JOHN GREGORY, 1724–1773
‘The good-natured size of his person and set of his face, seem to
show that Philosophy is not the thing of toil and anguish it once
was to men.’—ROBERT W. BARBOUR.
From an Aberdeen education at the Grammar School to begin with, and
afterwards at King’s College, where he learned his Latinity, John
Gregory came to Edinburgh in 1742. He came with his mother to look after
him, who, poor soul, was haunted by the remembrance of his brother
George’s early death, and would hardly let John out of her sight. Both
of the boy’s guardians had agreed that for a medical education he must
attend Edinburgh University. His brother, the mediciner in Aberdeen,
never seems to have suggested that he should stay there, where there was
really no systematic teaching of medicine, nor did his grandfather,
Principal Chalmers, the Principal of King’s College.
To begin his study at Edinburgh, to continue it at Leyden, was the best
suggestion that they could offer him, and it turned out excellently.
His professors in Edinburgh were Professor Monro, (the first), who daily
strove to make dry bones live, and succeeded; Professor Sinclair, who
expressed Boerhaave’s teaching in his own very beautiful Latin; Dr
Rutherford, the grandfather of Sir Walter Scott, who taught the Practice
of Physic, and Dr Alston, the strangeness of whose prescriptions makes
it possible for us to grasp what an advance Cullen and Gregory
accomplished in medicine. These were very nearly the same professors as
lectured when Goldsmith attended the university some ten years
afterwards, and he did not think much of any of them, except Professor
Monro, to whom he gave his heart’s admiration. ‘This man,’ he wrote,
‘has brought the science he teaches to as much perfection as it is
capable of; ‘tis he, I may venture to say, that draws hither such a
number of students from most parts of the world, even from Russia.’
As for Professor Alston, he has left behind him the notes of his
lectures, and they are very curious, though not laughable, for after all
it was what everyone believed in those days. ‘Earthworms, large and fat
ones especially, were dried and used in cases of jaundice and gout: the
juice of slaters passed through a muslin bag was recommended for cancer,
convulsions and headache.’ But, all the same, think of John Gregory
taking notes of such teaching, sitting up late at night to write down
how vipers must be used for ague and small-pox, and picture his watching
the cure of the lady with a headache who could be induced to drink the
wood-lice-juice. No wonder she was cured when you think what faith she
must have brought to her physician.
Though these notes from Alston’s lectures seem only worthy of a
medicine-man, there was yet throughout the university an awakening
spirit of life and of enquiry. The Royal Medical Society, which Cullen
had founded in 1735, and which John Gregory attended in 1742, was the
scene of the most lively debates upon every subject in medicine and
philosophy. Little was taken for granted, and everything was questioned.
In Gregory’s year its charm was greatly enhanced by the presence of Mark
Akenside, who was a member, and the best company possible. Amusing,
poetical, his oratory drew many persons to the Society. Robertson, the
historian, came every night when Akenside was going to speak, and the
racy talk was enjoyed by him almost as much as it was by the speakers.
Gregory spent three years in Edinburgh at this time, and then went to
Leyden to study under Albinus, Gaubius, and Van Royen. Albinus was an
anatomist. His engravings were much clearer than those procured by
anyone else at that time, but he was not a great lecturer, only
painstaking and observant. In Gaubius, however, the university had a
strong man, a vivid teacher, and an original thinker, and if Gregory had
needed inspiration, he would have found it in his teaching.
To John Gregory Holland was delightful country when contrasted with the
cold east of Scotland, where even the roads were almost impassable in
bad weather. In Holland he made his way along sunlit canals, through
villages gay with gardens, and when he reached Leyden his enjoyment was
complete.
Full of delight he went about the quiet squares of the university town,
along the banks of the old Rhine, and round the path on the top of the
wall. Everything was new, and everything was foreign. He chose rooms for
himself at a well-known lodging on the Long Bridge. Mademoiselle van der
Tasse arranged her house especially for English-men. It paid her better,
and besides, the fat little French-woman could talk English, and knew
how to please, and her coffee was famous in the town. Gregory’s
companions in Leyden were Alexander Carlyle, afterwards minister of
Inveresk, Dr Nicholas Monckly, Charles Townshend, John Wilkes, and a few
Scotsmen. Some of them were studying law, some divinity, and the others
medicine. But alas for the great fame of Albinus and Van Royen. ‘I asked
Gregory,’ wrote Alexander Carlyle, ‘why he did not attend the lectures,’
which he answered by asking in his turn why I did not attend the
divinity professors. ‘Having heard all they could say in a much better
form at home, we went but rarely, and for form’s sake only to hear the
Dutchmen.’ So after all it was not the Professors of Leyden that taught
John Gregory so much. Albinus was no doubt worthy, but in his portrait
he looks a little dead, a little like a mummy. He looks as if he had
forgotten that men were anything more than bones.
