Mankind naturally feel an interest in the boyhood of men of genius; but it often happens that very little attention is paid to early indications; and, when observed, it is certain that they are often interpreted very falsely.

Nothing more emphatically suggests how much we have to learn on this subject, than the obscurity which so often hangs over the earlier years of distinguished men. At school, a number of variable organizations are subjected to very much the same influences; the necessity for generalization affords little opportunity for individual analysis. The main road is broad and familiar; there is no time for indulging in bye-paths, even should the master have the penetration to perceive, in individual cases, the expediency of such selection. Hence the quickening of those impulses, on which the development of character so much depends, is greatly a matter of uncertainty. The moment boys leave school, on the contrary, this uniformity of external influences is replaced by an interminable diversity; at home, scarcely two boys being subjected to exactly the same. Thus, in many instances, it would be easier to deduce the character of the boy from the man, than to have predicted the man from the boy. The evidences of the one are present to us, those of the other may have been entirely unelicited, unobserved, or forgotten.

We cannot wonder, then, that expectation should have been so often disappointed in the boy, or that excellences little dreamt of should have been developed in the man.

Dryden, who, regarded in the triple capacity of poet, prose-writer, and critic, is hardly second to any English author, took no honour at the University. Swift, perhaps our best writer of pure English, whose talents proved scarcely less versatile and extraordinary than they had appeared restricted and deficient, was "plucked" for his degree, in Dublin, and only obtained his recommendation to Oxford "speciali gratia" as it was termed. The phrase, however, being obviously equivocal, and used only in the bad sense at Dublin, was, fortunately for Swift, interpreted in a good sense at Oxford—a misapprehension which Swift, of course, was at no pains to remove.

Sheridan was remarkable for his readiness, his invention, and his wit; as a writer, he showed considerable powers of sustained thought also. He had an habitual eloquence, and, on one occasion, delivered an oration before one of the most distinguished audiences that the world ever saw⁶, with an effect that seems to have rivalled the most successful efforts of Cicero, or even Demosthenes. Yet he had shown so little capacity as a boy, that he was presented to a tutor by his own mother with the complimentary accompaniment that he was an incorrigible dunce.

Some boys live on encouragement, others seem to work best "up stream." Niebuhr, the traveller, the father of a son no less illustrious, with anything but an originally acute mind, seems to have overcome every disadvantage which the almost constant absence of opportunity could combine. Those who are curious in such matters might easily multiply examples of the foregoing description, and add others where—as in the case of Galileo, Newton, Wren, and many others—the predictions suggested by early physical organization proved as erroneous as the intellectual indications to which we have just adverted.

The truth is, we have a great deal to learn on the subject of mind, although there is no want of materials for instruction. Medicine and surgery are not the only branches of knowledge which require the aid of strictly inductive inquiry. In all, the materials (facts) are abundant.

In Abernethy there was a polarity of character, an individuality, a positiveness of type, which would have made the boy a tolerably intelligible outline of the future man. The evidence is imperfect; it is chiefly drawn from the recollections of a living few, who, though living, have become the men of former days; but still the evidence all inclines one way.

We can quite imagine a little boy, "careless in his dress, not slovenly," with his hands in his pockets, some morning about the year 1774, standing under the sunny side of the wall, at Wolverhampton Grammar School⁷; his pockets containing, perhaps, a few shillings, some halfpence, and a knife with the point broken, a pencil, together with a tolerably accurate sketch of "Old Robertson's" wig. This article, as shown in an accredited portrait⁸ now lying before us, was one of those enormous bygone bushes which represented a sort of impenetrable fence round the cranium, as if to guard the precious material within. The said boy just finishing a story to his laughing companions, though no sign of fun appeared in him, save a little curl of the lip, and a smile which would creep out of the corner of his eye in spite of him. I have had the good fortune to find no less than three schoolfellows of Abernethy, who are still living: John Fowler, Esq. of Datchet, a gentleman whom I have had the pleasure of knowing for many years, and who enjoys, in honourable retirement at his country seat, at the age of eighty-two, the perfect possession of all his faculties; William Thacker⁹, Esq. of Muchall, about two miles from Wolverhampton, who is in his eighty-fifth year; T. Tummins, Esq. of King Street, Wolverhampton, who is in his eighty-seventh year. To these gentlemen, and to J. Wynn, Esq. also of Wolverhampton, I am principally indebted for the few reminiscences I have been able to collect of the boyish days of Abernethy.

The information which I gained from Mr. Fowler, he gave me himself; he also kindly procured me a long letter from Mr. Wynn. The reminiscences of Mr. Tummins and Mr. Thacker, I have obtained through the very courteous and kind assistance of the Rev. W. White, the late¹⁰ distinguished head master of the Wolverhampton School.

To all of these gentlemen I cannot too strongly express my thanks, for the prompt and kind manner in which they have replied to all the enquiries which have been addressed to them. The following are the principal facts which their letters contain, or the conclusions they justify. Abernethy must have gone to Wolverhampton when very young, probably; I should say certainly before 1774. He was brought by Dr. Robertson from London, with another pupil, "his friend Thomas;" and the "two Londoners" boarded with Dr. Robertson. When Mr. Fowler went there in 1778, Abernethy was high up in the school, and ultimately got to the head of the senior form. He must have left Wolverhampton in all probability not later than 1778, because Dr. Robertson resigned the head mastership in that year; and we know that in the following (1779), when he was fifteen, Abernethy was apprenticed to Sir Charles Blicke.

