JAMES GREGORY, 1753–1821
‘If in doubt, “lead with trumps,” is counsel so old
As never to fail with the game in a fixture;
And medical men, in their doubt, I am told,
Are safe when they lead with—_Gregory’s Mixture_!’
—OLD PLAY.
It was in the middle of the session, 1772–73, that John Gregory died,
leaving as we know his work in full swing. The university authorities
were told, not of his illness, but of his death, and they were greatly
at a loss as to who should continue the course of lectures which
Professor Gregory had commenced with so much vigour. In this difficulty
it was that James Gregory his son stepped forward; although he was only
a medical student, he offered to deliver lectures on the Practice of
Physic till the end of the term, and this proposal was most gratefully
accepted by the university.
There is something which is perhaps not wholly unattractive in the idea
of being the professor as well as the student; but at nineteen to
lecture, and to lecture so well as to receive in consequence the offer
of a chair at twenty-three, is a triumph which is rare indeed.
James Gregory was born in Aberdeen in 1753, and even as a child his mind
always seems to have been keenly awake. He left the Grammar School of
Aberdeen when he was eleven, having learned all that was to be learned
there, and entered King’s College at an age at which clever boys now
leave a preparatory school.
In the same year when his father removed to Edinburgh James Gregory
entered that university, and there he spent the next years of his life.
Later he went up to Christ Church, Oxford, of which his cousin was then
dean. Oxford did not inspire him much, for indeed learning was then at a
very low level there, but he continued his work at classics, and came to
write Latin with fluency, Greek when there was occasion, and both ‘with
classical elegance,’ if we are to believe his admiring contemporaries.
It is probable that it was at Oxford that James Gregory resolved to
follow in his father’s footsteps, and become a doctor. There were of
course many inducements, and all the influence of his family would be
brought to bear on that side; but beyond this may we not believe that
visions were given him of the golden fame that a hitherto unimagined
mixture would bring to the name of Gregory unto all time? Whether the
vision was vouchsafed to him or not, he returned to Scotland and began
his medical studies in 1767.
It was a brilliant time in Edinburgh University. The medical
professoriate contained a number of remarkable men. Cullen was there who
had revolutionised medicine, Alexander Monro ‘Secundus,’ the greatest of
a great family, Black who was acknowledged by Lavoisier as the pioneer
of modern chemistry, John Hope the botanist and John Gregory. Under such
teachers as these James made rapid progress, and although there are no
tales of medals or prizes we cannot forget the instance of his medical
foresight when he predicted an attack of gout for his father, which
attack came, to his sorrow, so soon and so fatally after the prediction.
The Chair of the Practice of Physic was given to Cullen, and young
Gregory went to St George’s Hospital, London, to gain a wider
experience. He took his M.D. degree in Edinburgh in 1774: his thesis
entitled _De morbis Coeli Mutatione Medendis_ treats in detail Phthisis
Pulmonalis, Hypochondriasis, and Gout, and concludes by noticing the
advantage of change of air in the prolonging of human life. Startlingly
wide in subject as this thesis appears to us, it was greatly admired for
its style and minuteness, and thus Gregory, quitting Edinburgh for a
time of study on the continent, left behind him a very favourable
impression both of his talent and hard-working research.
Leyden, Paris, and Italy formed matter for enchanting letters which were
the delight of his friends. Where are those letters gone to? How
pleasant would it be to live through them a student’s life in these
years. Whatever James Gregory could be, he was never dull, and besides
in them we might have found the early tokens of that fierce temper which
is the only pity of his professional career in Edinburgh.
There are two portraits of Gregory, or rather a portrait[7] and a bust,
which were said to be very like. A tall man, large, ungainly, of a rare
presence. A man having authority impressed on every feature, radiant
with affection for his friends, intolerant of enemies, asking his own
way and getting his own way, loving, hating, thinking, speaking,
feeling, always with intensest ardour. Here was a man whom none of his
associates could regard dispassionately; they either loved him as a
friend or hated him as an enemy.
Footnote 7:
The portrait is by Raeburn, and there is also a miniature of the
professor by the same artist, which is in the possession of Mr Philip
Spencer Gregory.
Even in Edinburgh which was full of personalities, real individuals, men
who were above all things themselves, Gregory stands out a great
original. Lord Cockburn and Sir Robert Christison were not inclined to
agree with each other on most subjects, yet about Gregory’s power there
is a refreshing unanimity in their opinions.
In June 1773 he was elected to the Chair of the Institutes of Medicine.
