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a single subject was employed for the lectures in the London Hospital, and the course of the arteries was demonstrated by a fetal preparation. But it was Doctor WARREN'S good fortune to arrive in London at the time when the genius of John Hunter had just given a new impulse to the scientific researches of the profession. He became a pupil of Cooper, (afterward Sir Astley,) and acted as dresser to his predecessor and relative, Mr. William Cooper.

Mr. William Cooper was a fine classical scholar, and a good surgeon, though not friendly to operations. Doctor Warren observes of him : 'He was not particularly fond of our country, the newly-formed United States, and sometimes affected to be surprised that we were so 'light complexioned.' Once he said: "Have you schools in America ?' And again : * You have fallen off from us like unripe fruit.?' Doctor WARREN enlivens his address with various reminiscences of the foremost men of that day, who devoted themselves to surgery, both in England and France. It was,' as he truly says, “a golden age in surgery.' Prominent among the great names he enumerates are those of Bell, WENZEL, in Germany, SCARPA, Sebatier, Bichet, and DUBOIS. Of the latter, Doctor Warren relates the following anecdotes :

• Dubois was afterward Baron of the Empire, member of the Legion of Honor, and a great friend of the Emperor NAPOLEON. The emperor employed him to officiate on the occasion of the birth of his son. When a difficulty occurred in the accouchement of the empress, Dubois represented to NAPOLEON that she would not be relieved without the application of considerable force. NAPOLEON immediately replied: "Treat her in the same manner you would a bourgeoise.'

• Dubois was an admirable operator, and I found a great advantage to pass my time, while in Paris, in his family, and in the hospitals in which he officiated. His operations for the stone were performed with a rapidity so great that one could scarcely follow him in the successive steps. The knife he employed was of the size and form of an oyster-knife, cutting on both edges. He performed the operation for extraction of the cataract also with wonderful adroitness. But I remember a case in which the extraction of the lens was immediately followed by the ejection of the whole contents of the globe of the eye; on which DuBois very coolly said to the patient: "Mon ami, vous avez perdu votre ceil."

This rivals the story of the one-eyed Spanish gentleman, who, at a game of billiards, had his single orb knocked out by the cue of his antagonist, whereupon he exclaimed, with Castilian calmness : ‘Buenos noches, Señors! Good night, gentlemen! We cannot close our brief notice of this admirable address without conden. sing a few remarks of Doctor WARREN, upon the moral requirements of his profession, which ought to be made a part of the practical code of every young man entering into the toils and the temptations of a surgical career : "To a well-regulated in. tellect, and a well-stored memory, the student and young physician must add the higher sentiments, which spring from moral and religious feeling. . . . Physicians, when they come into practice, will find that one of the strongest barriers between them and irregular, uneducated pretenders, is to be found, not in prohibitory laws, but in the superior elevation of the moral sentiments. Men who pretend to exercise so responsible and exacting a profession without a foundation of real knowledge, must be conscious of pursuing an immoral course for selfish purposes, and quail before those who are better informed and imbued with a sound morality; and however triumphant they may appear to be for a short time, they must, and do, ultimately sink into the contempt their misconduct necessarily involves. A mere moral sentiment is not a sufficient support to the character of a professor of the healing art. He is daily placed in situations, and involved in responsibilities, which can be known to no human mind but his own; and if he does not feel answerable for his conduct to a higher consciousness than that of his own heart, he may stand on ground which will sink under him. Religious opinions and religious feeling form a highly important part of the medical character. They carry us through scenes of difficulty and danger, in a manner satisfactory to our own consciousness. . . . And finally, the confidence of every patient, whether religious or not, will be greatest in a physician who is animated by the noblest principles which the human mind is capable of entertaining.'

Such views, unfolded by a man whose life and labors have so signally illustrated their truth, and the final reward to which they contribute, deserve to be stamped in the heart of every student. Amid the demoralizing influences of the dissecting-room ; the frivolous companionship to which he is often exposed; the bad examples of all. pervading empiricisms; and the manifold temptations to swerve, for profit's sake, from the severe line of justice and simple duty, amid all the fatal influences by which he is sure to be surrounded - a strict adherence to the path of probity, and a constant fidelity to his trust, are the only anchors upon which he can rely. Honesty and persevering truth are not merely his surest instruments of permanent success, but the only ones which render success sweet when attained :

“Vogli quel che tu debbi:' Wish only that which thou ought'st' was the motto of LEONARDO DE VINCI; and the student can adopt no better one, or safer to abide by. It has been followed to the letter by all who have excelled in, and shed an enduring glory upon their art, whether painters like LEONARDO, or surgeons like WARREN.