The students who most enlivened the university were Charles Townshend
and Wilkes, both of whom became notorious in after life, Townshend as a
statesman, and Wilkes as Wilkes. On the first Sunday after Carlyle
joined the party at Leyden, Gregory took him out for a walk along the
Cingle, and introduced him to the English colony. As Wilkes drew near
the newcomer asked eagerly about him. His face was so remarkable, not
only for its ugliness, but for its self-assurance and interest, that no
one could pass him without notice. Gregory’s answer was that ‘he was the
son of a London distiller or brewer, who wanted to be a fine gentleman
and man of taste, which he could never be, for God and Nature had been
against him.’ And famous and popular as he afterwards became, this
estimate of him remained true, for he never succeeded in becoming either
a gentleman or a man of taste. What a clear insight Gregory had, and
what a sharp tongue! He carried things all his own way in Holland, but
in Edinburgh it was different; there his rapid way of expressing his
thoughts even about the things for which he cared most deeply, was often
put down to shallowness and hypocrisy.
The conversation among these men was often brilliant, but most of all at
their students’ supper parties—these Leyden suppers of red herring, eggs
and salad. Gregory’s great subjects were religion, and the equal, if not
superior, talents of women as compared with men. Everybody made fun of
him, for ‘he could hardly be persuaded to go to church, and there were
no women near whom he could have wished to flatter;’ but he would not
change his mind. Nicholas Monckly was a great friend of Gregory’s, but
more because it brought him into notice than because of any love. He saw
that Gregory could be witty, so he used to talk to him in private about
subjects of interest, and then bringing the same matter up for
discussion at their evening entertainments, would give out his friend’s
opinions as if they had been his own. Gregory was much amused with this,
and after a few evenings took Carlyle into his confidence, whereupon
these two played many pranks upon poor Monckly, leading him out of his
depth, or contradicting him. The sport was given up, because the victim
was too unconscious of their satire, and when they made their chaff
plain, he would come into Gregory’s bedroom, and complain even with
tears. Wilkes, who tried too, but with greater success, to be a leader
among the students, used to leave Leyden when he felt tired of it, and
spend a few days in Utrecht with ‘Immateriality Baxter.’ These two men
were really attached to one another, and what an ideal retreat it was to
go to the house of that quaint Scotsman, even though he was in exile.
King’s College in Aberdeen honoured John Gregory in his absence by
sending him the degree of M.D., and thus distinguished, he turned his
face again towards home. He, along with Carlyle and Monckly, travelled
_via_ Helvoet, Harwich, and London. In the boat they found a charming
companion in Violetti, who was on her way to fulfil an engagement at the
Haymarket Theatre, and to fame. She became Mrs Garrick, and lived
happily in her villa, near London, till 1822, but except on the stage,
Gregory never saw her again.
Now there happened to John Gregory, what so seldom befalls anyone, that
he was put into the right place for him without any effort on his part.
When he returned to Aberdeen he was offered the Chair of Philosophy,
which meant in those days that he should teach mathematics, natural
philosophy and moral philosophy, and be a regent. His former study did
not exactly lead to this, and people must sometimes have asked of what
use had his apprenticeship to his doctor brother been to him if he were
to turn into a philosopher. But there was plenty of time to be several
things in the leisurely eighteenth century. That was what John Gregory
thought, so from 1747 to 1749 he was a Regent of Philosophy.
Although regents had been abolished both in Edinburgh and Glasgow
Universities before 1746, in Aberdeen they were still retained, and from
the statement quoted in Mr Rait’s book on the Universities of Aberdeen,
I take the following paragraph, descriptive of the attitude of King’s
College in regard to this subject. ‘Every Professor of Philosophy in
this University is also tutor to those who study under him, has the
whole direction of their studies, the training of their minds, and the
oversight of their manners; and it seems to be generally agreed that it
must be detrimental to a student to change his tutor every session ...
and though it be allowed that a professor who has only one branch of
philosophy for his province, may have more leisure to make improvements
in it for the benefit of the learned world, yet it does not seem at all
extravagant to suppose that a professor ought to be sufficiently
qualified to teach all that his pupils can learn in philosophy in the
course of three sessions.’ So it was not only to teach, but to train the
minds, and ‘overlook’ the manners of his students, that John Gregory was
called. He was the only Gregory who ever was a regent, and he came to
his work with a clear insight into students’ ways, being indeed hardly
more than a student himself. But the life must have been unattractive.