This chair had been practically vacant for three years, during which
time it was offered over and over again to Alexander Monro Drummond,
whose chief merit seems to have been that he united the names of the
great teaching Monroes with that of Drummond, perhaps the noblest
citizen Edinburgh has ever had. It has been suggested, however, that
this was only done to keep the appointment open for Gregory, when he
should have completed his studies, and certainly when he returned, his
election was unanimous. He entered upon his duties with happy vigour.
Teaching was, as with every Gregory, his greatest gift, and the classes
grew steadily all the time he was professor. The university never made
greater progress than it did about this time, the medical graduates
rising in number from about twenty in 1776 to one hundred and sixty in
1827.
In the teaching of his class Professor Gregory daily felt the need for
his students of a new book on the Theory of Medicine, so he wrote the
_Conspectus Medicinae Theoreticae_ which proved such a valuable handbook
on the subject. This book was most successful, it passed through many
editions, was translated into English and several other languages, was
used sometimes as a medical book and sometimes as a Latin text, for the
Latin was as much admired as the information which it imparted.
Considering the success of this volume, it is surprising that this was
James Gregory’s only medical publication: he alas wrote many books
afterwards, but with the exception of some chapters on philology and
some literary essays, he wrote nothing but controversial works,
prodigiously long, violent, personal, and acrid; their only excuse that
they were never written for selfish ends and their only merit that they
were a source of infinite amusement to the general public.
Gregory lived in his father’s old house, No. 15 Canongate, and to this
home he brought his first wife, the gentle Galloway girl, called Mary
Ross, whose companionship was his, for such a short time in life’s
journey. She died in 1784. In the years following her death he resumed
his early classical studies, and it is a rather curious fact that he
wrote nearly all the Latin epitaphs or dedications which were wanted for
any purpose in Edinburgh from this time till his death. Principal
Shairp, referring to Burns’ meeting with Gregory at Ochtertyre,
describes how the poet ‘was charmed with the conversation of that last
of the Scottish line of Latinists, which began with Buchanan and ended
with Gregory.’
In 1787, he published his essay on the _Theory of Moods and Verbs_, and
in 1792, _Philosophical_ and _Literary Essays_. He was a great student
of words, loved epigram, and spent much of his leisure in translating
poetry. He was also interested in metaphysics, but as his great maxim
was that in metaphysics there could be no discovery, his writings on
this subject do not appear to have added much to his fame. Throughout
these years, too, he kept up a constant correspondence with his cousin
Thomas Reid, and proved himself just the appreciative critic that Reid
required in the writing of his books. Dugald Stewart and Gregory
together revised the proofs of Reid’s _Essays on the Intellectual
Powers_, and to them this book was dedicated.
‘I send you,’ writes Reid, ‘what I propose as the title of my Essays,
with an epistle which I hope you and Mr Stewart will allow me to prefix
to them. Whether your name should go first on account of your doctor’s
degree, or Mr Stewart’s, I leave you to adjust between yourselves. I
know not how to express my obligations to you both for the aid you have
given me.’
Towards the end of 1790 it became apparent that Cullen, the greatest
doctor of his time was failing in strength, and on his resigning the
Chair of the Practice of Physic the Town Council reappointed him in
kindly recognition of his great services to the university, but
appointed James Gregory to be joint-professor during his lifetime with
the sole right of survivorship. This comradeship did not last long, for
in the same year Cullen died. To no less strong man could the task of
succeeding this veteran teacher, who had raised the reputation of the
Edinburgh School to such a height, have been wisely entrusted.
As Professor of the Theory of Physic, Gregory had shown remarkable
gifts, but in his new subject his teaching was superb. Sir Robert
Christison in his autobiography, says of him, ‘Equal in fluency as in
choice of language, he surpassed all lecturers I have ever heard. His
doctrines were set forth with great clearness and simplicity in the form
of a commentary on Cullen’s _First Lines of the Practice of Physic_. His
measures for the cure of disease were sharp and incisive. In acute
diseases there was no ‘médecine expectante’ for Gregory, he somehow left
us with the impression that we were to be masters over nature in all
such diseases, that they must of necessity give way before the physician
who is early enough and bold enough in encountering them.’ He had a
memory so clear that he was never known to forget a case, and in his
lectures he made his students see not only the general features of a
disease, but an actual case of it which had come under his care. He used
stories and history, and his own experience to vivify his lectures, and
no doubt he succeeded for he had seen many sides of life. He never had
time for more than two-thirds of his subject in one course, but whatever
he missed out he always discussed fevers and inflammations. In much that
he taught he was in advance of his age. In observing how frequently
rheumatic fever tends to heart disease; in limiting the use of
blood-letting[8] at a time when it was becoming almost a universal
panacea with doctors, in urging a liberal dietary in certain stages of
consumption, and in the invention and use of his mixture he showed that
his views were in advance of those held by most of his brother
physicians. Professor Gregory had an odd habit of wearing his cocked hat
while he lectured.
