It is said that Abernethy’s impatience frequently arose from his anxiety to be at his hospital duties; and that instead of representing this in a proper manner, he would sometimes almost push patients from his door. Sir Astley Cooper received many a fee from those who had quitted Abernethy, or would not venture to encounter his rudeness. To his hospital patients, especially those who were in great distress, he was all kindness. Their gratitude was sometimes amusingly demonstrated. Mr. Stowe relates one example of this: “It was on his first going through the wards after a visit to Bath, that, passing up between the rows of beds, with an immense crowd of pupils after him, myself among the rest—the apparition of a poor Irishman, with the scantiest shirt I ever saw, jumping out of bed, and literally throwing himself on his knees at Abernethy’s feet, presented itself. For some moments everybody was bewildered; but the poor fellow, with all his country’s eloquence, poured out such a torrent of thanks, prayers, and blessings, and made such pantomimic displays of his leg, that we were not long left in doubt. ‘That’s the leg, yer honnor! Glory be to God! Yer honnor’s the boy to do it! May the heavens be your bed! Long life to your honnor! To the divole with the spalpeens that said your honnor would cut it off!’ &c. The man had come into the hospital about three months before, with diseased ankle, and it had been at once condemned to amputation. Something, however, induced Abernethy to try what rest and constitutional treatment would do for it, and with the happiest result. With some difficulty the patient was got into bed, and Abernethy took the opportunity of giving us a clinical lecture about diseases and their constitutional treatment. And now commenced the fun. Every sentence Abernethy uttered Pat confirmed. ‘Thrue, yer honnor, divole a lie in it. His honnor’s the grate dochter entirely!’ While at the slightest allusion to his case, off went the bed-clothes, and up went the leg, as if he were taking aim at the ceiling with it. ‘That’s it, by gorra! and a bitther leg than the villin’s that wanted to cut it off!’ This was soon after I went to London, and I was much struck with Abernethy’s manner in the midst of the laughter. Stooping down to the patient, he said with much earnestness: ‘I am glad your leg is doing well; but never kneel, except to your Maker.’”