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 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
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/O- 9z> 
 
 S/fz Xc? 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction 5 
 
 William Harvey, m.d. ........ 6 
 
 Thomas Sydenham, m.d 17 
 
 Hermann Boerrhaave, m.d 27 
 
 William Hey, esq 35 
 
 Thoma* Bateman, m.d .60 
 
 Edward Jenner, m.d. . 83 
 
 John Mason Good, m.d 104 
 
 Robert Gooch, m.d 126 
 
 Sir William Knighton, bart., m.d 142 
 
 James Hope, m.d. 166 
 
 NS 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2016 
 
 i 
 
 https://archive.org/details/sketchesofeminenOOunse 
 
EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 * + 
 
 If there be any valid ground for an accusation 
 sometimes brought against the medical pro- 
 fession — that scepticism and infidelity prevail 
 amongst its members, — the biographical sketches 
 of which this little work consists, furnish 
 f at least sufficient evidence that there is no 
 necessary connexion between either the- studies 
 or the active duties of a medical man, and the 
 denial or practical neglect of those great truths 
 which have been brought to light by the 
 gospel. All to whose lives and characters 
 reference is here made, were men of distin- 
 guished professional talent — the guides and 
 leaders of their brethren ; and yet the greater 
 part of them not only lived and died in the 
 open avowal of the faith of Jesus, but were 
 enabled, it will be seen, to adorn the doctrine 
 of God their Saviour in all things : — and were 
 thus, in the highest sense of all, ornaments 
 to a profession which, more than any other, 
 unfolds to the eye of the intelligent observer 
 the wonderful works of God, which brings 
 1 * 5 
 
6 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 before the mind in quick succession the awful 
 realities of sickness, death, and a coming eter- 
 nity; and which is, at the same time, second 
 to one only, in the opportunities it affords to 
 fulfil the apostolic maxim — “ Let us do good 
 unto all men, especially unto them who are 
 of the household of faith.” 
 
 WILLIAM HARVEY, M.D. 
 
 11 The wisdom of the Creator,” it has been 
 well said, “ is in nothing seen more gloriously 
 than in the heart and blood-vessels — the 
 action of the latter is essential to the per- 
 formance of every function, and diffusing life, 
 health, and vigour, through the entire animal 
 frame ; the cessation of the former, for a short 
 period, absolutely fatal ; the whole, never- 
 theless, so constructed as to go on at the rate 
 of a hundred thousand pulsations in every 
 twenty-four hours, for a period of from seventy 
 to eighty years without disorder, without in- 
 terruption, and without weariness ! And yet 
 so simple is the contrivance by which all this 
 is brought about, that the next thing which 
 astonishes us is the fact, that so many years 
 elapsed before it was at all accurately under- 
 stood. The arteries were found empty after 
 death ; it was, therefore, concluded that they 
 merely conveyed air or some kind of “ animal 
 spirits.” The veins alone were .supposed to 
 
WILLIAM HARVEY, M.D. 
 
 7 
 
 convey blood. By some it was propounded 
 that the fluids moved along the vessels in 
 one direction during the day, and in the 
 contrary direction during the hours of sleep, 
 with many other equally chimerical and 
 unfounded hypotheses. In the sixteenth cen- 
 tury, a little more light was thrown upon 
 the subject. By the researches of Servetus 
 and of the Italian anatomists, Colombo and 
 Cesalpini, the lesser circulation through the 
 lungs, the fact of the blood being acted upon 
 by the air, the existence of valves in the 
 veins, and a few other particulars, were made 
 out. But it was reserved for our illustrious 
 countryman, in the century before last, to 
 connect the whole into one harmonious system ; 
 to announce to the world the great discovery 
 of the true doctrine of the circulation of the 
 blood ; to open up a new era in medical science ; 
 and to introduce as great a revolution in the 
 sciences of anatomy and physiology, as Newton 
 afterwards did in those of astronomy and 
 optics, by his theories of gravitation and 
 light. 
 
 William Harvey was descended from a 
 respectable family in Kent, and was born at 
 Folkestone on the 1st of April, 1578. His 
 education was conducted first at a grammar 
 school in Canterbury, and afterwards at 
 Gonville and Caius College at Cambridge. 
 To minds of a certain order, some com- 
 paratively trivial event, carefully pondered, 
 not unfrequently opens the path to dis- 
 
8 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 coveries of tlie greatest magnitude. There 
 seems, at first sight, little relation between the 
 fall of an apple, and the splendid scientific 
 achievements of Newton. Yet it was a train 
 of thought, directed by this apparently trifling 
 circumstance, which conducted him to the 
 whole of them. Thus it was with Harvey. 
 In the course of his travels, for the completion 
 of his medical education, he settled for a short 
 time at Padua. Fabricius ab Aquapendente 
 was then at the height of his reputation as a 
 * professor of anatomy in the university of that 
 place. The theatre, built at his expense, is 
 still exhibited to visitors at Padua. Its cir- 
 cular seats, rising almost perpendicularly one 
 above another, now nearly black with age, 
 give to the small apartment, which is wains- 
 coted with curiously carved oak, a solemn 
 and venerable appearance. The lectures were 
 given by candlelight, as, from the construction 
 of the theatre, no other light could be admitted. 
 Here it was that Harvey caught the first 
 glimpse of the discovery which has since 
 immortalized his name. Fabricius one day 
 pointed out the existence of valves in the 
 veins — not, however, that he had the slightest 
 conception of their use, for the only conjecture 
 that he could hazard was, that they might be 
 designed to moderate the flow of blood from 
 the trunks of the veins to their smaller 
 branches, taking it for granted that such was 
 the course of the circulation. This was enough 
 for his intelligent pupil. There were valves 
 
WILLIAM HARVEY, M.D. 
 
 9 
 
 in the veins undoubtedly ; but could this be the 
 intention of them ? He would not place im- 
 plicit dependence upon any teacher, however 
 celebrated, but would erShine for himself. 
 Valves opening towards the heart seemed cal- 
 culated to impede altogether, rather than to 
 retard merely, the flow of blood in a direction 
 from that organ. Tie up a vein or compress 
 it, as is done in the simple operation of bleeding, 
 and that portion of the vessel which is at the 
 greatest distance from the heart will swell and 
 become distended. Whereas, he soon dis- 
 covered that, if an artery were tied, just the 
 contrary happened ; that part became enlarged 
 which was nearest to the heart. Hence he 
 was led by various experiments, step by step, 
 till he clearly demonstrated that the heart is 
 first of all excited to contract by the stimulus 
 of the blood, that this fluid is impelled 
 through the arteries, and, after having served 
 every purpose of secretion and nourishment, 
 returns by the veins to recommence the cir- 
 culation. 
 
 Great, however, as the discovery un- 
 doubtedly was — immense as was its practical 
 advantage — simple and easily demonstrable as 
 it now appears, Harvey durst not for many 
 years even drop a hint upon the subject in his 
 comparatively private lectures, and it was not 
 until nearly thirty years had elapsed that he 
 ventured to publish to the world, not in his 
 own country, but at Frankfort, the results of 
 his experiments. And then nothing could 
 
10 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 exceed the contempt and ridicule with which 
 it was received. Had he lived in a country 
 unblessed with the light of the Keformation, 
 he would probably have shared the fate of 
 Galileo. As it was, he was accused of pro- 
 pagating doctrines tending to subvert the 
 authority of Holy Scripture, the epithet cir- 
 culator, in its Latin invidious signification, 
 (quack,) was applied to him, it was given out 
 that he was “ crack-brained,” and his practice 
 as a physician sensibly declined. In a quarter 
 of a century more, his system was received 
 in all the universities of the world, and Harvey 
 lived to enjoy the reputation he so justly 
 merited. 
 
 The date of the first promulgation of his 
 then novel views has not been accurately ascer- 
 tained. Thus much is certain, — Harvey 
 graduated at Padua and afterwards at Cam- 
 bridge in the year 1602, soon after which he 
 settled in the practice of his profession in 
 London. In 1607, he was elected Fellow of 
 the College of Physicians, and in 1615, he was 
 appointed reader of the anatomical and surgical 
 lectures founded by lord Lumley and 
 Dr. Caldwell. In the British Museum, there is 
 an original ms. of his lectures of the date 
 of April, 1616, which contains the propo- 
 sitions on which his doctrine is founded. But 
 it was not till 1628, when he was in his fiftieth 
 year, that he published the great work already 
 referred to. Sofne curious preparations, rude 
 enough, but, under the circumstances of the 
 
11 
 
 WILLIAM HARVEY, M.D. 
 
 case, highly interesting, which he either him- 
 self made at Padua, or procured from that 
 celebrated school, and very probably exhibited 
 during his course of lectures, were not very 
 long since presented to the College of Physicians 
 by the earl of Winchelsea — a direct descendant 
 of lord chancellor Nottingham, who married 
 Harvey’s niece. They consist of six tables 
 or boards, upon which are nerves and blood- 
 vessels, carefully dissected out of the body; 
 in one of them the semilunar valves of the 
 aorta are distinctly to be seen. These valves 
 placed at the origin of the arteries, must, 
 doubtless, together with the valves of the 
 veins, have furnished the most striking and 
 conclusive arguments in favour of the true 
 system. 
 