Footnote 8:
In whole classes of cases, however, Gregory was a decided advocate of
blood-letting.
It was in the summer of 1796 that dear old Thomas Reid, who was becoming
very frail, was induced to pay a visit to St Andrew’s Square, to which
Gregory had migrated. His daughter, Mrs Carmichael, was anxious to have
the opinion of Dr Gregory, as to whether there was anything she could do
to retard the bodily decay which increased daily in her father. It was a
happy time to them all. Gregory delighted in the keenness of the old
man’s mind. As he was not fit for much exercise, he passed his time in
solving algebraical problems, and discussing abstruse subjects with
Dugald Stewart. Gregory was no doubt busy. His practice increased daily,
and besides this, he probably spent a good deal of his time in the house
of Mr M’Leod of Geanies, the Sheriff of Ross-shire; to whose daughter,
Isabella, he was married on the 19th of October, just ten days after
Thomas Reid’s death.
Miss M’Leod was a very beautiful girl, both winning and attractive, if
Raeburn’s portrait of her is true to life, and she made both a good wife
and good mother. Among Raeburn’s other portraits, and interesting to us
because they were the friends of the Gregories, are such men as Dugald
Stewart, Principal Robertson, Blair, Home, Ferguson, Mackenzie, Francis
Horner, and Jeffrey. How much is it Raeburn, one wonders, who makes
these men and women so charming, for it is their looks and what we know
of their lives, far more than their writings, that attract us. Principal
Robertson, with all his sweetness and dignity, has only written
histories which are now superseded. Jeffrey railed at Wordsworth.
Blair’s sermons are but a lingering tradition. The eloquence of Dugald
Stewart, which brought Melbourne, Lord John Russell, and Palmerston to
Edinburgh University, is now forgotten. It is not by their books that we
know these men, it is because we love them when we see their portraits;
it is because Cockburn lets us know them in their homes—it is because
John Brown, who lived early enough to be in touch with those who
remembered them, has written about them lovingly and tenderly. They were
delightful men, but more delightful in their lives than in their books.
The witty criticisms of the _Edinburgh Review_ have passed away; they
were for their day—but the remembrance of Jeffrey’s pleasant
after-intercourse with Wordsworth, the kindliness with which Gregory
welcomed all the young Edinburgh reviewers into his house at a time when
no other Tories except the ‘man of feeling’ and Archibald Alison would
receive them, and the occasional permission which Principal Robertson
gave little Henry Cockburn to feast off his cherry tree—these are
memories which will appeal to the kindly hearts of all time.
Then it is amusing to read Dr Gregory’s critical letter to Burns, who
must have required all his admiration for the great doctor to bear
patiently the numerous suggestions which he showered upon him.
* * * * *
‘EDINBURGH, _2nd June 1789_.
‘DEAR SIR,—I take the first leisure hour I could command, to thank you
for your letter and the copy of verses enclosed in it. As there is real
poetic merit, I mean both fancy and tenderness, and some happy
expressions, in them, I think they well deserve that you should revise
them carefully and polish them to the utmost. This I am sure you can do
if you please, for you have great command both of expression and of
rhymes; and you may judge, from the two last pieces of Mrs Hunter’s
poetry that I gave you, how much correctness and high polish enhance the
value of such compositions. As you desire it, I shall with great freedom
give you my _most rigorous_ criticisms on your verses. I wish you would
give me another edition of them, much amended, and I will send it to Mrs
Hunter, who, I am sure, will have much pleasure in reading it. Pray give
me likewise for myself, and her too, a copy (as much amended as you
please) of the “Waterfowl on Loch Turit.”
‘The “Wounded Hare” is a pretty good subject, but the measure or stanza
you have chosen for it is not a good one: it does not _flow_ well; and
the rhyme of the fourth line is almost lost by its distance from the
first, and the two interposed, close rhymes. If I were you I would put
it into a different stanza yet.
‘Stanza 1.—The execrations in the first two lines are too strong or
coarse, but they may pass. “Murder-aiming” is a bad compound epithet and
not very intelligible. “Blood-stained” in Stanza III. line 4 has the
same fault: _Bleeding_ bosom is infinitely better. You have accustomed
yourself to such epithets and have no notion how stiff and quaint they
appear to others and how incongruous with poetic fancy and tender
sentiments. Suppose Pope had written “Why that bloodstained bosom gored”
how would you have liked it? _Form_ is neither a poetic nor a dignified
nor a plain common word: it is a mere sportsman’s word: unsuitable to
pathetic or serious poetry.
