We have already observed that Abernethy had begun to feel the wear and tear of an anxious and active life, when, after a tenure of office for twenty-eight years as assistant, he was appointed surgeon to St. Bartholomew's Hospital. After a few years, he took a house at Enfield, where he occasionally went at leisure hours, on Wednesday and Saturday; and, as the Spring Course of Lectures came near to a conclusion, and in the summer, sometimes on other afternoons. At this season, he had been accustomed to doff the black knee-breeches, silk stockings, and shoes, sometimes with, sometimes without, short gaiters, and refresh one's rural recollections with drab kerseymeres and top-boots; in which costume he would at that season not unfrequently come down to lecture. He was fond of riding, and had a favourite mare he called Jenny; and many a time have we seen her jogging along on a fine summer afternoon, and her master looking as happy as any schoolboy that he was escaping from the botherations of Bedford Row and the smoke of London. Jenny was a favourite mare, which Abernethy had for nearly twenty-five years. She was a great pet, and her excellent qualities had been associated with almost every little excursion of relaxation or pleasure. All things, however, must have an end. At last, the poor animal became affected with a kind of rheumatism, attended with much suffering. After various hesitations, the pain of which those who are fond of animals can very well understand, the order was given that she should be destroyed. This took place in the stables behind Bedford Row. The family were all in one apartment, except Mr. Abernethy, who was heard pacing up and down his private room. A short pause, and the coachman is seen running from the stable to say that Jenny was no more. One of his daughters ran to Mr. Abernethy's room to say, "it is all over, papa." "Good girl," said he, patting her head, "to come and tell me so soon." He is said to have suffered greatly on this occasion. Some years before this, he met with what might have been a serious accident: in stooping forward, his horse threw up his head and struck him a violent blow on the forehead and nose; as Mr. Abernethy first thought, breaking the bones of the latter. He rode up a gateway, and, having dismounted, was endeavouring to adjust the bruise and staunch the blood, when some people ran to assist him, and, as he said, very kindly asked him if they should fetch him a doctor; "but," said Abernethy, "I told them I thought they had better fetch me a hackney coach," which they accordingly did. He was conveyed home, and in a short time recovered from the accident.