 The talent and discoveries of Harvey soon 
 recommended him to the notice of the court. 
 From a letter of James i., dated February 3, 
 1623, it appears that he had then for some 
 time been physician extraordinary to his 
 majesty. In 1632, he was appointed physi- 
 cian to Charles I., who always treated him 
 with much regard, and was an interested spec- 
 tator of many of his experiments. About 
 this time, he appears to have accompanied the 
 earl of Arundel and Surrey, lord high marshal 
 of England, as his physician, in his embassy to 
 the emperor. Aubrey states, that one of his 
 excellency’s attendants on this occasion told 
 him that, in his journey to Vienna, Harvey 
 would always be making excursions into the 
 
12 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 woods, in order to investigate 11 strange trees 
 and plants, earths,” etc., and sometimes was in 
 danger of being lost, “ so that,” adds he, “ my 
 lord ambassador would be really angry with 
 him, for there was not only danger of thieves, 
 but also of wild beasts.” In the following year, 
 Harvey accompanied the king in his visit to 
 his northern dominions, and when the civil war 
 broke out, he still followed the fortunes of his 
 royal master, attended him when he left 
 London, and was present at the battle of Edge 
 Hill. On this occasion, the prince, afterwards 
 Charles n., and the duke of York, were com- 
 mitted to his charge. While the fight was 
 going on, he had not a mind to forego pursuits 
 more congenial to his taste ; accordingly, he 
 withdrew with the young princes under a 
 hedge, and took out of his pocket a book, 
 which he began to read. He had not, how- 
 ever, pursued his studies long, before a cannon- 
 ball grazed on the ground near him, which 
 soon compelled him to remove his station. 
 After an arduous struggle, both sides claimed 
 the victory; but one result of the battle was 
 favourable to the inclinations and designs of 
 Harvey. The king continued his march, and 
 took possession of Oxford, the only town in his 
 dominions which was altogether at his devotion. 
 Hither, with the rest of the royal household, 
 his physician retired, and here he had abundant 
 leisure to pursue his favourite studies ; although 
 under the disadvantage of having lost many 
 most valuable notes of experiments, which he 
 
WILLIAM HARVEY, M.D. 13 
 
 had previously made; for, at the beginning of 
 the rebellion, his lodgings at Whitehall had 
 been plundered, and many papers containing 
 curious observations upon the dissections of 
 animals had totally disappeared. This was a 
 loss which he never ceased to lament, saying, 
 that “ for love or money he could neither 
 retrieve or obtain them.” He remained at 
 Oxford about three years, during which time 
 — in 1645— he was made warden of Merton 
 College, by the king’s mandate. It is related 
 of him, that, during his stay there, he was in 
 habits of intimacy with a kindred mind, Dr. 
 Bathurst, of Trinity College. This gentleman 
 kept a hen to hatch eggs in his chamber, which 
 they opened daily to understand the whole pro- 
 cess and results of incubation. “ Eggs,” says 
 Harvey, 11 were a cheap merchandise, and were 
 at hand at all times and in all places ; and it 
 was an easy matter to observe out of them 
 what are the first evident and distinct marks 
 of generation ; what progress nature makes in 
 formation, and with what wonderful providence 
 she governs the whole work.” This was a 
 favourite study with Harvey, and forms the 
 subject of his other great work, second only in 
 importance to his “ Treatise on the Motion of 
 the Heart and the Blood.” Dr. Charles Scar- 
 borough, afterwards knighted by Charles n., 
 was another associate in whose society he at 
 this time much delighted ; except that he con- 
 sidered him in danger, under the contagion of 
 those troublous times, of neglecting his medical 
 2 
 
14 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 studies for the more brilliant profession of 
 arms. To check his military ardour, he ac- 
 commodated the young doctor with a lodging 
 in his own apartment, saying, u Prithee leave 
 off thy gunning, and stay here ; I will bring 
 thee into practice.” But in the year 1646, 
 Charles w r as persuaded to put himself in the 
 power of the Scottish army at Newark, and 
 orders were issued for the surrender of Oxford. 
 Consequently Harvey was obliged to relinquish 
 his short-lived appointment of warden to Merton 
 College, and to return to London, where for 
 some time he lived with his brother Eliab, a 
 rich merchant, who resided opposite to St. 
 Mildred, in the Poultry. How long he re- 
 mained with his brother does not appear, but 
 it is certain, that, not very long after this period, 
 he withdrew very much from the world, and 
 passed his time in retirement, in a house which 
 he possessed at Combe, in Surrey. Here he 
 had the advantages of a good air and a pleasing 
 prospect, but to indulge a whim he had of 
 delighting in being in the dark, he caused caves 
 to be made in the earth, in which, in summer 
 time, he was accustomed to meditate. In this 
 seclusion he was visited, in the year 1651, by 
 his friend Dr. Ent. “ I found him,” says Enr, 
 “ in his retirement, not far from town, with a 
 sprightly and cheerful countenance, investi- 
 gating, like Democritus, the nature of things. 
 Asking if all were well with him , — 1 How can 
 that be,’ he replied , i when the state is so agitate d 
 with storms, and I, myself, am yet in the open 
 
WILLIAM HARVEY, M.D. 15 
 
 sea ! And indeed, 7 added he, 6 were not my 
 mind solaced by my studies, and the recollec- 
 tion of the observations I have formerly made, 
 there is nothing which should make me desirous 
 of a longer continuance. But, thus employed, 
 this obscure life, and vacation from public 
 cares, which disquiet other minds, is the 
 medicine of mine.’ ” Ent goes on to relate a 
 philosophical conversation between them, the 
 result of which was the determination on the 
 part of Harvey to publish his second great 
 work just alluded to. 
 
 In the year 1653, Harvey presented the 
 College of Physicians with a library and 
 museum, erected in a munificent manner, 
 entirely at his own expense. It is described as 
 a noble edifice of Roman architecture (of rustic 
 'work, with Corinthian pilasters,) and consisted 
 of an elegantly furnished convocation room, or 
 parlour, below, and a library, filled with choice 
 books and surgical instruments, above. And, 
 we are told, it was erected in the garden of the 
 College of Physicians, at that time situated in 
 Amen Corner. This garden , it seems, was of 
 an irregular form, but extended as far as the 
 Old Bailey to the west , and towards the south 
 reached the church of St. Martin, Ludgate 
 Hill. In the following year, he was appointed 
 president of the college, an office which he 
 declined to accept on account of his advanced 
 age and infirmities, but he testified his regard 
 for its welfare still farther, by giving up his 
 paternal estate of d656 per annum for its 
 
16 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 benefit. The few remaining years of Harvey’s 
 life were much embittered by suffering from 
 the gout and other bodily infirmities. He died 
 on the 3rd of June, 1657. 
 
 There are many remarks, in the works of 
 this . distinguished physiologist, expressive of 
 profound reverence for the great First Cause of 
 all those wonders, into which it was his delight 
 to pry with such curious research. He was 
 accustomed to say, that he never dissected the 
 body of an animal, without discovering some- 
 thing which he had not expected or conceived 
 of, and in which he recognised the hand of an 
 all-wise Creator. To His particular agency, 
 and not merely to the operation of general 
 laws, he ascribed all the phenomena of nature. 
 It would have been gratifying to have traced 
 the effect of the great truths of the Bible, 
 as impressing his heart and regulating his 
 conduct ; but on this important question we can 
 say nothing farther, as his biographers are 
 silent. 
 
 In his person, Harvey was very small in 
 stature, round faced, of an olive complexion, 
 with small round black eyes, and hair black as 
 a raven till within twenty years of his death, 
 when it became quite white. His mind was 
 furnished with an ample store of general know- 
 ledge. In early life, he is said to have been 
 passionate, and apt to draw the dagger — which, 
 after the manner of the times, he constantly 
 wore — on very slight occasions. But when he 
 grew up to manhood, and during his long life, 
 
THOMAS SYDENHAM, M.D. 
 
 17 
 
 he had the character of being candid, cheerful, 
 and upright, living on terms of harmony w ith 
 his friends and brethren, and showing no spirit 
 of rivalry and hostility. His visits to his 
 patients he made, w r e are told, on horseback, 
 with a footcloth, his man following on foot, in 
 the same way in which the judges w r ere then 
 accustomed to ride to Westminster Hall. But 
 in practice, he does not appear to have been 
 particularly successful. The truth was, that 
 the great physiologist not only disdained those 
 arts of gaining the confidence of the public, by 
 which many succeed, but was probably too 
 intent on making discoveries in science, and of 
 too speculative a turn of mind, to devote that 
 attention to practical details, which is so essen- 
 tially requisite in the art of medicine. 
 
 THOMAS SYDENHAM, M.D. 
 
 The mental characteristics of no two individuals 
 differed more widely than those of Harvey and 
 Sydenham, and yet it is doubtful to w ? hich of 
 them the science of medicine has been most 
 indebted. The triumphs of the latter were not 
 those of an original and brilliant genius, bent 
 on detecting the hidden operations of creative 
 wisdom ; but he possessed a fund of sagacity 
 and practical good sense, which gave him an 
 easy ascendant over the empty theory and 
 vague hypothesis, and, we may add, the 
 2 * 
 
18 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 inveterate prejudice likewise, which disgraced 
 the period in which he lived. Unquestionably 
 there exists in the animal body a most wonder- 
 ful and beneficent provision for the spontaneous 
 removal of injury and disease of every kind. 
 To watch with an unwearied eye the ever- 
 varying forms of disease — to detect the latent 
 capabilities of the “ restorative power” — to re- 
 move all impediments out of the way, and 
 render every available assistance to its operation 
 — these are the leading aims of every intelligent 
 and really successful practitioner. Here lay 
 the “ great power” of Sydenham. In these 
 respects it was that his practice was so much 
 in advance of the age in which he lived, and 
 thus, as far as the prejudices of the time would 
 permit, did he accomplish a real and most 
 satisfactory revolution in the entire art of 
 medicine. For accurate descriptions of disease, 
 his works are unrivalled, and in this respect 
 may even now be consulted with advantage. 
 
 This justly celebrated physician was born in 
 the year 1624. He was the son of William 
 Sydenham, esq., a gentleman of considerable 
 property in Dorsetshire, whose mansion at 
 Wynford Eagle — now converted into a farm- 
 house — is still in existence, and stands on the 
 property of the present lord Wynford. Of his 
 childhood and early youth nothing is recorded. 
 At the age of eighteen, he was entered a com- 
 moner of Magdalen Hall, Oxford, but he could 
 have remained there but a short time, as we 
 are told he left the university when it became 
 
THOMAS SYDENHAM, M.D. 
 