Mr. Thacker says he was very studious, clever, a good scholar, humorous, but very passionate. Mr. Tummins, Mr. Thacker says, knew Abernethy well. Abernethy used to go and dine frequently with Mr. Tummins's father. Mr. Tummins says "Abernethy was a sharp boy, a very sharp boy, and a very passionate one too. Dr. Robertson," he says, "was also a very passionate man."

One day, Abernethy had to "do" some Greek Testament; and it appeared that he set off very glibly, having a "crib" in the shape of a Greek Testament, with a Latin version on the other side. The old Doctor, suspecting the case, discovered the crib, and the pupil was instantly "levelled with the earth." This fortiter in re plan of carrying the intellect by a coup-de-main, has, as the late head master observed, been replaced by more refined modes of proceeding. The more energetic plan was (however coarse and objectionable) not always unsuccessful in implanting a certain quantity of Latin and Greek. Abernethy was a very fair Latin scholar, and he certainly had not, at one period, a bad knowledge of Greek also.

There are, however, many other things to be learnt besides Latin and Greek; and it is probable that the more measured reliance on such violent appeals, which characterizes modern education, might have been better suited to Abernethy. To a boy who was naturally shy, and certainly passionate, such mechanical illustrations of his duty were likely to augment shyness into distrust, and to exacerbate an excitable temper into an irritable disposition.

Abernethy, in chatting over matters, was accustomed jocularly to observe that, for his part, he thought his mind had, on some subjects, what he called a "punctum saturationis;" so that "if you put anything more into his head, you pushed something out." If so, we may readily conceive that this plan of forcing in the Greek, might have forced out an equivalent quantity of patience or self-possession. It is difficult to imagine anything less appropriate to a disposition like Abernethy's than the discipline in question. It was, in fact, calculated to create those very infirmities of character which it is the object of education to correct or remove.

It seems that neither writing nor arithmetic were taught in the school; and "Tummins and Abernethy" used to go to learn these matters at the school of a Miss Ready, in King Street, Wolverhampton. This lady appears to have had, like Dr. Robertson, a high opinion of what the profession usually term "local applications" in the conduct of education. Many years afterwards, she called upon Mr. Abernethy. He was then in full practice in London. He received her with the greatest kindness, begged her to come and dine with him as often as she could while she stayed in London; and, introducing her to Mrs. Abernethy, said: "I beg to introduce to you a lady who has boxed my years many a time."

Had Miss Ready, however, heard us call in question the necessity of this association of boxing ears and quill-driving, she would probably have retorted on us, that few men wrote so good a hand as John Abernethy. It is certain that, brusque as the discipline might have been, or ill-suited to the disposition of Abernethy, it did not interfere with the happiness of his schoolboy life. He always looked back to his days at Wolverhampton with peculiar pleasure, and seemed to regard every association with the place with affectionate remembrance.

Mr. Wynn observes, in his letter: "About twenty years ago I accompanied a patient to Mr. Abernethy. After prescribing, he said, 'let me see you again in about a week,' 'We cannot, for we are returning into the country.' 'Why, where do you live?' 'Wolverhampton.' 'Wolverhampton? Why, I went to school there. Come, sit down, and tell me who's alive and who's dead.' After running over the names of some of the old families, their health, circumstances, &c. he wished us good morning, saying, 'Ah! I cannot forget Wolverhampton!'"

Mr. Thacker's note I subjoin, written in a good firm hand, at eighty-five.

"Muchall, near Wolverhampton,
"May 17, 1852.

"Sir,

"As a boy, I remember John Abernethy and William Thomas coming from London to board with, and as scholars to, Dr. Robertson, the head master of the Wolverhampton School, in which there were two masters, both clergymen. We were formed into several classes, in which John Abernethy, William Thomas, Walter Acton Mosely, and myself, formed one. Abernethy took the head or top of the class; but the boys used to change places in the classes according to their proficiency; but I do not recollect that Abernethy ever took a third place in the class. So also in his sports, he usually made a strong side, for he was remarkably quick and active, and soon learned a new game. He had but one fault that I knew of—he was rather hasty and impetuous in his manner, but it was soon over and forgotten.

"The 'Doctor,' as we used to call him (Robertson), had a daughter grown up, and she used to hear the boarders in the house read plays before her father, in which, in particular passages, she showed where the emphasis should be laid, and how to pronounce the same properly; this occasioned the use of the play of 'Cato,' and originated the boys' performance of that play in the school-room before their fathers and friends. I do not remember the part that Abernethy took in that play. I have applied to Mr. Tummins of Wolverhampton, but his memory does not supply information. He knew Mr. Abernethy well.

"If I recollect any others of my schoolfellows who knew him, I will apply to them for information, and communicate the same to you immediately.

"I am, Sir,
"Your obedient servant,
"William Thacker.

To George Macilwain, Esq."

We learn from another reminiscent, that in the play at Wolverhampton Abernethy took a "principal part." He certainly had a good deal of dramatic talent, in the highest sense of the word; and, as will be seen in the sequel, could light up a story with rich humour, or clothe it with pathos, as suited the occasion, with equal facility. Scanty as they are, there is much in these school reminiscences significant of his future character.

As we have observed, Abernethy left Wolverhampton in 1778. He was then head of the school, a quick, clever boy, and more that an average scholar. He returned to London, that world of hopes, fears, and anxieties; that spacious arena, on which all are desirous of entering as competitors who are ambitious of professional or commercial distinction.