To quote from a letter dated September 4th, 1765, from Thomas Reid, who
held the Chair of Philosophy shortly after his cousin, which is full of
much interesting information as to what the work of a regent was
like:—‘The students here,’ he says, ‘have lately been compelled to live
within the College. We need but look out at our windows to see when they
rise and when they go to bed. They are seen nine or ten times throughout
the day statedly, by one or other of the masters—at public prayers,
school hours, meals, in their rooms, besides occasional visits which we
can make with little trouble to ourselves.’
‘They are shut up within walls at 9 at night. This discipline hath
indeed taken some pains and resolution, as well as some expense, to
establish it.’
Along with this work in King’s College, John Gregory engaged in general
practice as a physician. He found it very engrossing, much more so than
the philosophical teaching which he had to give, and he determined to
resign his regentship, and to go abroad for a few months.
On his return he fell in love with the Hon. Elizabeth Forbes, a daughter
of William, Lord Forbes. She was a beautiful girl, very clever, and she
was besides an heiress, and there is a story that her father did not at
all approve of the marriage. ‘What do you propose to keep her on?’ said
he, and Gregory, getting angry, took his lancet out of his pocket, and
said, ‘on this.’ They were married in 1752. Their life was a singularly
happy one, to use the expression of their own day, ‘they mutually
enjoyed a high degree of felicity.’ For two years they were in Aberdeen,
and then Gregory got impatient of his small practice, for there was only
room there for one Dr Gregory, and he made up his mind to seek his
fortune in London. This was a step which he was glad of all his days,
for it brought him into contact with so many interesting people. ‘In
London,’ says Lord Woodhouselee, he was ‘already known by reputation as
a man of genius.’ How this could be, seeing that he had done little to
show his talents, it is difficult to understand. Perhaps some one who
knew him in the old Leyden days had spread a report of his brilliancy,
or some Aberdonian may have named him as a coming power. However it
happened, the effect was most fortunate, for not only was he recognised
by the scientific world, and made a Fellow of the Royal Society, but Sir
George Lyttelton and Mrs Montague, ‘that fascinating humbug,’ made
friends with him, and whatever Mrs Montague was to other people, she was
most sincerely kind to the Gregories.
These were the days of Samuel Johnson, of Sir Joshua Reynolds and his
sister, of Miss Burney, of Garrick and of Lyttelton, and it was to this
society that Mrs Montague introduced her new Scottish friends. It is
true that there were days when ‘Mrs Montague kept aloof from Johnson
like the west from the east,’ and when the sage said bitter things about
‘Mrs Montague for a penny’; but there were also the other days when they
smiled upon one another, when Johnson forgot that she had called
_Rasselas_ a narcotic, and listened while Mrs Thrale compared her
conversation with that of Burke. Reynolds thought her beauty classical.
Miss Burney once called her the glory of her sex, and all the world
reading her essay on Shakespeare believed that she had saved his fame
from the calumnies of Voltaire. Into this admiring circle Gregory was
admitted and was himself enjoyed and appreciated, and it is possible
that he might also in the end have secured a practice if he had
continued to live in the south. But in 1756 his brother James died
leaving a vacancy in the Chair of Medicine in Aberdeen. To this chair
Gregory was appointed and half reluctantly he turned his back upon
London, and took up his new duties at King’s College, He returned
unchanged except for his broader ideas and wider culture; and, although
the rest of his life was passed within the somewhat narrow limits of
university towns, he never became provincial.
Teaching was not one of his duties as mediciner. A few years
apprenticeship to any doctor sufficed for training, and gave the
students all the preparation they desired for a degree. John Gregory and
Dr Skene fretted against this, and in the hope of founding a Medical
School opened Lectures on Medicine. But the students did not attend. It
was an indignity to the university, keenly felt by these professors,
that an Aberdeen degree should be the laughing stock of all the other
universities; but without an Infirmary it was impossible to teach the
Practice of Physic, and the attempt had to be given up for the time.
Then it was that Thomas Reid and Gregory planned the Philosophical
Society, which was nicknamed by the people who did not belong to it ‘the
Wise Club.’ It met after five o’clock dinner at a queer little tavern
called the Red Lion Inn. A paper was read and its subject discussed.