 19 
 
 a garrison for king Charles, after the battle of 
 Edge Hill. This occurred in October, 1642. 
 Harvey, as we have already seen, was at 
 Oxford at that time, but probably the young 
 freshman had no intercourse with the great 
 discoverer of the circulation. At all events, 
 they espoused opposite sides on the spirit- 
 stirring questions which then agitated the 
 nation. Harvey was a devoted royalist, whilst 
 Sydenham actually joined the parliamentary 
 army, though he could have spent but few 
 years in the camp, and never attained to a 
 higher rank than that of captain. Sir Richard 
 Black more asserts, that he entered the pro- 
 fession of medicine by accident, and from 
 necessity, when a disbanded officer, and with- 
 out any preparatory study or discipline. — “ I 
 one day asked Sydenham what books I should 
 read to qualify me for practice. 1 Read Don 
 Quixote,’ replied he, 4 it is a very good book ; I 
 read it still.’” Whether this rejoinder were 
 intended as a keen satire upon the medical 
 literature of the age, or, as Dr. Johnson thinks, 
 upon the talents and attainments of Blackmore 
 himself, thus much is certain : Sydenham did 
 return to Oxford, that he might have leisure 
 and opportunity to pursue his medical studies ; 
 and, after graduating as bachelor of physic, 
 April 14, 1648, at which time he was likewise 
 elected a fellow of All Souls College, he still 
 remained at Oxford for several years studying 
 his profession, before he entered to any extent 
 into those practical inquiries to which he so 
 
20 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 justly attached far greater importance than “to 
 the vain pomp of nice speculations.” He took 
 his doctor’s degree at Cambridge. On leaving 
 the English universities he visited Montpellier, 
 at that time a celebrated school of physic, and 
 then settled art Westminster, and speedily rose 
 to eminence as a practical physician. 
 
 Such was the caution and deliberation with 
 which Sydenham entered upon the duties of 
 his profession, that he is stated to have paid 
 little regard to the time he bestowed in 
 examining individual cases. u Well, I will 
 consider of your case, and in a few days will 
 order something for you.” This was the utmost 
 amount of benefit which many patients were 
 able to elicit at a first visit. But he speedily 
 discovered that patients thus received often 
 forgot to come any more, and was, therefore, 
 compelled to adopt a more expeditious and 
 satisfactory mode of procedure. His first con- 
 siderable work, on “ The Method of Curing 
 Fevers,” was published in the year 1663, and 
 the inroad which he made on ordinary practice 
 and popular opinion is especially apparent in 
 his then novel method of treating small pox. 
 
 The usual mode of dealing with this then 
 fearfully virulent disorder, as with eruptive 
 fevers generally, was as opposite as could well 
 be imagined to the dictates either of nature or 
 of common sense. The unhappy patient was 
 loaded with bed-clothes ; lest one refreshing 
 breeze should fan his burning frame, the cur- 
 tains "were drawn closely round ; whilst, under 
 
THOMAS SYDENHAM. M.D. 
 
 21 
 
 the notion of the existence of a putrescency and 
 dissolution in the blood, he was all the time plied 
 with a round of stimulants and cordials — to say 
 nothing of the perhaps less potent, but more 
 disgusting ingredients with which good care 
 was taken that they should be sufficiently 
 charged, described altogether by a nearly con- 
 temporary physician as “ Venice treacle, Vir- 
 ginian snakeroot, zedoary, saffron, volatile salt 
 of hartshorn , 'powder of viper's flesh, and the 
 like /” Now and then it appears the “ resto- 
 rative power” topk extreme measures to vindi- 
 cate its outraged potency. “Luckily,” says 
 Sydenham, u it occurs occasionally that, from 
 the preposterous application of external heat and 
 inward cordials, the patient becomes delirious, 
 and in a fit of frenzy, escaping from the cruel 
 attention of his nurse, leaps out of bed, lies 
 exposed for many hours to the cool night air, 
 and so recovers.” One case of this kind in 
 particular appears to have made a powerful 
 impression on his mind. A young man at 
 Bristol was seized with the small pox and 
 became delirious. His nurse, having occasion 
 to go out of town, left her patient in the care 
 of others during her absence. Being detained 
 somewhat longer than she expected, the sick 
 person (as it seemed to those about him) gave 
 up the ghost. As the weather was very hot, 
 the body was placed upon a table, covered by 
 a sheet only. The nurse, in the mean time, 
 returned and heard the sad tidings, but, on 
 removing the sheet and looking at the counte- 
 
22 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 nance, she thought she could perceive some 
 signs of life remaining ; and having placed the 
 extended body in bed, the apparently dead man 
 was soon restored, and in a few days recovered 
 perfect health. The practice introduced by Syden- 
 ham was the plentiful admission of fresh air, 
 cooling, acid, and diluting drinks in abundance, 
 and in a word, the cool regimen carried into all 
 its details. His own account of the matter is cha- 
 racterised by his accustomed simplicity. The 
 following short sentence describes the grounds 
 on which his judgment was founded, and lets 
 us into the main secret of his success. “ I never 
 observed any mischief,” says he, u from the other 
 method, for nature left to herself does her work 
 in her own time , and then expels the matter in 
 the right way and manner.” Rational, however, 
 as was this mode of treatment, nothing could 
 exceed the opposition it met with, not only from 
 the prejudices of the friends of the sick, but 
 from those of the profession, and a generation 
 passed away before it came at all into repute ; 
 and then it was forced upon the attention of the 
 public by an unworthy successor to Syden- 
 ham’s popularity, who thus advanced the art 
 of medicine far more than by any discoveries 
 of his own.— u Have you a mind to kill my 
 grandson ? Is this the affection you have 
 always expressed for his person ? His grand- 
 father and I recovered without any such dan- 
 gerous experiments as these !” said the Dowager 
 duchess of Beaufort to Dr. Radcliffe, in the 
 most violent consternation and passion ima- 
 
THOMAS SYDENHAM, M.D. 
 
 23 
 
 ginable, when, upon visiting her grandson, the 
 duke, in the small pox, he ordered the cur- 
 tains of the bed to be drawn and light to be 
 let into the room ; whereas the old lady had 
 directed his grace’s windows to be shut in such 
 a manner as almost to deprive the unhappy 
 patient of the means of respiration. The doctor 
 assured her that she must instantly return to 
 her house at Chelsea; on no other condition 
 would he undertake the case, and she would 
 then soon be visited by her son in perfect 
 health. With much difficulty this great lady 
 was persuaded to acquiesce; but she had the 
 satisfaction of seeing her son within the time 
 limited, and completely recovered. The cool 
 regimen about that time came into vogue. The 
 success was Radcliffe’s — the merit belonged to 
 Sydenham alone. 
 
 In the year 1665, occurred the memorable 
 plague of London. Sydenham remained at his 
 post till about the month of June, not neglect- 
 ing to profit, we may well imagine, by his 
 opportunities of observation. At this time, the 
 pestilence began to rage so dreadfully that it 
 destroyed, in seven days, as many thousands. 
 In every house were to be heard either the 
 ravings of delirium, the groans of the dying, or 
 the lamentations of relatives, till at length the 
 living were scarcely sufficient in number to 
 perform the rites of burial. “ Now,” says a 
 contemporary writer, in truly graphic language, 
 u the cloud is very black, and the storm come? 
 down very sharp. Death rides triumphant ou 
 
24 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 his pale horse through our streets, and breaks 
 into almost every house where the inhabitants 
 are to be found ; people fall as thick as leaves 
 from the trees in autumn when shaken by a 
 mighty wind. There is a dismal solitude in 
 London streets ; every day looks with the face 
 of a sabbath, observed with a greater solemnity 
 than it used to be in the city. Shops are shut 
 up; people rare, and few that Avalk about, 
 insomuch that grass begins to grow in some 
 places, and a deep silence in almost every place, 
 especially within the city walls.”* The practice 
 which Sydenham adopted was to bleed very 
 largely. For a short period, he removed his 
 family into the country, and himself accom- 
 panied them, but he returned so soon, and 
 when the plague still continued so violent, 
 that it could not but be (he observes with his 
 usual modesty) “ that by reason of the scarcity 
 of better physicians I should be called in to 
 the assistance of those who had the disease.” 
 Thus he witnessed both the beginning and the 
 end of this great distemper. 
 
 Sydenham’s treatise on the gout has usually 
 been considered a masterpiece of description. 
 It was a disease with which he had an ex- 
 perimental acquaintance from the early age of 
 twenty-five ; and he speaks of a fit with which 
 he was seized in 1660, when he was only 
 thirty-six, which was very violent, and con- 
 tinued longer than any preceding attack. 
 Towards the close of life, he was at the same 
 
 * “ God’s terrible Voice in the City.” — Vincent. 
 
THOMAS SYDENHAM, M.D. 25 
 
 time troubled with another equally painful 
 complaint — the gravel. This complication of 
 disorders made it necessary for him to be 
 attentive to his diet, which he regulated, he 
 informs us, after the following manner. “ In 
 the morning, when I rise, I drink a dish or two 
 of tea, and then ride in my coach till noon : 
 when I return I moderately refresh myself 
 with any sort of meat of easy digestion, that 
 I like (for moderation is necessary above all 
 things) ; I drink somewhat more than a quarter 
 of a pint of Canary wine, immediately after 
 dinner, every day, to promote the digestion of 
 the food in my stomach, and to drive the gout 
 from my bowels. When I have dined I betake 
 myself to my coach again, and, when business 
 will permit, I ride into the country two or 
 three miles for good air. A draught, of small 
 beer is to me instead of a supper, and I take 
 another draught when I am in bed, and about 
 to compose myself to sleep.” The treatise in 
 which he gives us this little insight into his 
 ordinary habits — not, it must be confessed, very 
 consonant to the hours or manners of the present 
 day — was the last published in his life-time, 
 and he concludes it by observing that he has 
 now given to the world the sum of all which 
 he knew concerning the cure of diseases, up to 
 the day on which he wrote it, namely, the 
 29th of September,. 1686. His work entitled 
 “ Processus Integri,” the compendious result of 
 all his practical experience,. was published after 
 his death. Sydenham, is stated to have sup- 
 3 
 
26 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 ported himself under his bodily infirmities and 
 sufferings u by the reflections of philosophy, 
 and the consolations of religion.” He finally 
 sunk on the 29th of December, 1689, at his 
 house in Pall Mall, and was buried in the aisle 
 near the south door of the church, of St. James, 
 Westminster. The epitaph that indicated the 
 spot being nearly obliterated, the College of 
 Physicians, in the year 1809, erected a monu- 
 ment within that church, as nearly as possible 
 to the place of interment, with a Latin in- 
 scription. 
 