DIARY, SKETCHES AND REVIEWS, DURING AN EUROPEAN TOUR, IN THE YEAR 1847. By ROBERT

DODGE. Printed for his Friends. Published by the Author.

But for the pertinacity with which this very indifferent book has been pressed upon our attention, we should have permitted it to drop quietly into the gulf of oblivion, As it is, however, we feel bound, in justice to the author, to say that it is a meagre skeleton of travel, alike flippant and foolish, with the slightest possible style, and the most trivial incident. How any person could sit down and deliberately copy off a journal like this, send it to the printer, read the proof-sheets of it, send it to press, and cause it to be bound up, passes our comprehension. But let us illustrate the justice of our comments by a few extracts. The writer is in London when he records the following:

SIXTH. Went to Saint PANCRA's Church with Mr. A. and L. It is large; somewhat like our Saint BARTHOLOMEW's, but twice the size; a fine organ, and very crowded: dull sermon; afternoon, wrote to D., and to Paris; and at six, P. M., went to Gordon Square, to a dinner party; 'a pleasant affair.

SEVENTH. With Judge GAMBLE, of Georgia, took cars at Nine Elms Station, for Richmond; and thence sauntered through Bushy Park to Hampton Court. The scenery, the whole way is delightful; the park is over a mile through, with its fine horse-chesnuts, twelve deep, on either side, and is one of the noblest in England. Drove up to the Old Lion Gateway, built by GEORGE JI.; still beautiful; walked through the fine grounds, to the east front of the Palace. It covers eight acres, is built of red brick, and faced and ornamented with marble; this front is over one hundred feet high.

Equally thrilling and instructive is the description of what occurred to the writer at Pisa :

THIRTEENTH. Took the cars to Pisa: the cathedral is the finest I have yet seen in Italy in this style; the Babtistery is well

known, and so beautiful, with its musical echo, and fine marble pulpit; then the Campo Santo, the Church of the Cavaliers of Saint STEPHEN, and a new square and statue of the Grand Duke, well done ; and the Church of the Madonna della Spina, the miniature of the Milan cathedral; enjoyed the fine view from the Ponte a Mare, and as I looked upon its Vevay-like scenery, SHELLEY's fine verses on Pisa were again present with me. IBRAHIM PACHA was walking about the Lung Arno.

FOURTEENTH. Drove out with Mrs. M. along the shore, passing the Turks' Cemetery, to the Ardenza, about three miles drive, passed ine villas; and then to the Cisterno Nuova, a beautiful TOL, XXXVI.

36

building and reservoir; passing the New Piazza, and the finc statues of the late and present Grand Duke.'

And of just such skimble-skamble stuff' is the whole book composed. The young author must surely live to be ashamed of a production so crude, disjointed and uninteresting.

TRUTH STRANGER THAN Fiction: a Narrative of Recent Transactions, involving Inquiries in re

gard to the Principles of Honor, Truth and Justice, which obtain in a Distinguished American University. In one volume, 12mo.

We have received the following letter, touching the work whose title is given above, and which was briefly noticed in our last number. The writer has availed himself of our offer to hear both sides,' but in our judgment, a review proper of the book itself should be forthcoming, to meet the exigencies of the case : "TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER:

November 6, 1850. * DEAR SIR: I have just arisen from the perusal of your very piquant summing up of that very remarkable book, with the hackneyed title, “Truth Stranger than Fiction,' by Miss CATHARINE E. BEECHER. As you seem still open to conviction as to the real merits of this singular controversy, and willing to unravel the secret history of the book, I take the liberty of submitting a few observations that have occurred to me respecting it. I agree with you, “this is a strange affair,' a stranger dénouement, and a book still more strange than either. I have not the honor of a personal acquaintance with the fair authoress, but congratulate the male sex in general, that she is still permitted to write her name “Miss.' Though no Æsculapius, I have some notions of hereditary disease, and I am not surprised that the calumniator of steamship discipline, and the libeller of one of the oldest literary institutions in America, should have sprung from the same source. The eaglets are worthy of a common eyrie. I am at a loss to discover what honest or pious motive could have dictated this book. It is painful to suspect the motives of any one, still more painful to suspect the motives of a sex proverbial for lack of suspicion. But the disguise which veils the hideous features that malice and wounded vanity have distorted into the “Gorgon' before us, is too flimsy to baffle the most ordinary penetration. If the book is wonderful, the letter of the heroine to the authoress, declining permission to have the book published, is still more so; that is to say, if one reads it as the writer intended it should be read. But fortunately for truth and plain-dealing, duplicity has adopted a hackneyed device. The coquetry here exhibited is hardly worthy of one who could hold in abeyance for more than twelve months an unsophisticated youth ten years her junior. The trick of CÆSAR:

