestant free-schools, where I obtained the first rudiments of my education. I was next enabled to enter Trinity College, Dublin, in the humble sphere of a sizer:"—and so he continued for several minutes, giving his astonished hearer a true, but irresistibly laughable account of his "birth, parentage, and education," as desired, till he came to his illness and sufferings, the detail of which was not again interrupted. It is hardly necessary to add, that Mr. Abernethy's attention to his gifted patient was, from that hour to the close of his life, assiduous, unremitting, and devoted.
In lecturing, Mr. Abernethy's manner was peculiar, abrupt, and conversational; and often when he indulged in episodes and anecdotes he convulsed his class with laughter, especially when he used to enforce his descriptions by earnest gesticulation. Frequently, while lecturing, he would descend from his high stool, on which he sat with his legs dangling, to exhibit to his class some peculiar attitudes and movements illustrative of the results of different casualties and disorders; so that a stranger coming in, unacquainted with the lecturer's topics, might easily have supposed him to be an actor entertaining his audience with a monologue, after the manner of Matthews or Yates. This disposition, indeed, gave rise to a joke among his pupils of "Abernethy at Home," whenever he lectured upon any special subject. In relating a case, he was seen at times to be quite fatigued with the contortions into which he threw his body and limbs; and the stories he would tell of his consultations, with the dialogue between his patient and himself, were theatrical and comic to the greatest degree.
Northcote and the present King.
A certain Royal Duke was at the head of those who chaperoned Master Betty, the young Roscius, at the period when the furor of fashion made all the beau monde consider it an enviable honour to be admitted within throne-distance of the boy-actor. Amongst others who obtained the privilege of making a portrait of this chosen favourite of fortune, was Mr. Northcote.
The royal Duke to whom we allude was in the habit of taking Master Betty to Argyll Place in his own carriage; and there were usually three or four ladies and gentlemen of rank, who either accompanied his Royal Highness, or met him at the studio of the artist.
Northcote, nothing awed by the splendid coteries thus assembled, maintained his opinions upon all subjects that were discussed,—and his independence obtained for him general respect, though one pronounced him a cynic—another an eccentric—another a humorist—another a free-thinker—and the prince, with manly taste, in the nautical phrase, dubbed him a d–d honest, independent, little old fellow.
One day, however, the royal Duke, being left with only Lady –, the young Roscius, and the painter, and his patience being, perhaps, worn a little with the tedium of an unusually long sitting, thought to beguile an idle minute by quizzing the personal appearance of the Royal Academician. Northcote, at no period of life, was either a buck, a blood, a fop, or a maccaroni; he soon dispatched the business of dressing when a young man; and, as he advanced to a later period, he certainly could not be called a dandy. The loose gown in which he painted was principally composed of shreds and patches, and might, perchance, be half a century old; his white hair was sparingly bestowed on each side, and his cranium was entirely bald. The royal visiter, standing behind him whilst he painted, first gently lifted, or rather twitched the collar of the gown, which Mr. Northcote resented, by suddenly turning and expressing his displeasure by a frown. Nothing daunted, his Royal Highness presently, with his finger, touched the professor's grey locks, observing, "You do not devote much time to the toilette, I perceive—pray how long?"
Northcote instantly replied, "Sir, I never allow any one to take personal liberties with me;—you are the first who ever presumed to do so, and I beg your Royal Highness to recollect that I am in my own house." He then resumed his painting.
The Prince, whatever he thought or felt, kept it to himself; and, remaining silent for some minutes, Mr. Northcote addressed his conversation to the lady, when the royal Duke, gently opening the door of the studio, shut it after him, and walked away.
Northcote did not quit his post, but proceeded with the picture. It happened that the royal carriage was not ordered until five o'clock;—it was now not four. Presently the royal Duke returned, reopened the door, and said, "Mr. Northcote, it rains; pray lend me an umbrella." Northcote, without emotion, rang the bell; the servant attended; and he desired her to bring her mistress's umbrella, that being the best in the house, and sufficiently handsome. The royal Duke patiently waited for it in the back drawing-room, the studio door still open; when, having received it, he again walked down stairs, attended by the female servant. On her opening the street door, his Royal Highness thanked her, and, spreading the umbrella, departed.
"Surely his Royal Highness is not gone,—I wish you would allow me to ask," said Lady –. "Certainly his Royal Highness is gone," replied Northcote; "but I will inquire at your instance." The bell was rung again, and the servant confirmed the assertion.
"Dear Mr. Northcote," said Lady –, "I fear you have highly offended his Royal Highness."—"Madam," replied the painter, "I am the offended party." Lady – made no remark, except wishing that her carriage had arrived. When it came, Mr. Northcote courteously attended her down to the hall: he bowed, she curtsied, and stepping into her carriage, set off with the young Roscius.
The next day, about noon, Mr. Northcote happening to be alone, a gentle tap was heard, and the studio door being opened, in walked his Royal Highness. "Mr. Northcote," said he, "I am come to return your sister's umbrella, which she was so good as to lend me yesterday." The painter bowed, received it, and placed it in a corner.
"I brought it myself, Mr. Northcote, that I might have the opportunity of saying that I yesterday thoughtlessly took a very unbecoming liberty with you, and you properly resented it. I really am angry with myself, and hope you will forgive me, and think no more of it."
"And what did you say?" inquired the first friend to whom Northcote related the circumstance. "Say! Gude God! what would 'e have me have said? Why, nothing? I only bowed, and he might see what I felt. I could, at the instant, have sacrificed my life for him!—such a Prince is worthy to be a King!" The venerable painter had the gratification to live to see him a King. May he long remain so!