 Sydenham’s practice was very considerable. 
 He lived in the first degree of reputation, and 
 enjoyed the friendship and acquaintance of 
 many of the most eminent men of the day — 
 amongst others, that of the celebrated Locke. 
 He was not in favour with the court, but this 
 might probably have been owing to the part 
 he took in the civil wars, and the political 
 opinions of his brother, William Sydenham, 
 who, under the protectorate, obtained many 
 high appointments, and was governor of the 
 Isle of Wight. But he was never an eager 
 candidate for popularity. To fulfil the duties 
 of his profession in a conscientious and un- 
 ostentatious manner appears to have been his 
 principal aim; and the following sentence on 
 the vanity of posthumous fame, in the epistle 
 prefixed to his chapter on gout, was most 
 likely the expression of the genuine feelings of 
 his heart : “I do not much value public 
 applause, and, indeed, if the matter be rightly 
 
HERMANN BOERRHAAVE, M.D. 27 
 
 ’weighed, the providing for esteem (I being now 
 an old man) will be, in a short time, the same 
 as to provide for that which is not ; for what 
 advantage will it be to me after I am dead, 
 that eight alphabetical elements, reduced into 
 that order that will compose my name, shall 
 be pronounced by those who come after me ? ” 
 
 HERMANN BOERRHAAVE, M.D. 
 
 This illustrious physician and professor was 
 born at Voorhoot, near Leyden, December 31, 
 1668. His father was a clergyman, and, de- 
 lighted with his son’s precocity and rapid 
 advance in every branch of literature, it was 
 his most anxious wish that he should be 
 dedicated to his own profession. Accordingly, 
 in his sixteenth year he was admitted into the 
 University, and, in 1690, took a degree in 
 philosophy, his thesis on that occasion being 
 an able and argumentative confutation of the 
 sy stems of Epicurus, Hobbes, and Spinoza. 
 But he was one of a very numerous family, 
 and, in order to defray the farther expense of 
 his theological studies, was compelled to teach 
 mathematics. This circumstance proved ot 
 lasting benefit to him. Not only did it tend 
 to increase his reputation, but it was the 
 occasion of an introduction to one who proved 
 his intimate and most valuable friend. John 
 Vandenburg, burgomaster of Leyden, speedily 
 
28 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 perceived the amazing progress he had made 
 in every branch of knowledge to which he had 
 directed his attention, recommended him to 
 the curators to compare the Yossian manu- 
 scripts purchased in England with the catalogue 
 of sale, and advised him, in particular, to add 
 the study of the sciences connected with 
 medicine to those of which he was already 
 master. Boerrhaave thought the suggestion 
 worth attending to, but determined merely to 
 look into these subjects occasionally as a 
 relaxation from his severer studies. He did 
 so ; but so captivated was he, that what he 
 first proposed as an amusement, speedily 
 became a fixed pursuit. The interest he took 
 in it did but increase with the advances which 
 he made, and at length he resolved to take a 
 degree in physic before his ordination. 
 Anatomy was now his first object of attention. 
 He speedily read over the principal authors, 
 attended the public anatomical demonstrations, 
 and frequently himself dissected. He next 
 applied himself to the writings of Hippocrates, 
 to whom he considered the older authors were 
 principally indebted, and to our own illustrious 
 countryman, whom he was in the habit of 
 calling the “ immortal Sydenham.” He after- 
 wards made himself acquainted with the 
 chemistry of his age, and spent whole days 
 and nights in the experimental study of that 
 fascinating science. In botany, he made an 
 equal proficiency. After this, he went to 
 
 the University of Harderwick, in Guelder- 
 
HERMANN BOERRHAAVE, M.D. 29 
 
 land, and graduated in medicine in the 
 year 1693. 
 
 All this time, however, his intention of 
 entering into the ministry was quite unaltered, 
 and he returned to Leyden with the fixed pur- 
 pose of commencing the sacred duties for 
 which he had been destined, when, according 
 to his biographer, he encountered, all at once, 
 an invincible obstruction to the execution of it. 
 In the passage-boat, some conversation was 
 accidentally started about the doctrine of 
 Spinoza, as subversive of all religion. One of 
 the passengers — a man of a weak and ill- 
 informed mind — attempted to refute it, opposing 
 to this pretended philosopher’s demonstrations, 
 nothing more than “ the invectives of a blind 
 and misinformed zeal.” Boerrhaave was 
 always an enemy to triflers, and, somewhat 
 imprudently but calmly, asked him whether he 
 had ever read the works of the author he 
 decried. The speaker was fired with resent- 
 ment, upon which another passenger whispered 
 to the person next him to ascertain Boerr- 
 liaave’s name, took it down in his pocket-book, 
 and, as soon as he arrived at Leyden, gave it 
 out everywhere that Boerrhaave was become 
 a Spinosist. Finding such prejudices gaining 
 ground, “he now thought it imprudent,” we 
 are told, “ to risk the refusal of a licence for the 
 pulpit when he had so fair a prospect of rising 
 by physic.” 
 
 How far the young student of divinity was 
 justified in this change of procedure, instead of 
 3 * 
 
30 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 boldly declaring on whose side he was, and 
 whom he wished to serve, we have not suffi- 
 cient means of knowing. Nor does it appear 
 what at this time was the extent of his religious 
 perceptions. The accounts given of him by his 
 contemporaries consist, after the manner of the 
 times, of such a tissue of fulsome panegyric — 
 as though the subject of them were something 
 much more than an ordinary mortal — that it is 
 difficult to arrive at the real traits of his cha- 
 racter. Great, however, he undoubtedly became 
 as a man of science, a scholar, and a physician. 
 His reputation rapidly pervaded all Europe. 
 Princes, ambassadors, and Peter the Great him- 
 self, were compelled to wait hours in his ante- 
 chamber to obtain even an interview with him. 
 And, we believe, it may with truth be added, 
 that he was among the few of the "wise of this 
 world, w r ho, amidst all their intellectual attain- 
 ments, have not neglected that knowledge which 
 “maketh wise” unto everlasting salvation. 
 
 It was his constant habit to devote the first 
 hour of every day to prayer and meditation on 
 the word of God — a practice which he recom- 
 mended to others, declaring that he derived 
 from it a vigour which carried him through all 
 the toils of his profession. A friend, seeing 
 him unmoved by great provocation, asked 
 whether it was by nature or by art that he 
 maintained such equanimity. He attributed 
 the conquest to the above habit alone. Baron 
 Haller speaks of him in the following language : 
 “ Fifty years are now elapsed since I was the 
 
HERMANN BOERRHAAVE, M.D. 31 
 
 disciple of the immortal Boerrhaave, but his 
 image is constantly present to my mind. I 
 have always before my eyes the venerable 
 simplicity of that great man, who possessed in 
 an eminent degree the powers of persuasion. 
 How often have I heard him say, when he 
 spoke of the precepts of the gospel, that the 
 Divine Teacher of it had much more knowledge 
 of the human heart than Socrates ! He parti- 
 cularly alluded to that sentence in the New 
 Testament, 4 Whosoever looketh upon a woman,’ 
 etc. Matt. v. 28; 4 for,’ added my illustrious 
 master, 4 the first attacks of Vice are always 
 feeble; reason has then some power over the 
 mind. It is then in this very moment that 
 such thoughts occur as have a tendency to 
 withdraw us from our duty, that, if we with 
 diligence suppress them, and turn our attention 
 to something else, we may avoid the approach- 
 ing danger, and not fall into the temptations of 
 vice.’ ” Whether it be the fault of the disciple 
 or the preceptor, the above sentiment, however 
 just, is not clothed, it must be confessed, in 
 language so forcible as the subject appears to 
 demand. The direction with which it closes is 
 especially feeble and inadequate, as containing 
 no allusion to a strength superior to that of 
 sinful humanity. But we have reason to hope, 
 from one anecdote related by his biographer — 
 far more frigid still as he is in his expressions 
 with reference to religion — that Boerrhaave 
 had deeper views of it than would seem to be 
 implied in the above quotation, and other pas- 
 
32 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 sages that might be transcribed: — “ When he 
 heard,” says he, “ of a criminal condemned to 
 die, he inculcated the reflection, 1 May not this 
 be a better man than I? If otherwise, the praise 
 is not due to me, but to the grace of God.’ ” 
 His resignation to the will of God was likewise 
 exemplary. A deviation from this state ot 
 submission, when he had been racked with 
 incredible torture for fifteen hours successively, 
 gave him, on one occasion, great concern. He 
 had prayed earnestly that the disease might put 
 a period to his life and misery. A friend sug- 
 gested, by way of consolation, that a request, 
 under such circumstances, was not only natural 
 to human frailty, but precedented by the case 
 of Job. But Boerrhaave checked himself by 
 saying, “ This maxim, however, I wish to abide 
 by, living and dying, ‘ That only is best, and 
 alone to be desired, which is perfectly agreeable 
 to the Divine Goodness and Majesty.’ ” 
 