There was wine on a side table, but no healths were allowed to be drunk,
and at an early hour the discussions ended. Among the members were
Gregory, Reid, David Skene, Gerard, and Beattie the poet, who became a
great friend of Gregory’s. The evenings were merry and the little
parlour of the inn echoed to many a peal of laughter. The commonest
entry about Gregory is ‘discourse not readie,’ which his cousin the
philosopher, who kept the minutes never failed to insert, and also for
the benefit of the Society the fine was always claimed by the members
present, and laughingly paid by the unready professor. On these nights
when no essay was read the Society had to content itself with
philosophic discussion, the nature of which was arranged at the previous
meeting. There was for them always, however, one never failing subject
in David Hume’s Sceptical Speculation. ‘Your company, although we are
all good Christians, would be more acceptable than that of Athanasius,’
wrote Reid in 1763 to his great opponent, and it was true. To Gregory
there were moreover fields for speculation on education, on what
medicine had done for men, on the distinction between Wit and Humour, on
agriculture, and in his two books which attained such popularity there
are chapters which do nothing more than follow out the ideas which he
uttered at the Philosophical Society. Many books had their origin in
this club. Gerard’s on _Taste_, Beattie’s _Essay on Truth_, Campbell’s
_Treatise on Miracles_, and _Philosophy of Rhetoric_, and John Gregory’s
_Comparative View of Man and the Animal World_, all books with a great
name in their day, but Gregory’s for one sadly uninteresting now, when
his startling views upon education have been universally accepted, and
there remains of what is unusual only pedantic comparison and prosy
sentiment. It is forgotten that John Gregory was an innovator when he
advocated keeping children warm and when he refused to recognise the
necessity of the icy morning bath, which before his day was _de rigueur_
in every nursery. Long after his teaching days were over there were
still found homes where his broad sensible views had not penetrated, and
in the _Memoirs of a Highland Lady_ Miss Grant gives a terrible
description of her own early days (1806).
‘A large long tub stood in the kitchen-court, the ice on the top of
which had often to be broken before our horrid plunge into it; we were
brought down from the very top of the house, four pair of stairs, with
only a cotton cloak over our night gowns, just to chill us completely
before the dreadful shock. How I screamed, begged, prayed, entreated to
be saved, half the tender-hearted maids in tears beside me, all no use,
Millar had her orders. Nearly senseless, I have been taken to the
house-keeper’s room, which was always warm, to be dried, then we
dressed, without any flannel, and in cotton frocks with short sleeves
and low necks. Revived by the fire, we were enabled to endure the next
bit of martyrdom, an hour upon the low sofa, so many yards from the
nursery hearth, our books in our hands, while our cold breakfast was
preparing.’ What a changed life have the little folks of to-day! But, ah
me! this name of Gregory to childhood. ‘The evil that men do lives after
them; the good is oft interred with their bones ...’ the son’s mixture
made the name of Gregory abhorred in every nursery, and all the father’s
good deeds are forgotten.
On the 29th of September 1763 Dr Gregory’s wife died. It was the
greatest sorrow of his life, and afterwards when high honours came to
him in his profession, and when the world praised him, he never ceased
to think with longing of the early joyous days of his love. Elizabeth
Gregory was very happy, and even in her memory there is something tender
and simple, something to make one smile, and feel the better of it.
Picture this peer’s daughter, as she stood one afternoon, making
impotent appeals to her little boy (who was dressed in white for a
party,) to leave the herd of small ragamuffins whom he was leading to a
glorious mud-damming of the gutter. Little James paid no attention to
his mother—I doubt whether he heard her—for the dam was breaking, hope
was almost gone, when with a shout of joy he remembered that he himself
was a solid body, and sitting down in the breach, cried out in broad
Scots to his admiring followers, ‘Mair dubs, laddies, mair dubs.’
Some years after his wife’s death Dr Gregory was invited to go to
Edinburgh. Professor Rutherford, who held the chair of the Practice of
Physic, wished to retire, but he would not resign his place to Cullen,
whom he held a heretic in medicine. So the old professor arranged that
John Gregory should be asked to come from Aberdeen, and set up practice
in Edinburgh. At another time Professor Gregory would have hesitated,
but in his distress and despondency he thought of what a benefit it
would be to himself to leave the sad associations of Aberdeen and allay
his sorrows in the fulness of work which he knew would await him. His
university did not ask him to resign his chair at King’s College, but in
1765 Sir Alexander Gordon of Lesmore was appointed as joint-professor.
John Gregory settled in 15 St John’s Street, Edinburgh, in 1764. His
house was pleasantly situated on a hill, and was almost next door to
Lord Monboddo’s, between whom and Gregory there presently sprang up a
great intimacy. Practice came fast to Gregory, but celebrity greater
than that which comes to a practitioner, however successful, made his
first year in Edinburgh a year of triumph. Only a few months before, he
had sent his manuscript of _A Comparative View of the State and
Faculties of Man with those of the Animal World_ to Lord Lyttelton, and
now the book had been published in London and received with such an
enthusiasm that even Gregory and his patron were greatly astonished.
