One of the most interesting facts in relation to Abernethy's lecturing, was, that however great his natural capacity, he certainly owed very much to careful study and practice; and we cannot but think that it is highly encouraging to a more careful education for this mode of teaching, to know the difficulty that even such a man as Abernethy had for some few years in commanding his self-possession. To those who only knew him in his zenith or his decline, this will appear extraordinary; yet, to a careful observer, there were many occasions when it was easy to see that he did not appear so entirely at ease _without some effort_. He was very impatient of interruption; an accidental knock at the door of the theatre, which, by mistake of some stranger, would occasionally happen, would disconcert him considerably; and once, when he saw some pupil joking or inattentive, he stopped, and with a severity of manner I hardly ever saw before or afterwards, said: "If the lecture, sir, is not interesting to you, I must beg you to walk out." There were, as we shall hereafter observe, perhaps physical reasons for this irritability. He never hesitated, as we occasionally hear lecturers do, nor ever used any notes. When he came to any part that he perhaps wished to impress, he would pause and think for a second or two, with his class singularly silent. It was a fine moment. We recollect being once at his lecture with the late Professor Macartney, who had been a student of Abernethy's[68]. Macartney said, "what can it be that enables him to give so much interest to what we have so often heard before?" We believe it to have been nothing but a steady observance of rules, combined with an admirable power _matured by study_.