 In the year 1701, not very long after Boerr- 
 haave had entered upon the duties of his pro- 
 fession, he became lecturer on the institutes of 
 physic. In 1709, the professorship of medicine 
 and botany was conferred upon him. In 1714, 
 he arrived at the highest dignity in the univer- 
 sity — the rectorship. No professor was ever 
 attended, in public as well as private lectures, 
 by so great a number of students, from such 
 different and distant parts, for so many years 
 successively. He indulged, it is true, in theo- 
 ries, many of which in the present day excite a 
 smile ; but the world was not then accustomed 
 
HERMANN BOERRHAAVE, M.D. 33 
 
 to the Baconian method of deduction from facts 
 only. In practice he was successful, and 
 amassed great wealth ; but he is reported to 
 have been liberal to the distressed, though 
 without ostentation ; and his manner of obliging 
 his friends was such, that they often knew not, 
 unless by accident, to whom they were indebted. 
 Music and gardening were his constant sources 
 of amusement and relaxation. Having suffered 
 several severe attacks of illness, he found him- 
 self under the necessity, in the year 1729, of 
 resigning the professorships of botany and 
 chemistry. Yet, in private labours he was 
 not less assiduous, till the year 1737, when a 
 difficulty of breathing first seized him, and 
 afterwards gradually increased. In a letter 
 written at this time to baron Bassaud, he writes 
 thus of himself: “An imposthumation of the 
 lungs, which has daily increased for the last 
 three months, almost suffocates me on the least 
 motion ; if it should continue to increase with- 
 out breaking, I must sink under it; if it should 
 break, the event is still dubious : happen what 
 may, why should I be concerned? since it can- 
 not be but according to the will of the supreme 
 Being, what else should I desire ? God be 
 praised! In the mean time, I am not wanting 
 in the use of the most approved remedies, in 
 order to mitigate the disease by maturation, 
 but am no ways anxious about the success of 
 them : I have lived to upwards of sixty-eight 
 years and always cheerful.” After this, from 
 the unusual pulsations of the artery in the right 
 
: 
 
 34 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 side of the neck, and intermissions of the pulse, 
 he apprehended there were polypous concre- 
 tions between the heart and lungs, and wrote 
 an account of his case to Dr. Mortimer, secre- 
 tary of the Royal Society. For some days, there 
 were flattering hopes of his recovery, but they 
 soon vanished, and he died on the 23rd of 
 September, 1738. 
 
 Not long before he died, he told his friends 
 that he had never doubted of the spiritual and 
 immaterial nature of the soul ; but that, in a 
 very severe illness with which he was afflicted, 
 he had a kind of experimental certainty of the 
 distinction between corporeal and thinking sub- 
 stances, which mere reason and philosophy 
 cannot supply, and had opportunities of con- 
 templating the wonderful and inexplicable 
 union of soul and body. This he illustrated by 
 the effects which the infirmities of his body had 
 upon his faculties, “ which yet they did not so 
 oppress and vanquish, but that his soul was 
 always master of itself, and always resigned to 
 the pleasure of its Author.” 
 
 The works of Boerrhaave were both numerous 
 and elaborate. Amongst these, his “ Institu- 
 tions” and “ Aphorisms,” his works on botany 
 and chemistry, and his “ Opuscula,” were the 
 most important. 
 
WILLIAM HEY, ESQ. 
 
 35 
 
 WILLIAM HEY, ESQ. 
 
 This venerable man was not more distinguished 
 by eminent professional talent than by Chris - 
 tian integrity. With the most unfeigned truth 
 may it be said of him, that he feared and served 
 God in his youth ; that he made a diligent use 
 of the various talents with which he was in- 
 trusted throughout a long and chequered pil- 
 grimage; and that his “ hoary head was a 
 crown of glory,” because he was still “ found 
 in the way of righteousness.” 
 
 Mr. Hey was born at the village of Pudsey, 
 near Leeds, on the 23rd of August, 1736. At 
 the age of four years, he received an irreparable 
 injury. As he was cutting a piece of string, 
 the edge of the penknife being directed upwards 
 towards his face, on dividing the string, the 
 point of the knife entered his right eye, and 
 totally destroyed its power of vision. His father 
 was much affected by the simplicity of his 
 reply to a question respecting the sight of the 
 injured eye. “ He saw light,” he said, “ with 
 one eye and darkness with the other.” The 
 sight of the left eye was, however, remarkably 
 good even to a very late period of life — so much 
 so, that he was always able to read small print 
 without the aid of glasses. We may readily 
 imagine that he speedily gave indications of 
 that singular vivacity and mental vigour which 
 added a charm even to his declining years. 
 
36 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 Into every branch of science he made early 
 inquiries, and some lectures which he heard at 
 school on natural philosophy, are said to have 
 riveted his attention in a particular manner. 
 After the usual routine of a school education, 
 he was placed, at the age of fourteen, as an 
 apprentice with Mr. Dawson, a surgeon and 
 apothecary, at Leeds. 
 
 The parents of Mr. Hey had carefully trained 
 him, from his earliest years, in habits of strict 
 attention to moral principle, and a regard to the 
 outward duties of religion. From the com- 
 mencement of his apprenticeship, he never 
 omitted prayer on rising in the morning and 
 retiring at night. This exposed him to the 
 scoffs and ridicule of his fellow- apprentice, 
 who would introduce the servant boy into the 
 bedroom to join in his mockery of this religious 
 service; but he was not to be thus intimidated, 
 and his firmness and perseverance induced them 
 at length to desist. As yet, however, he had 
 acquired no correct notions of the leading doc- 
 trines of the Bible, for in conversation with a 
 young friend, who was pressing on his attention 
 the necessity of disclaiming all merit and rely- 
 ing solely on the mercy and grace of the Re- 
 deemer for salvation, he exclaimed, with some 
 surprise, “ What! are we not to do our duty ?” — 
 so little perception had he then of that inward 
 change of mind, which the blessed doctrine of 
 justification by faith only in the righteousness 
 and atonement of the Lord Jesus invariably 
 produces, if it be but simply and sincerely 
 
WILLIAM HEY, ESQ. 37 
 
 embraced : — “ With the heart man believeth 
 unto righteousness.” But this doubtful mental 
 twilight was about to yield to the dawn of a 
 brighter day: “ Then shall we know, if we 
 follow on to know the Lord.” He was at this 
 period in the habit also of retiring at convenient 
 seasons to study the holy Scriptures; and on 
 one of those occasions, while reading the 5th 
 chapter of the 2nd Epistle to the Corinthians, 
 his attention was forcibly arrested by the 17th 
 verse, “ If any man be in Christ, he is a new 
 creature : old things are passed away ; behold, 
 all things are become new.” In reflecting on 
 these words, a series of considerations arose in 
 his mind, in the course of which, doubtless 
 under the teaching of God’s Holy Spirit, he was 
 led to a right knowledge of himself as a sinner 
 — of the only way of salvation — of the neces- 
 sity of an entire renewal of the inward man. 
 Scenes of worldly gaiety and amusement began 
 forthwith to lose their accustomed attraction. 
 His thoughts were now chiefly occupied, and 
 his affections engaged, by invisible and eternal 
 realities. At first, as he once remarked in 
 conversation with an intimate friend, his mind 
 was not so deeply impressed by a sense of the 
 great evil of sin, as attracted by .an apprehen- 
 sion of the beauty and excellence of holiness. 
 What chiefly affected him was the love of God 
 manifested in the redemption of a sinful world 
 by Jesus Christ, and the Divine wisdom dis- 
 played in the dispensations of providence and 
 grace. Certain it is, that, at this time, he entered 
 4 
 
38 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 upon a course from which nothing afterwards 
 ever induced him to turn aside. He became 
 the willing and consistent and unflinching dis- 
 ciple of Divine truth, daily growing in grace 
 and in the knowledge of his Lord and Saviour. 
 His religious views and habits did not escape 
 the notice of Mr. and Mrs. Dawson, who consi- 
 dered him unnecessarily precise, and suspected 
 that the tenets he had adopted were not a little 
 tinctured with enthusiasm. On one occasion, 
 Mrs. D. undertook to expostulate with him on 
 the subject of his religious sentiments. The 
 reply he made was calm and conciliating. He 
 frankly avowed his views of the nature of true 
 religion, and on this, as on many following 
 occasions, referred to the Articles and Liturgy of 
 the Church of England, as sufficient evidence 
 that the principles he maintained w T ere exactly 
 those for which the reformers contended as the 
 pure doctrines of the sacred writings. These 
 conversations convinced Mrs. D. that his senti- 
 ments were not without foundation. He read 
 to her several religious works, no book engaging 
 more of their attention than the il Rise and 
 Progress of Religion,” by Dr. Doddridge; and 
 Mrs. D. became finally, not only a convert to 
 his opinions, .but an imitator of his piety, and 
 continued his steady and affectionate friend to 
 the end of life. 
 
 In the autumn of 1757, Mr. Hey went to 
 London to complete his professional education. 
 Attached to his studies, actuated by an ardent 
 thirst for knowledge, and steadily determined 
 
WILLIAM HEY, ESQ. 
 
 39 
 
 to become master of every subject to which he 
 applied, it was, at the same time, a matter of 
 conscience with him, to acquire a thorough 
 acquaintance with the profession he was to 
 exercise. “ 1 would spare no pains to qualify 
 myself for that state of life to which the provi- 
 dence of God has called me, and then trust him 
 with the success of my endeavours — Such 
 was the maxim by which he was actuated. 
 His first winter was devoted to anatomy, and 
 seldom did he employ less than twelve hours 
 daily in the lecture and dissecting-rooms. But 
 this unwearied application qualified him for 
 deriving many superior advantages from his 
 subsequent attendance on hospital practice. 
 His youthful companions in study would treat 
 his seriousness with mockery, and sneer at the 
 correctness of his conduct ; yet they were con- 
 strained to allow the soundness of his under- 
 standing, and his superior attainments in 
 professional knowledge. They frequently ap- 
 plied to him in matters of difficulty, and ever 
 found him as cheerfully ready as he was able, 
 to assist them in their inquiries, and to aid 
 and encourage them in their several pursuits. 
 “ Kemember,” said he in a letter to his son, 
 written forty years afterwards, u that one talent 
 is to be improved as well as ten. When I was 
 a student I always endeavoured to be at the 
 head of my class. This diligence insured me 
 the regard of my teachers, and preserved me 
 from many rude attacks from my equals. This 
 I experienced very much, when engaged in my 
 
40 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 medical studies in London, where I could not 
 meet with one religious young man in my own 
 profession. But as I took such pains, that my 
 fellow-students were obliged to consult me in 
 their difficulties, I preserved a considerable 
 check upon their conduct. A religious young 
 man, who followed me, did not escape so well. 
 His fellow-students, at St. George’s Hospital, 
 tossed him in a blanket.” 
 