London read the book, Aberdeen read the book, and so did Edinburgh, and
Gregory was made at once a member of that literary Edinburgh as he had
in his youth been received by Mrs Montague and her friends in London.
The matter was good and fresh at the time, but what was most praised was
the style. ‘If you wish to see the natural style in the highest
perfection, read the works of the late Dr John Gregory.... But in
particular his _Comparative View_, which in respect to natural ease and
unaffected elegant simplicity of style is not to be exceeded in any
language, and in as far as my reading has extended has not been equalled
by any other composition in English.... Gregory’s style may be compared
to the acting of Garrick; it is only by a retrospective view that its
superior excellence can be discovered.’
This is only one of the many laudatory reviews of the book, and by no
means the most flattering, and it says a great deal for John Gregory’s
sense that, in spite of this lionising, he came so successfully through
the difficulties which crowded round him for the next few years.
Professor Rutherford watched with growing satisfaction the success of
the Aberdeen doctor, whom he regarded as a protegé of his own. It was
unfortunate for Gregory that he stood as it were as a rival of Cullen,
for whom he had throughout life the profoundest regard. But nevertheless
this was the case.
In 1766 matters came to a climax in the appointment of Gregory to the
Chair of the Practice of Physic, made vacant by the retirement of
Professor Rutherford. There was an immediate and furious outcry against
this election, which was known to be mostly due to family influence.
Gregory was a great man, and proved himself a brilliant teacher, but at
this time he was absolutely untried, whereas Cullen had already made
himself a name as one of the greatest teachers of the day.
The gift of the chair was in the hands of the Town Council, and to that
body an address from the students of medicine was sent after the death
of Dr Whytt, Professor of the Theory of Medicine, suggesting the
advisability of asking Professor Gregory to resign the Chair of the
Practice of Physic, which he then held, and accept the less important
one of the Theory of Medicine, in order to make room for Cullen in the
Practical Chair.
‘We who make this application are students of medicine in your
University.... We are humbly of opinion that the reputation of the
University and Magistrates, the good of the city, and our improvement
will all in an eminent manner, be consulted by engaging Dr Gregory to
relinquish the Professorship of the Practice for that of the Theory of
Medicine, by appointing Dr Cullen, present Professor of Chemistry, to
the practical chair, and by electing Dr Black Professor of Chemistry.’
After a dissertation on the qualifications of Dr Cullen, they proceed.
‘Nor is this our opinion of Dr Cullen meant in the least to detract from
the merits of Dr Gregory. On the contrary, a principal motive to our
expressing the sentiments we do on this occasion is the high opinion we
entertain of that gentleman’s capacity. By a late very elegant and
ingenious performance, by everybody attributed to him, we imagine it is
evident what advantages the University must reap from lectures on the
Theory of Medicine, delivered by a thinker so just and original, and so
universally acquainted with human nature. With pleasure too, we reflect,
that his character is not less respectable as a man, than as a
Philosopher. We therefore cannot suppose, that were the public emolument
to be obtained even at the expense of his private interest, he would not
rejoice to make the honourable sacrifice, far less that he would, in the
least hesitate to favour a scheme for promoting the public utility, when
his private advantage is consistent with it.’
This can hardly have been pleasant reading for Gregory, and the whole
proceeding was so entirely out of order that the Town Council took no
action in the matter. Meanwhile Gregory was made First Physician to the
King for Scotland in the place of Dr Whytt. He lectured for three years
on the Practice of Physic, and then he and Cullen agreed to give
alternate lectures on the Theory and Practice of Medicine. The
university possessing three such able teachers as Gregory, Cullen and
Black, grew more and more prosperous. It is impossible to go over the
records of these years without admiration for John Gregory, who, amidst
all the strife that waged around him and around Cullen, has not left a
record of any bitterness. That he must have felt these annoyances is
obvious, but his worries were only Edinburgh worries, and outside he
knew that both he and Cullen were appreciated and valued for their
individual work. On his appointment to the Edinburgh chair he had
resigned his King’s College professorship.
When Dr Gregory came to Edinburgh, he came with his six children.
