It was through witnessing an accident that Sir Astley Cooper made up his final decision to take up surgery as his profession.  A young man, having been run over by a cart, was in danger of dying from loss of blood, when young Cooper lost no time in tying his handkerchief about the wounded limb so as to stop the hemorrhage.  It was this incident which assured him of his taste for surgery.  In the same way, the story is quoted of the eminent French surgeon, Ambrose Pare.  It is stated that he was acting as stable-boy to an abbe at Laval when a surgical operation was about to be performed on one of the brethren of the monastery.  On being called in to assist, Ambrose Pare not only proved so useful, but was so fascinated with the operation that he made up his mind to devote his life to the study and practice of surgery.  Instances of this kind might be enumerated, being of frequent occurrence in biographical literature, and showing to what unforeseen circumstances men have occasionally owed their greatness.

A romance which, had it lacked corroborative evidence, would have seemed highly improbable, is told of the two Countesses of Kellie.  In the latter half of the last century, Mr Gordon, the proprietor of Ardoch Castle—­situated upon a high rock, overlooking the sea—­was one evening aroused by the firing of a gun evidently from a vessel in distress near the shore.  Hastening down to the beach, with the servants of the Castle, it was evident that the distressed vessel had gone down, as the floating spars but too clearly indicated.  After looking out in vain for some time, in the hope of recovering some of the passengers—­either dead or alive—­he found a sort of crib, which had been washed ashore, containing a live infant.  The little creature proved to be a female child, but beyond the fact that its wrappings pointed to its being the offspring of persons in no mean condition, there was no trace as to who these were.

The little foundling was brought up with Mr. Gordon’s own daughters, and when she had attained to womanhood, by an inexplicable coincidence, a storm similar to that just mentioned occurred.  An alarm-gun was fired, and this time Mr. Gordon had the satisfaction of receiving a shipwrecked party, whom he at once made his guests at the Castle.  Amongst them was one gentleman passenger, who after a comfortable night spent in the Castle, was surprised at breakfast by the entrance of a troop of blooming girls, the daughters of his host, as he understood, but one of whom specially attracted his attention.

“Is this young lady your daughter, too?” he inquired of Mr. Gordon.

“No,” replied his host, “but she is as dear to me as if she were.”

He then related her history, to which the stranger listened with eager interest, and at its close he not a little surprised Mr. Gordon by remarking that he “had reason to believe that the young lady was his own niece.”  He then gave a detailed account of his sister’s return from India, corresponding to the time of the shipwreck, and added, “she is now an orphan, but if I am not mistaken in my supposition, she is entitled to a handsome provision which her father bequeathed to her in the hope of her yet being found.”