 It is said to have been during the period of 
 his studies in London, that Mr. Hey undertook 
 the very difficult task of systematically govern- 
 ing his thoughts, and laid the foundation of a 
 valuable habit, which remained with him to the 
 end of life. He determined that he would 
 meditate on a given subject, while he was 
 walking to a certain distance, and that then he 
 would turn his attention to some other topic; 
 and he was thus accustomed to pass through 
 the streets of London, investigating the various 
 subjects to which his thoughts had been direpted 
 by the lectures or other professional occupa^ 
 tions. He found this acquirement of the greatest 
 use, not only in preserving him from a swarm 
 of vain thoughts, but in enabling him to form a 
 correct judgment on many points of Divine and 
 human knowledge. The same kind of accuracy 
 was observed in his conversation. He would 
 often discuss a subject with a friend as they 
 rode in his carriage. In the midst of the con- 
 versation, Mr. Hey would alight to see a patient ; 
 and, although this circumstance occurred fre- 
 quently, he never failed to resume the subject 
 
WILLIAM HEY, ESQ. 
 
 41 
 
 at the very sentence where it had bee^i broken 
 off, and so continued the argument. While 
 yet a student, Mr. Hey likewise accustomed 
 himself to the observance of certain rules for 
 the distribution of his several employments and 
 the improvement of his time. He rose early, 
 and so arranged his occupations that a parti- 
 cular portion of the day was appropriated to 
 each. On the Sunday, he never went to the 
 dissecting-room, nor would he accept any in- 
 vitation to visit, that he might experience no 
 interruption in the “ holy duties” and “holy 
 pleasures ” of that “ sacred rest.” He has been 
 often heard to say, that his sabbaths were the 
 happiest of his days during his residence in 
 London, and that the complete suspension of all 
 secular pursuits prepared him to resume his 
 studies with renewed ardour and activity. On 
 leaving London he reflected, with emotions of 
 gratitude, on the goodness of God. His health 
 had suffered no interruption by constant and 
 intense application to study. His religious 
 principles had not been impaired ; and he had 
 been preserved from falling by the various 
 temptations to which his situation had exposed 
 him. Hence he was induced to express him- 
 self in the words of the psalmist, “ He hath 
 showed me his marvellous kindness in a strong 
 city,” Psa. xxxi. 21. 
 
 Shortly after Mr. Hey’s return from London, 
 he entered upon practice as a surgeon and 
 apothecary at Leeds, and was united in mar- 
 riage, on the 30th of July, 1761, to Miss Alice 
 4* 
 
42 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 Banks ; a connexion which was the source of a 
 large amount of domestic happiness. From the 
 time he first entered upon the duties of his 
 profession, he treated the most serious accidents ; 
 and, contrary to the custom of the medical 
 practitioners of Leeds at that time, performed 
 all surgical operations that were necessary, 
 never declining any cases which presented 
 themselves on account of their difficulty or 
 danger. Yet he was no stranger to the usual 
 struggles of early professional life; his progress 
 was very 'slow; his range of practice narrowly 
 circumscribed; and nearly ten years elapsed 
 before the regular emoluments of it were equal 
 to the expenses of his family. Very little was 
 he then disposed to anticipate the reputation 
 which he afterwards acquired, and the long and 
 successful career that awaited him. No public 
 institution for the relief of the sick existed at 
 that time at Leeds. In the year 1767, an in- 
 firmary was established, in the formation of 
 which Mr. Hey took an active part, and of 
 which he was immediately appointed one of the 
 medical officers, and, in a few years, became the 
 senior surgeon. This establishment opened a 
 wide field for the exercise of his professional 
 talent. 
 
 About the same time, a very friendly inter- 
 course commenced between Mr. Hey and a 
 man of very opposite religious sentiments. Dr. 
 Joseph Priestley then resided in Leeds, and 
 finding Mr. Hey possessed a congenial mind 
 with his own on scientific subjects, and was 
 
WILLIAM HEY, ESQ. 
 
 43 
 
 well acquainted with the chemistry of that 
 period, he conferred much with him on the 
 subject of the various pursuits in which he was 
 engaged, and always imparted to him the dis- 
 coveries he made in the properties of gases, to 
 which his attention was at that time principally 
 directed. Dr. Priestley was likewise induced 
 to alter and correct his opinions on vision, light, 
 and colours, in consequence of the facts and 
 arguments suggested to him by Mr. Hey. The 
 high opinion which Dr. P. entertained of the 
 talents and acquirements of Mr Hey, induced 
 him to propose his name for admission to the 
 Royal Society, of which he . was elected fellow; 
 and in a letter apprising him of that distinction, 
 he remarks, “ I wish I could say that one of 
 the members in ten had equal pretensions to 
 it.” In the Memoirs of Dr. Priestley, the fol- 
 lowing notice occurs: “ The only person in 
 Leeds who gave much attention to my experi- 
 ments was Mr. Hey, a surgeon. He was ^a 
 zealous Methodist,* and wrote answers to some 
 of my theological tracts ; but we always con- 
 versed with the greatest freedom on philoso- 
 phical subjects, without mentioning anything 
 relating to theology. When I left Leeds, he 
 begged of me the earthen trough in which I 
 had made all my experiments while I was 
 
 • In whatever sense Dr. Priestley used this expression, it is 
 strictly true that Mr. Hey was, in early life, for several years a 
 member of the society of Wesleyan Methodists. After leaving 
 them, he continued a member of the Established Church till 
 his death. 
 
44 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 there.*^* The “ answers to tracts,” here referred 
 to, were entitled 11 A Defence of the Divinity of 
 Christ,” and u A short Defence of the Doctrine of 
 the Atonement.” “ The occasion of my writing 
 the short defences,” says Mr. Hey, in a letter 
 written some years after, “ was as follows. A 
 large number of penny pamphlets against the 
 leading doctrines of Christianity were published 
 here, and were circulated with great industry.” 
 (These were written by Dr. Priestley, but 
 without his name.) “ A very zealous man, but 
 a wild enthusiast, who lived here, then pub- 
 lished an answer, which Dr. Priestley seemed 
 to glory in. Indeed, it w T as most injudiciously 
 written. Other short answers afterwards came 
 out, but these were so defective in argument, as 
 well as acrid in style, that they were clearly a 
 matter of triumph to the Socinians.” . . . “ I 
 first intended to have published three penny 
 pamphlets on the subjects of the divinity of 
 Christ, the atonement, and man’s moral depra- 
 vity. But the two first swelling out unavoidably 
 beyond my design, I would not any further 
 break in upon my professional studies. What 
 I have said proceeded from the fullest con- 
 viction of my judgment. I wish it may do 
 good.” 
 
 In the year 1773, Mr. Hey received an injury 
 in his knee by striking it against the stone- 
 work of a bath, the effects of which accident 
 were aggravated soon after, by his horse falling 
 with him. These injuries laid the foundation 
 
 4 Memoirs of Dr. Joseph Priestley, etc., p 63. 
 
45 
 
 WILLIAM HEY, ESQ. 
 
 of a lameness which continued during the re- 
 mainder of his life. But about three years 
 afterwards he received a stroke upon the thigh 
 of the weak limb, which, for a time, threatened 
 to terminate his professional labours. He was 
 now, when in the full tide of prosperity and 
 reputation as a surgeon, totally disabled from 
 using all bodily exertion, and it appeared pro- 
 bable that he would never regain the power of 
 walking. Deeply was he affected by this afflict- 
 ive dispensation, but he was enabled to sustain 
 it with a meek acquiescence in the Divine will, 
 and reliance upon the gracious declaration of 
 his heavenly Father. “ If it be the will of 
 God,” said he to an intimate friend, “ that I 
 should be confined to my sofa, and he command 
 me to pick straws during the remainder of my 
 life, I hope I should feel no repugnance to his 
 good pleasure.” After a long residence at Bath, 
 he was, however, able once more to resume his 
 practice, with the assistance of a carriage ; but 
 from this period he was never able to walk with- 
 out a crutch, and could not bear the fatigue of 
 standing more than a few minutes at a time. 
 
 But other trials now awaited Mr. Hey, cal- 
 culated yet more keenly to exercise his faith 
 and patience, as a parent as well as a Christian. 
 His eldest son, Mr. Bichard Hey, had just com- 
 pleted his medical education, and commenced 
 assisting his father in the anxieties and fatigues 
 of his now very extensive practice, when he 
 was attacked with symptoms of pulmonary 
 consumption. The progress of the disease had 
 
46 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 been so silent and insidious, that the day of his 
 marriage had been fixed, and preparations made 
 for its celebration, before the indications of 
 actual danger were apparent to himself or 
 others. The disease proceeded with unrelenting 
 rapidity, and he fell a sacrifice to it, in the 
 twenty-fifth year of his age. Miss Alice Hey, 
 Mr. Hey’s third daughter, was, within a few 
 years after, attacked by a pulmonic complaint, 
 which terminated fatally. About this time, his 
 two sons, John and Eobert, both intended for 
 the church, were pursuing their studies at 
 Cambridge. John took a seventh wrangler’s 
 degree, and was elected fellow and tutor of 
 Magdalen College. But his ministerial duties, 
 to which- he devoted himself with unwearied 
 diligence, proved too much for his strength ; 
 the insidious approaches of consumption under- 
 mined his health, and, just when he was about 
 to be united to the object of his early affection, 
 it was but'' too apparent that he also must soon 
 be summoned to relinquish every earthly con- 
 nexion. He perceived his danger, and, adopting 
 the language of his Saviour as the expression 
 of his heart, a The cup which my Father hath 
 given me shall I not drink it?” he died/ deeply 
 lamented by all who knew him, January 14th, 
 1 80 1 , in the t wenty-fourth year of his age. Eobert 
 Hey was an amiable young man, and endowed 
 with no mean talents ; but a long series of ill 
 health interrupted his progress in learning. 
 He was but just able to support his examina- 
 tion in the senate-house, when he was seized 
 
WILLIAM HEY, ESQ. 
 