Elizabeth, his youngest little girl, died in 1771. His eldest son James
was studying medicine, the other boys were at work, and Dorothea and
Anna Margaretta, his elder daughters, were growing into more charming
companions for him with every day that passed. They were tall, willowy
girls, promising great beauty, and full of sweetness. Dorothea, or Dolly
as she was called, was a god-daughter of Mrs Montague’s, and when that
lady came to stay with Dr Gregory, she was absolutely fascinated by her
godchild. Her visit was a great pleasure to the Gregorys, to whom she
was ever her most charming self.
Edinburgh society did not take kindly to her, if we are to believe Dr
Carlyle, and in fact he is rather bitter upon the subject, calls her ‘a
faded beauty,’ ‘a candidate for glory,’ and says she might have been
admired by the first order of minds had she not been ‘greedy of more
praise than she was entitled to.’ Even he, however, acknowledged her a
wit, a critic, an author of some fame, possessing some parts and
knowledge, which is praise to a certain point, though not to the point
which Mrs Montague would have desired! ‘Old Edinburgh was not a climate
for the success of impostures,’ writes the minister of Inveresk, and
then to support his judgment with a little legal weight, he added, ‘Lord
Kames, who was at first catched with her Parnassian coquetry, said at
last that he thought she had as much learning as a well-educated college
lad here of sixteen.’ Alas, poor Mrs Montague! and then, too, Dr Carlyle
has unwittingly pointed out the rock on which she struck—‘she despised
the women’—and by such obvious silliness did she not evoke her fate?
Gray the poet was also a visitor at the Gregorys’ and Gregory was asked
to meet anyone of interest who came to the town. With Smollett, indeed,
who lived in St John Street for a winter, he could have little real
friendship, for the novelist had put Lord Lyttleton into _Roderick
Random_ in anything but a kindly spirit, and the Gregories were
notoriously ‘Love me, love my dog’ people. He lived on terms of close
intimacy with Dr Robertson, Dr Blair, David Hume, John Home, Lord Kames,
Lord Monboddo, and Lord Woodhouselee. He was a member of the Poker Club,
though he went there very seldom, because of the way he was laughed at
when he uttered his favourite doctrine of the superiority of women over
men. This at least was the gossip of the time, but there is just a
possibility that he thought his own company more entertaining than the
constant attendance at the Poker from three in the afternoon till eight
at night, and though no one knew it, he was busy drawing up a book of
advices for his daughters against the time, which he felt could not be
very far off, when he would no longer be with them.
‘MY DEAR GIRLS—You had the misfortune to be deprived of your Mother at a
time of life when you were insensible of your loss, and could receive
little benefit either from her instruction or her example. Before this
comes to your hands, you will likewise have lost your Father. I have had
many melancholy reflections on the forlorn and helpless situation you
must be in if it should please God to remove me from you before you
arrive at that period of life, when you will be able to think and act
for yourselves.... I have been supported under the gloom ... by a
reliance on the Goodness of that Providence which has hitherto preserved
you, and given me the most pleasing prospect of the goodness of your
dispositions, and by the secret hope that your Mother’s virtues will
entail a blessing on her children.’
This was the spirit in which the book was written, and though it is a
type of book which has entirely passed out of fashion, it is interesting
to read it and remember that in the days of our great-grandmothers it
had its place on every girl’s table.
Dr Gregory had a very observant way of watching girls, he knew life, and
his advice was shrewd and tender. In the chapter on Conduct and
Behaviour there are many quaint observations as to what gifts are
attractive in a girl.
‘Wit,’ he says, ‘is the most dangerous talent you can possess, it must
be guarded with great discretion and good nature, otherwise it will
create you many enemies’.... ‘Be even cautious in displaying your good
sense. It will be thought you assume a superiority over the rest of the
company—But if you happen to have any learning, keep it a profound
secret, especially from the men’.... ‘Beware of detraction, especially
when your own sex are concerned. You are generally accused of being
particularly addicted to this vice—I think unjustly—Men are fully as
guilty of it when their interests interfere. As your interests more
frequently clash, and as your feelings are quicker than ours, your
temptations to it are more frequent. For this reason, be particularly
tender of the reputation of your own sex, especially when they happen to
rival you in our regards.’ Later on, there is a pathetic feeling of how
little he can foretell his daughters’ tastes. ‘I do not want to _make_
you anything, I want to know what Nature has made you, and to perfect
you on her plan.’