*You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ?

the harmless wranglings of rival quacks, in patent medicines, and · Yankee notions,' and the late passage-at-arms between Barnum and the Boston newspaper-editors, have familiarized us with this species of tactics; and in spite of charity and gallantry, the world will cry · Humbug! If the lady in question had been the first who had after twelve months' acquaintance before marriage, satisfied a gentleman that his purse and his person might be in better keeping than of the one who coveted both, she might have wondered at the failure of her own perfections. But why this lady should assume that her sex has as large a charter as the wind' in this respect, and that ours is cabined, crib. bed, confined to one chance in the great dice-box of matrimony, I can't for my life discover. The facts and circumstances detailed In this volume, in spite of suppressions and italicised words, have failed to convince me that there is any thing very marvellous in the story on one side or the other And I see no reason why the ear of the public should "be besieged' by a garbled and angry pasquinade upon a trivial affair occurring between two obscure individuals in a small city, in a small state. But the passion for notoriety has in our day become a sporadic disease, and must be fed with such pestilential vapors as low places and festeri substances exhale.

Here I would stop; but the letter ! -I must say one word about that. It appears from Miss D

's own story, that the person who has made all the mischief has reaped his “only distinction' froin association with her; that she is tired of being a victim' and does not wish to be a heroine." Really, we cannot but express our sorrow, that the bad eminence' to which she has exalted this person' should have been made more conspicuous, or that she herself should have been victimized

for the idle purpose of attempting to model a heroine out of such meagre materials by so clumsy an artist. One word to the writer and we have done. It is an old adage that "God sends us meats, but the Devil sends us cooks;' and although we are inclined, from a perusal of another work of fiction by the same authoress, to the opinion that she may be a very good cook of physical food, we suspect that her instructions in the nary art touching the food of the mind' have come from the source deprecated in the proverb. We recommend her in future to confine her attentions to the Spaté de foie gras' and sauce piquante of the kitchen, and her observations on high life' to below stairs :' there she has been and may be respectable; beyond that,

NONSENSE precipitate like running lead,
Slips through the crags and zig-zags of her head.'

• Yours, etc.,

R.'

THE LIFE OF JOHN RANDOLPH, of Roanoke. By Hugh A. GARLAND. In two volumes. D. AP

PLETON AND COMPANY.

These are two interesting volumes, and form a valuable addition to the history of our public affairs, at an eventful period of our national career. But independent of the commendation which they deserve in this latter regard, they are equally deserving of praise for the vivid picture which they afford of the singular person whose career they detail with great minuteness. As an individual personal history, the work is full of interest. It contains a large amount of copious and unreserved correspondence with the most intimate friends of Mr. RANDOLPH, written as only himself ever wrote. Not a thought or feeling is concealed from these cherished friends of his bosom ; and the letters to them, sometimes written daily, may be said to constitute a diary of his daily life. The letters were freely confided to the editor, and he seems to have made a well-discriminated use of them. If there is any thing to be found fault with in the volumes it is an occasional tendency in the writer to prolong his own text by episodes which strikes us as sometimes out of place, or at least unnecessary.

We
pass

at once to the few quotations from the personal correspondence for which we can find space. The following is from a letter to his staunch and life-long friend, the late Francis S. Key, of Baltimore, author of 'The Star-Spangled Banner,' a man of genius and a Christian gentleman, whose own letters, in the volumes before us, are models of composition :

'I HEARTILY wish that I were qualified in any shape to advise you on the subject of a new calling in life. Were I premier, I should certainly translate you to the see of Canterbury; and if I were not too conscious my utter incompetency, I should like to take a professorship in some college where you were principal; for, like you, my occupation (tobacco-making) is also gone. Some sort of employment is absolutely necesssary to keep me from expiring from ennui. _I see no reviews,' nor any thing else of that description. My time passes in uniform monotony. For weeks together I never see a new face; and, to tell you the truth, I am so much of Captain GULLIVER's way of thinking respecting my fellow-Yahoos, (a few excepted, whose souls must have transmigrated from the generous Houyhnhnms,) that I have as much of their company as is agreeable to me, and I suspect that they are pretty much of my opinion; that I am not only ennuyé myself, but the cause of ennui in others. In fact, this business of living is, like Mr. Barlow's reclamations on the French Government, dull work ; and I possess so little of Pagan philosophy, or of Christian patience, as frequently to be driven to the brink of despair. The uses of this world have long seemed to me stale, flat, and unprofitable;' but I have worried along, like a worn-out horse in a mail coach, by dint of habit and whip-cord, and shall at last die in the traces, running the same dull stage, day after day.