 47 
 
 with spitting of blood, which terminated in a 
 consumption, on May 14th, 1802, when in the 
 twenty-fourth year of his age. Mr.. Hey experi- 
 enced all that a parent could feel under these 
 successive disappointments of his hopes and ex- 
 pectations ; but he was at the same time cheered 
 and refreshed by the persuasion that to his 
 children might be applied those consoling 
 ■words heard from heaven, “ Blessed are the 
 dead which die in the Lord;” and he was wont 
 to say, that his ultimate end respecting them 
 was answered, inasmuch as he had trained 
 them up to become inhabitants of that kingdom 
 into which, he trusted, they had been mercifully 
 received. On the gravestone, of John he in- 
 serted these words, “ O death, -where is thy 
 sting?” On that of Robert, “ O grave, where 
 is thy victory?” The following extracts from a 
 memorial, composed on the morning of the day 
 on -which the remains of his son Robert Hey 
 were committed to the tomb, present a striking 
 and affecting view of the state of Mr. Hey’s 
 mind under that affliction : — “ O most holy and 
 glorious Lord God, who hast declared thyself 
 gracious and merciful, long-suffering, and abun- 
 dant in goodness and truth, permit thy guilty 
 creature to approach thee through the mediation 
 of thy Son Jesus Christ. When I consider 
 myself , I can draw near unto thee with no other 
 language than that of the publican, 1 God be 
 merciful to me a sinner,’ and with no other' 
 plea, than that Jesus hath died for my sins, and 
 is risen again for my justification.” . . . “ But 
 
48 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 at this time I would offer my most hearty and 
 solemn thanksgiving for the mercies shown to 
 my dear children. Four of them thou wast 
 pleased to call out of this dangerous and sinful 
 world during the state of infancy, and I humbly 
 hope thou didst receive them to glory. Con- 
 cerning other four, whom thou hast called 
 hence in adult age, thou hast graciously given 
 me the most solid hopes. Though by nature 
 children of wrath even as others, thou wast 
 pleased to awaken them to a sense of the odious 
 nature of sin, and to grant them true repent- 
 ance. They were early taught by thy grace to 
 flee for refuge to the Friend of sinners: and 
 thou didst prolong their lives till they had given 
 clear proofs of a sound conversion. Though 
 prepared, as I hoped, to glorify thee on earth, 
 thou didst dispense with their services, and 
 didst remove them hence in the beginning of 
 their usefulness. But thy grace was with them. 
 In their sickness arid at the approach of death, 
 they were enabled to rejoice in thy salvation. 
 The last of them I am about to commit this 
 day to the silent grave, but in sure and certain 
 hope of a joyful resurrection to eternal life. 
 What shall I render to thee for all thy mercies? 
 O that my future life might more abundantly 
 show forth thy praise! I commit those of my 
 children, who yet remain, to thy fatherly care. 
 O Lord, watch over them, and preserve them 
 from the evil that is in the world! Enable 
 them to glorify thee in the midst of a crooked 
 and perverse generation. And whenever they 
 
WILLIAM HEY, ESQ. 
 
 49 
 
 shall be called hence, may they join their 
 deceased brothers and sisters in the world of 
 holiness and bliss, there to magnify the wonders 
 of redeeming love for ever!” 
 
 But Mr. Key’s cup of sorrow was not yet 
 full. He was, not long after, deprived by death 
 of his daughter-in-law, Mrs. William Hey, who 
 left a young family to mourn their irreparable 
 loss. And, to conclude the mournful detail, 
 before many years more had passed, symptoms 
 of consumption made their appearance in his 
 daughter, Mrs. Jarratt, who was likewise re- 
 moved from her afflicted husband and seven 
 children, some of them very young. The fol- 
 lowing interesting and affecting letter, written 
 to Mrs. Jarratt, very shortly before her death, 
 forcibly depicts those sources of consolation 
 which sustained his own mind as well as that of 
 his beloved daughter: — 
 
 “My dear Margaret, 
 
 “ Let not your heart be troubled, neither be 
 afraid; your Redeemer is gone to prepare a 
 place for you : and he will shortly take you to 
 himself, that where he is there you may be also. 
 In his presence is the fulness of joy, and at his 
 right hand are pleasures for evermore. Take 
 up the words of the prophet, and say, i I will 
 trust and not be afraid: for the Lord Jehovah 
 is my strength and my song ; he also is become 
 my salvation.’ — ‘ The Lord taketh pleasure in 
 them that fear him, in those that hope in his 
 mercy.’ You may, therefore, cheerfully join the 
 psalmist in his song of praise: ‘ Though I walk 
 5 
 
50 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 through the valley of the shadow of death, I will 
 fear no evil : for thou art with me ; thy rod and 
 thy staff they comfort me.’ The state into which 
 it has pleased the all-wise Disposer of all events 
 to bring you, calls for entire submission to his 
 will, and a patient enduring of all that you may 
 suffer. But the promise is faithful and sure, 
 that all things shall 1 work together for good to 
 them that love God.’ Whence comes the desire 
 to please and the fear to offend him? Doubt- 
 less from love. Whence the desire to be assured 
 of his favour? From love assuredly. We are 
 careless about the favour of those for whom we 
 have little regard, but dread the frown of a 
 friend whom we most affectionately love. But 
 let us remember, that often 
 
 ‘ Behind a frowning providence, — He hides a smiling face.’ 
 
 May the richest blessings of the Almighty be 
 with you! May his everlasting arms surround 
 and support you! Soon, I trust, it will be said 
 of you, by the angelic host, She hath 4 washed 
 her robes and made them white in the blood of 
 the Lamb : therefore she is before the throne of 
 God, and shall serve him day and night in his 
 temple: — therefore shall she be led to living 
 fountains of water ; and God shall wipe away all 
 tears from her eyes.’ Your mother and sister 
 join me in most affectionate regards ; and assure 
 yourself that you are daily remembered in our 
 private addresses to the throne of grace. I 
 remain your afflicted, but affectionate father, 
 
 44 William Hey.” 
 
 It should here be added, that no parents 
 
WILLIAM HEY, ESQ. 
 
 51 
 
 could be more impressed with the importance 
 of early parental instruction and discipline, or 
 more diligent in the discharge of that duty, 
 than were both Mr. and Mrs. Hey. 44 Being 
 one day with him in his study,” says an inti- 
 mate friend, 44 when Mrs. Hey had left the 
 room, as she shut the door, Mr. Hey said with 
 great feeling, 4 What cause have I to bless God 
 for that dear woman ! She is now feeble and 
 incapable of much exertion, but it is to her 
 careful instruction of my dear children when 
 they were young — and I was unable from pro- 
 fessional engagements to attend to them as I 
 could have wished — that I ascribe, through the 
 blessing of God, their turning out so well.’ 
 When we were speaking about a friend who 
 had much anxiety about his sons, he said, 4 that 
 nothing would more certainly have shortened 
 his days than the grief of seeing any of his 
 children living in a state of rebellion against 
 God. I can cheerfully part with them by death, 
 when they die in the Lord; but I could not 
 support the sight of their living in open sin.’” 
 Mr. Hey was twice elected to fill the office of 
 mayor of the town of Leeds; first in the year 
 1787, and again in 1802. The duties of such 
 an office, in the midst of a very large manufac- 
 turing population, called forth all that energy 
 of mind in the performance of them, which his 
 hitherto more private pursuits had displayed to 
 all who knew him. He had to encounter ob- 
 struction and opposition, obloquy and persecu- 
 tion, secret threats, public insi 
 
52 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 dangers. But to all tills he had made up his 
 mind, and the integrity of his character, the 
 uprightness of his intentions, the disinterested- 
 ness and benevolenqe of his conduct, were at 
 length acknowledged and appreciated, and 
 opened the way to a final triumph, not only 
 over the malice, but the errors of his adver- 
 saries. Finding it requisite to obtain a com- 
 petent share of information in those principles 
 of jurisprudence by which he was to be directed, 
 he gave himself up to the study of them with 
 such assiduity, that he is said to have become 
 “ a good lawyer,” and was often known to cor- 
 rect the errors of counsel, when, with great 
 confidence, they were laying down the law to 
 the magistrates at the sessions. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to remark, that Mr. 
 Hey hailed with great delight the establish- 
 ment of the British and Foreign Bible Society, 
 and was a zealous supporter of the Church 
 Missionary Society. He subscribed likewise to 
 the Moravian, Baptist, and Wesleyan Missions. 
 But it deserves to be noticed, that, upon 
 the first establishment of Sunday schools, he 
 not only promoted the introduction of those 
 useful means of instruction upon a very exten- 
 sive scale, in the town of Leeds, but himself 
 superintended them, and even until the age of 
 eighty years, continued to be a regular and 
 diligent teacher ; and the general intelligence 
 and superior Scripture knowledge of his class, 
 were a striking evidence of the judicious and 
 successful mode of his instructions. On one 
 
WILLIAM HEY, ESQ. 
 