_A Father’s Legacy to his Daughter_ was intended only for his own girls,
and was not published till after Dr Gregory’s death. During his time in
Edinburgh he brought out besides his _Comparative View_, _Lectures on
the Duties and Qualifications of a Physician_, which were his
introductory lectures, and _Elements of the Practice of Physic_, a first
volume of a text-book for his students which he did not live to
complete. He thought medicine required a more comprehensive mind than
any other profession, and often brought much besides mere technical
knowledge into his lectures. As a speaker he was simple, natural and
vigorous. He lectured only from notes, ‘in a style happily attempered,’
said one of his contemporaries, ‘between the formality of studied
composition, and the ease of conversation.’ On one thing he insisted,
that every student should appreciate the limitations of medicine, for
only so could they learn to extend its borders.
During these years, too, he carried on a constant correspondence with
James Beattie, Professor of Moral Philosophy in Aberdeen, and a poet.
Both Beattie and Thomas Reid, who held the corresponding chair in
Glasgow, were engaged in combating the teaching of David Hume, which had
become very fashionable, and Gregory, though much attached to David Hume
as a man, feared him as a teacher, and dreaded the growth of that
scepticism which marked the time—a tendency quite as bitterly lamented
in England by Samuel Johnson.
‘I am well convinced,’ Gregory wrote to Beattie in a letter dated
Edinburgh, 16th June 1767, ‘that the great deference paid to our modern
heathens has been productive of the worst effects. Young people are
impressed with an idea of their being men of superior abilities, whose
genius has raised them above the vulgar prejudices, and who have spirit
enough to avow openly their contempt of them. Atheism and Materialism
are the present fashion. If one speak with warmth of an infinitely wise
and good Being, who sustains and directs the frame of nature, or
expresses his steady belief of a future state of existence, he gets
hints of his having either a very weak understanding, or of his being a
very great hypocrite.... You are the best man I know to chastise these
people as they deserve, you have more Philosophy and more wit than will
be necessary for the purpose, though you can never employ any of them in
so good a cause.’
When Beattie’s answer to Hume was in manuscript, he sent it to Dr
Gregory, who read it, and cordially approved of it, but one result of
this was that Gregory had to become a partaker in the acrimony of Hume’s
friends. His advices as to an attractive style were somewhat curious,
‘You are well aware of the antipathy, which the present race of readers
have against all abstract reasoning, except what is employed in defence
of the fashionable principles; but though they pretend to admire their
metaphysical champions, yet they never read them, nor if they did, could
they understand them. Among Mr Hume’s numerous disciples, I do not know
one who ever read his _Treatise on Human Nature_. In order, therefore,
to be read, you must not be satisfied with reasoning with justness and
perspicuity; you must write with pathos, with elegance, with spirit, and
endeavour to warm the imagination and touch the heart of those who are
deaf to the voice of reason. Whatever you write in the way of criticism
will be read, and, if my partiality to you does not deceive me, be
admired. Everything relating to the ‘Belles Lettres’ is read, or
pretended to be read. What has made Lord Kames’ _Elements of Criticism_
so popular in England, is his numerous illustrations and quotations from
Shakespeare.... This is a good political hint to you in your capacity of
an author.’
Gregory was also consulted about the sketch design of Beattie’s Poem,
_The Minstrel_, which he admired, and the closing stanza written by his
friend the poet, when he heard of Gregory’s death, was supposed to be
very beautiful poetry. Cowper wrote in one of his letters to the Rev.
William Unwin, ‘If you have not his poem called _The Minstrel_, and
cannot borrow it, I must beg you to buy it for me, for though I cannot
afford to deal largely in so expensive a commodity as books, I must
afford to purchase at least the poetical works of Beattie.’
Gregory’s views of his friend’s high gifts then were shared by Cowper.
Gray also held him in high estimation, and Mrs Siddons spent an
afternoon with Beattie, crying because they were so happy over poetry
and music, and some of the poetry must have been his own. As for
Beattie’s lines on Gregory, they are as much calculated to draw smiles
as tears from our eyes.
‘Adieu, ye lays that fancy’s flowers adorn,
The soft amusement of the vacant mind!
He sleeps in dust and all the Muses mourn,
He whom each virtue fired, each grace refined,
Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind!
He sleeps in dust: and how should I pursue
My theme? To heart-consuming grief resigned,
Here on his recent grave I fix my view,
And pour my bitter tears. Ye flowery lays, adieu!
Art thou, my Gregory, for ever fled?
And am I left to unavailing woe?
When fortune’s storms assail this weary head,
Where cares long since have shed untimely snow,
Ah, now, for comfort whither shall I go?
No more thy soothing voice my anguish cheers,
Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow,
My hopes to cherish and allay my fears.