“Mangled” is a coarse word. “Innocent,” in this sense, is a nursery
word; but both may pass.
‘Stanza 4. “Who will now provide that life a mother only can bestow”
will not do at all: it is not grammar—it is not intelligible. Do you
mean “provide for that life which the mother had bestowed and used to
provide for?” There was a ridiculous slip of the pen, “Feeling” (I
suppose) for “Fellow,” in the title of your copy of the verses; but even
“fellow” would be wrong: it is but a colloquial and vulgar word,
unsuitable to your sentiments. “Shot” is improper too. On seeing a
_person_ (or a sportsman) wound a hare: it is needless to add with what
weapon; but if you think otherwise, you should say with a
_fowling-piece_. Let me see you when you come to town, and I will shew
you some more of Mrs Hunter’s poems.’
* * * * *
Perhaps when Burns submitted his lines, ‘On seeing a wounded hare limp
by me, which a fellow had just shot at,’ he hoped for as kindly a
criticism as Dr Gregory had given to Clarinda’s verses, which the poet
had shown him in December 1787; but if so, he was much disappointed. ‘Dr
Gregory is a good man, but he crucifies me,’ wrote Burns soon after; and
again, ‘I believe in the iron justice of Dr Gregory; but like the devils
I believe and tremble.’ It was a curious friendship, but friendship it
was. There is an English translation of Cicero, which the physician had
given to Burns in Edinburgh in 1787, and on the fly-leaf of this is
written, ‘This book, a present from the truly worthy and learned Dr
Gregory, I shall preserve to my latest hour as a mark of the gratitude,
esteem and veneration I bear the owner—so help me God.—Robert Burns.’
Clarinda’s desire to make Gregory’s acquaintance which is surely an
indication of how much her Sylvander admired him, finds utterance in a
letter of 1787, ‘Pray is Dr Gregory pious? I have heard so, I wish I
knew him.’
It was at Lord Monboddo’s that Gregory first met Burns. Besides the
queer old judge, who was made a laughing stock for saying that men
originally had tails, there was his charming daughter, the beautiful
Miss Burnet, to whom Gregory is said to have offered his heart and hand.
One of the stories that Lord Cockburn tells of Gregory is in connection
with Miss Sophia Johnston (generally known in the Edinburgh of that day
as ‘Suphy’) one of the Hilton family; about whom, because of her curious
upbringing, there were many odd stories. ‘When Suphy’s day was visibly
approaching, Dr Gregory prescribed abstinence from animal food, and
recommended “spoon-meat” unless she wished to die. “Dee, doctor, odd,
I’m thinking they’ve forgotten an auld wife like me up yonder!” However,
when he came back next day, the doctor found her at the spoon-meat,
supping a haggis—she was remembered.’
Gregory lived now, as we know, in St Andrew Square, having left the old
home in the Canongate, but besides this he bought a house called Canaan
Lodge, which was then at a sufficient distance from Edinburgh to be in
the real country. Walking towards this house he might often be seen of
an evening with his all too warlike stick over his shoulder, possibly
the very stick with which he smote his brother physician Professor
Hamilton within the sacred precincts of the university. The story does
not end here, nor even at the Law Courts, where he was made to pay £100
damages to the infuriated object of his attack, but with Gregory, who as
usual had the last word, and the last laugh in the matter, and said as
he paid his fine, that he would willingly pay double for another chance.
‘A’ the country, far and near,
Hae heard Macgregor’s fame, lady.
He was a hedge about his friends,
A heckle to his foes, lady;
If any man did him gainsay,
He felt his deadly blows, lady.
It is really a pity, but no sketch of Professor James Gregory could be
adequate without mentioning some of the more important of his
professional feuds. Take the Infirmary for example, with which he was
connected from so early a date as 1777, and where he made one of the
most sweeping and necessary reforms that have ever taken place in the
management of that institution. He early saw that it was neither for the
good of the patients, nor for the good of the students, that the
physicians and surgeons should attend the wards for only a month at a
time, and against this he set himself with all the zeal of which he was
capable. He disapproved the time-honoured privilege enjoyed by every
member of the Royal College of Physicians, and every member of the Royal
College of Surgeons, to doctor the Infirmary patients; and getting more
and more enraged with the infatuation of his medical brethren, he
presented a memorial to the managers of the Infirmary, expounding his
views, that Infirmary appointments should be made either for life, or at
least for a number of years, but unfortunately doing so in language, of
which the following paragraph is but one specimen:—
‘Let us suppose that in consequence of this memorial, every individual
member of the College of Surgeons shall to his own share, make forty
times more noise than Orlando Furioso did at full moon when he was
maddest, and shall continue in that unparalleled state of uproar for
twenty years without ceasing. I can see no great harm in all that noise,
and no harm at all to any but those who make it. Ninety-nine parts in
the hundred of all that noise would of course be bestowed on me, whom it
would not deprive of one hour’s natural sleep, and to whom it would
afford infinite amusement and gratification while I am awake,’ etc.