When you see RIDGELY, commend me to him and his amiable wife. I am really glad to hear that he is quietly at home, instead of scampering along the bay shore, or inditing dispatches. Our upper country is slid down upon the lower. Nearly half our people are below the falls. Both my brothers are gone.'

We have italicised a line or two to indicate our admiration of the force, simplicity and originality of Mr. RANDOLPH's epistolary style. He speaks, in another letter, of going to the Hot Sulphur Springs of Virginia to stew the rheumatism out of his carcase ;' which carcase, we may remark in passing, seems never to have been free from aches and pains. Perhaps the reader will find in this fact no small excuse for the petulance which sometimes characterized the subject of them. In one of his letters he says: 'My body is wholly worn out, and the intellectual part much shattered. My bodily infirmities are great and rapidly increasing, so that it will be impossible for me to sustain existence here when deprived of field exercises. I write now under the pressure of severe head-ache. You are not my physician, yet I cannot omit telling you that I am afflicted with a strange anomalous disease. It is of the heart; the most violent palpitations, succeeded by a total suspension of its functions for some seconds : and then, after several sudden spasmodic actions, the pulse becomes very slow, languid and weak. When the fit is on, it may be seen through my dress across the room.' Toward the close of the same letter, he adds : ‘I wish I could say something of my future movements. I look forward without hope. Clouds and darkness hang upon my prospects; and should my feeble frame hang together a few years longer, the time may arrive when my best friends, as well as myself, may pray that a close may be put to the same.' Such expressions as the following are frequent throughout his correspondence : On the terms by which I hold it, life is a curse from which I would willingly escape, if I knew where to fly.' Mr. RANDOLPH was for a long period immersed in clouds and darkness on the subject of religion, but at last faith and hope were triumphant. After his reëlection for the second time to congress, he writes to a friend: 'You will have perceived, I hope, my good friend, from my letter by Dr. - , that I have felt no disposition to indulge in an unbecoming triumph on the event of the late election in this district. I do assure you with the utmost sincerity, that, so far as I am personally concerned, I cannot but regret the partiality of my friends, who insisted on holding me up on this occasion. I am engrossed by sentiments of a far different character, and I look forward to the future in this world, to say nothing of the next, with anticipations that forbid any idle expression of exultation. On the contrary, my sensations are such as become a dependent creature, whose only hope for salvation rests upon the free grace of Him to whom we must look for peace in this world, as well as in the world to come.' Elsewhere he remarks: “My dear Sir, there is, or there is not, another and a better world. If there is, as we all believe, what is it but madness to be absorbed in the cares of a clay-built hovel, held at will, unmindful of the rich inheritance of an imperishable palace, of which we are immortal heirs ?' We enter fully into the feelings of the author of the work before us, after the perusal of his pages, when he writes:

WHEN we come to consider the solitude in which he lived, the emaciated condition of his delicate frame, worn down by long and torturing disease, the irritable state of his nervous system—he was almost like a man without a skin - the constant and sleepless excitement of his mental faculties, and of his brilliant imagination induced by this morbid irritability; when we throw ourselves into his condition, and conceive of the crowd of burning thoughts that pressed upon his mind, pass in melancholy review the many friends that bad been torn from him by ihe hand of death, the many who had forgotten him and forsaken him as a fallen man, no longer serviceable to them; call to remembrance that his own father's house was desolate, St. GEORGE, his brother, in the mad-house, himself, like LOGAN, alone in his cabin, without a drop of his father's blood save that which coursed in his own well-nigh exhausted veins; and, above all, when we call to remembrance his first, bis youthful, and his only love, which is said to have greatly revived in his mind at this time with the painful, yet ballowed associations that clustered around its cherished memory — who can wonder that a man, with the temperament of JOHN RANDOLPH, under these circumstances should fling away all restraint, and should cry aloud in the anguish of his soul, and should so act and speak as to excite the astonishment of those around, and induce them to believe that he was a madman! In a similar situation DAVID was a madman; BYRON was a madman; Rosseau — all high-souled, deep feeling men of genius, in the eye of the world were madmen.'

In one place, the eccentric Virginian gives an amusing picture of a consort' which he attended, wherein a protegée of the hostess, who had been used to exhibition and display from the egg-shell,' sang but very little to his edification :

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