‘Tis meet that I should mourn, flow forth afresh my tears.’
Gregory wrote little upon religious subjects, except some chapters in
the _Comparative View_ and in the _Father’s Legacy_, but he spoke often
of the things which pertain to the Life Eternal. To him they were as
really present as the circumstances of every day.
His mind was deeply religious, but it was of that sort that lives more
by meditation than church-going. Though he was a Presbyterian himself,
he had his younger children brought up as Episcopalians, wishing them in
everything to be likened as much as possible to their mother.
One day in the beginning of February 1773, John Gregory was talking to
his son James about his health. His son told him that he feared it was
likely he would soon have a bad attack of gout, a disease from which he
had been entirely free for three years. Professor Gregory, who felt
himself in full vigour, and who was in the height of his work, was much
vexed with this prognosis. Gout was a dread enemy in his mother’s
family, and he always feared its visitations. He had suffered from it
more or less since he was eighteen, and the preface to the _Father’s
Legacy_ indicates his anticipation of an early death.
On the morning of the 10th he was found dead in bed. His face was
peaceful, everything was smooth and still, showing that death had come
gently. But the familiar presence had passed away for ever from his
home. It is said that Gregory had a great fear of darkness, and that
after his wife’s death he used to have an old woman come and sit by him
to hold his hand till he fell asleep, and if this is true, it is most
strange. He was forty-nine when he died.
John Gregory was succeeded in the chair by William Cullen, who, when his
time came, made room for James Gregory, the fourth incumbent of the
chair: a son of Dorothea Gregory, William Pulteney Alison was the sixth.
In appearance John Gregory was tall and strongly built. His face in
repose was kind, although too full and heavy to look clever; even his
eyes were dull. When he was talking there was a complete change.
Interest, life and expression transformed his features, until one could
hardly suppose him to be the same man. The charm of his manner has never
been gainsaid, and like the beauty of his wife, it is mentioned in every
biography.
After her father died, Dorothea went to live with her godmother, Mrs
Montague, under whose care she spent the rest of her unmarried life. She
was made very happy, and gave great pleasure wherever she went. She had
inherited, if not all her mother’s beauty, a great share of it, and her
nature was as sweet and strong as her father’s and mother’s in one. When
Sir William Pulteney, who had been a friend of her father’s, heard of
Dorothea’s engagement to the Rev. Archibald Alison, he wanted to satisfy
himself that she was making a suitable marriage, and with this object in
view went himself to see if all the good things that were said about the
bridegroom were true. He gives a pleasant description of the expedition.
‘Andrew Stuart and I accompanied Mr Alison to Thrapston, and the
marriage took place on the 19th, by a license from the Archbishop of
Canterbury. I conducted them afterwards to their residence, and we left
them next morning after breakfast, as happy as it is possible for people
to be. Mr Alison was obliged to come round by London, in order to take
an oath at granting the license, and I was glad of the opportunity which
the journey afforded me of making an acquaintance with him; for tho’ I
had little doubt that Miss Gregory had made a proper choice, yet I
wished to be perfectly satisfied, and the result is, that I think
neither you nor Mr Nairne have said a word too much in his favour.’
Dorothea Gregory’s two sons were William Pulteney Alison, Professor of
the Practice of Physic, and Sir Archibald Alison, the historian. Her
daughter Montague, before her marriage with Colonel Gerard, was loved by
Thomas Campbell, the poet, and by Francis Jeffrey.
Anna, John Gregory’s second daughter, married John Forbes, Esq. of
Blackford, in Aberdeenshire. William the second son went into the
Church, and was appointed one of the ‘six preachers’ in Canterbury
Cathedral. Of his sons one was a successful doctor in London, and
another, John, Governor of the Bahammas, was the father of Mr Philip
Spencer Gregory, who has already been referred to in this book.
Dr Gregory changed the spelling of his name from Gregorie to Gregory
during his stay in London. Curiously enough, the only other branch of
the Gregories who had up to that time emigrated to the south had made
the same alteration.
Professor John Gregory’s fame, while it may not have extended as widely
as that of his son, was yet far-reaching. When Beattie had an interview
with the king in 1773, His Majesty made special enquiries about his
First Physician for Scotland. This was probably shortly after the
professor’s death.
His life published in 1800 along with sketches of Lord Kames, David
Hume, and Adam Smith, ends with these words—
‘Upon the whole, whether he is considered as a man of genius and of the
world, or with regard to his conduct in the line of his profession, few
human characters will be found to equal that of the late Dr John
Gregory.’