Such bitter writing was not, however, solely on one side. On another
occasion, by the consent of the Royal College of Physicians, ‘A
narrative of the conduct of Dr James Gregory towards the Royal College
of Physicians of Edinburgh’ was published, which opens with this ominous
paragraph, ‘It is with great pain, that the Royal College of Physicians,
not a numerous, but hitherto, they trust, a very respectable society,
find themselves compelled to come before the public with a narrative of
their internal dissensions. The intemperate and injurious conduct of one
of their members however has now made this a matter of necessity. Like
other collections of individuals, they have had their dissensions and
disagreements, but till very lately they were always conducted with the
temper and the language of gentlemen, and were begun and ended within
the walls of the College. Dr James Gregory has introduced a new style
and a new jurisdiction.’
There is not much to choose between in these samples of professional
controversy, but on the whole Gregory was usually more right in his
views, and more wrong in his expression, than the other side. In spite
of these quarrels Gregory’s practice increased steadily. In 1818 his
professional income was £2723, and in the following year £100 more,
while in the same years he derived from his professorship by way of
fees, £1364 and £1200 respectively. These figures represented a much
larger sum in 1818 than they would in 1900, and give a substantial proof
of Gregory’s popularity.
A story told of Professor Gregory is peculiarly touching. One day when
he was giving out the tickets for his class, he had to go into another
room to fetch something. When he came back he saw a student, who was
waiting for his ticket, take some money off his table and put it into
his pocket. The Professor gave him his pass and said nothing, but just
as the lad was leaving the room, he rose up and laying his hand on his
shoulder said, ‘I saw what you did, and I am so sorry. I know how great
must have been your need before you would take money. Keep it, keep it,’
he added, seeing that the student meant to give the stolen money back to
him, ‘but for God’s sake, never do it again.’
Sir Walter Scott has remembered also how Professor Gregory on one
occasion gave a very ready reply to a learned member of the Scottish
Bar. He was giving evidence about a man, who in his opinion, was insane.
On a cross-examination, the professor was obliged to admit that the
person in question played an admirable game of whist. The eminent
counsel thought he had made a point. ‘And do you seriously say, Doctor,’
he added, ‘that a person having a superior capacity for a game so
difficult, and which requires in a pre-eminent degree, memory, judgment,
and combination, can be at the same time deranged in his understanding?’
‘I am no card player,’ replied the doctor, ‘but I have read in history
that cards were invented for the amusement of an insane king.’ Needless
to say, he won his case!
In 1818 Gregory had a serious carriage accident, in which his arm was
broken, and from this shock he never really recovered, though we still
see him in the midst of work. He was one of a deputation from the
University of Edinburgh to congratulate George IV. on his accession to
the throne, and while in London he received the honour of a private
audience of the king. During that visit his thoughts went back often to
his time of study in London, and to all the prosperity that had come to
him since. He had received almost every honour which his profession
could bring him. He had been President of the College of Physicians. He
was made king’s physician to George III., and his commission had been
most graciously renewed (during this visit) by George IV. Innumerable
societies had bestowed their honorary membership upon him, and many
towns had given him the privilege of their freedom, but he felt that his
days were nearly over.
During the last year he had attacks of difficulty of breathing, which
made it impossible for him to lecture after Christmas 1820. The end came
in April. He died of hydro-thorax at the age of sixty-eight.
Of Gregory’s eleven children only five survived him. Two of them were in
their turn to become teachers. William, afterwards Professor of
Chemistry in Aberdeen and Edinburgh, and Duncan Farquharson, the
Cambridge mathematician.
There was not lacking one token of the love and esteem in which the
great professor was held. The voices of his rivals were hushed. His
friends mourned for him, and the town where he had been such a familiar
figure arranged a public funeral for him. He lies buried in the family
vault in the Canongate Churchyard.
‘VIR PRISCAE VIRTUTIS, PER OMNES VITAE GRADUS ET IN OMNI VITAE OFFICIO
PROBATISSIMAE.’