 53 
 
 occasion, when a gentleman was detailing to a 
 number of teachers the method adopted in 
 another school, about which Mr. Hey felt a 
 lively interest, the narrative was interrupted by 
 his sudden indisposition. The company ex- 
 pressing much uneasiness at the occurrence, he 
 remarked, “ My spirits are just as buoyant as 
 they were fifty years ago ; but nature reminds 
 me that I am an old man. I exerted my voice 
 too much yesterday, while leading the singing 
 of the scholars^ and I am suffering for my 
 imprudence.” 
 
 With the exception of his lameness, and 
 a serious illness of some weeks in the year 
 1808, Mr. Hey generally enjoyed good health 
 till within two years of his death, when he 
 sustained a most alarming attack of a very 
 painful and dangerous disease in the bowels, 
 from which it was scarcely expected that he 
 would recover. The following extracts from 
 notes made by one of his intimate friends, 
 give an interesting view of his feelings and 
 prospects during this affliction : “ When the 
 violence of the complaint had so much abated 
 that Mr. Hey was able to speak a little, he 
 said, ‘I was perfectly sensible of my situation; 
 my mind was as collected as it is now. I was 
 fully persuaded, that, unless it should please' 
 God to check the violence of the disorder, I 
 must in a very short time stand in judgment 
 before his throne. I found no support or com- 
 fort but in believing views of the atonement 
 made by Jesus. On this foundation alone 
 
54 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 rested all my hopes. I had much consolation 
 from regarding the Saviour as interceding for 
 me. Oh ! there is no support, no comfort, but 
 in a reliance on the atonement and interces- 
 sion of the Lord Jesus Christ.’ He adverted 
 to the corruption of nature ; observing that, 
 whatever men may say about the effects of the 
 fall, there is no one truth in the Scripture more 
 evident than this, that a complete and entire 
 change must take place in us, before we can 
 truly relish the holy and pure joys and em- 
 ployments of the heavenly world. This the 
 apostle declares when he says, ‘ if any man be 
 in Christ he is a new creature,’ or a ‘ new 
 creation.’ We must be made different from 
 what we were before. God alone can effect 
 this great change in the soul. He then spoke, 
 in most fervent and elevated strains, of the 
 blessedness of the beatific vision. ‘ Oh !’ said 
 the venerable saint, ‘ who can conceive the 
 happiness of seeing God, of beholding him 
 who is infinite beauty, infinite perfection ; and 
 not only beholding him with a rectified and 
 refined intellect, but in beholding to be trans- 
 formed into his glorious image! Surely it is 
 the highest bliss of heaven to see God as he is, 
 Shd to be made like him ! What poor low 
 conceptions we have of that God who is all 
 beauty and love ! Who can conceive the 
 blessedness of seeing him face to face ! ’ When 
 I next called upon him, c Oh, what a blessed 
 thing,’ said he, ‘ is it to be looking unto Jesus, 
 and resting upon the promises of God in him ! 
 
WILLIAM HEY, ESQ. 
 
 55 
 
 Where can a poor sinner look but unto Jesus ? 
 In him he finds all he wants. My prayer is 
 that of the poor publican, ‘ God be merciful 
 to me a sinner.’ This prayer ever was, and 
 ever will be, graciously answered. I rest all 
 my hopes on the promises of Christ. If this 
 foundation sink, I* am willing to sink with it ; 
 but,’ added he, with a holy fervour, ‘ I am sure 
 it cannot .sink : it is firmer than earth or 
 heaven ! What a delightful declaration is that 
 in the third chapter of the first Epistle of 
 St. John! u Behold what manner of love the 
 Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should 
 be called the sons of God !” But observe the 
 connexion between the believer’s hope of glory 
 and its purifying effect. “ Every man that 
 hath this hope in Him purifieth himself, even 
 as He is pure.” ’ He then recited this favourite 
 text: 1 These things write I unto you, that 
 ye sin not. And if any man sin, we have an 
 Advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the 
 righteous: and he is the propitiation for our 
 sins': and not for ours only, but also for the sins 
 of the whole world.’ What a free offer is here 
 made to the whole world ! If we are not saved 
 it is because we will not come to Christ, that 
 we may have life. The fault lies in ourselves. 
 Then, speaking on the blessedness of seeing 
 God and being made like him, 1 This, this,’ said 
 he, 1 is heaven! I know no other. Oh, how 
 I long to be like him ! ’ ” 
 
 It pleased God once more, however, to 
 restore his servant, after a confinement of more 
 
56 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 than three months, and although he never 
 perfectly recovered from the injury inflicted on 
 his constitution by this long and severe in- 
 disposition, his strength was not remarkably 
 impaired nor his vigour abated. Hence he 
 would often remark that he was obliged to 
 bring in the aid of reason to tell him that he 
 was an old man. At the advanced period of 
 eighty-two, he moved about with much alert- 
 ness and agility: the sight of his single eye 
 was remarkably good, and his hand-writing 
 was firm and distinct. When mentioning, in 
 conversation, about six months before his death, 
 the words of the psalmist — “ The days of our 
 years are threescore years and ten ; and if by 
 reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet 
 is their strength labour and sorrow,” he 
 added with a smile, “ But I have not found 
 them either labour or sorrow.” Much of this 
 freshness and vigour may be ascribed, under 
 the blessing of God, to his early rising, his 
 strict habits of temperance, the equanimity of 
 his temper, and that internal peace and com- 
 posure which resulted from his humble but 
 stedfast faith, and his habit of continual 
 communion with God. Mr. Hey was enabled 
 to live constantly in the spirit of prayer. u It 
 is a very desirable thing,” he says in a letter 
 to Miss Hey, dated October 24, 1799, “to be 
 enabled to hold a kind of secret communion 
 with God in our minds, while engaged in the 
 common scenes and duties of life. I can 
 remember some seasons when I was young, 
 
WILLIAM HEY, ESQ. 
 
 57 
 
 and had not a multitude of cares to distract 
 me, that I have been enabled to keep my 
 mind much occupied in the contemplation of 
 Divine things- A multitude of important con- 
 cerns now press upon me, yet I find much 
 refreshment and strength from secret ejacula- 
 tions. When this is neglected, my mind 
 grows dry and uncomfortable.” “ The cheerful 
 and happy state of Mr. Key’s mind in the 
 latter years of his life,” says one who knew 
 him well, “ may be easily accounted for. He 
 had no time to be unhappy. His life was 
 usefully employed, and he was conscious that 
 he lived for valuable and useful purposes. 
 His views of the gospel of Jesus Christ were 
 remarkably clear and distinct. He was deeply 
 sensible that his own righteousness could never 
 justify him before God; but he had likewise 
 learned that there is forgiveness with him, 
 and that mercy is freely and fully bestowed on 
 every repenting sinner who has fled for refuge 
 to the hope set before him in the gospel. He 
 did not esteem it presumptuous to believe that 
 God was his reconciled Father in Christ Jesus; 
 that all things under the direction of infinite 
 wisdom and boundless goodness were con- 
 tributing to the final salvation and everlasting 
 happiness of himself and of all who truly 
 loved and feared God. This assurance of hope 
 he endeavoured to maintain firm to the end. 
 Perhaps few persons lived under a more 
 abiding sense of the Divine favour than 
 Mr. Hey. He loved God, he delighted in his 
 
58 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 service, he walked with him, and here was 
 the prime source of all his happiness. The 
 spirit of adoption, which was the prevailing 
 temper of his mind, shed a bright lustre on 
 the surrounding prospects of life, and opened 
 a vista through which the eye of faith already 
 caught some beams of that light which shall 
 shortly pour an eternal day of joy and gladness 
 on the people of God.” 
 
 The illness by which this venerable servant 
 of God was at length called to his eternal rest, 
 was short, and not very painful, but still 
 such as incapacitated him for any connected 
 conversation His end was emphatically 
 “ peace.” The short expressions which he made 
 use of were sufficient to show that the “ rod 
 and staff” of the good Shepherd did not fail 
 him, and he lay occasionally ejaculating, 
 “ Glory, praise, glory,” as if, wrapt up in holy 
 meditation, he obtained by faith some bright 
 glimpses of the heavenly Canaan to which he 
 was approaching. Mr. Hey died on the 
 evening of the 23rd of May, 1819. “Even 
 to your old age I am he; and to hoar hairs 
 will I carry you,” Isa. xlvi. 4. “ Blessed 
 
 are they that do his commandments, that 
 they may have right to the tree of life, and 
 may enter in through the gates into the city,” 
 Rev. xxii. 14. 
 
 The more prominent features of Mr. Hey’s 
 character as a medical man, although not 
 enlarged on, may be readily understood by the 
 preceding account. To considerable intel- 
 
WILLIAM HEY, ESQ. 
 
 59 
 
 lectual power he united a thirst for knowledge, 
 a good acquaintance with the medical 
 literature of his day, and much patient and 
 experimental research, from which it was 
 always his aim to deduce conclusions of 
 practical usefulness. The spiritual as well as 
 temporal health of his patients was always an 
 object of his most anxious solicitude, and to 
 promote it he seized every favourable oppor- 
 tunity. In the early part of life, his manner 
 was thought to savour rather of austerity and 
 reserve, but towards the close of it this is said 
 to have very much worn away, and in the 
 society of intimate friends he was always open, 
 cheerful, and sometimes even loquacious. The 
 great equanimity of mind that he manifested 
 was, doubtless, the result of constant and 
 simple dependence on that gracious, though 
 unseen, Hand which conducted him through 
 all the difficulties and perplexities of the 
 present life to a city of everlasting habitation. 
 The following short remarks which Mr. Hey 
 made in conversation, on the Collect for the 
 eighth Sunday after Trinity, will illustrate 
 his views on this subject, and may form an 
 appropriate conclusion to this brief memoir. 
 Collect: “O God, whose never- failing provi- 
 dence ordereth all things both in heaven and 
 earth, we humbly beseech thee to put away 
 from us all hurtful things, and to give us those 
 things which be profitable for us, through 
 Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” “ I cannot 
 conceive,” said he, u a more elevated state 
 
GO EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 of devotion than that of a soul prostrating 
 itself before the throne of the Almighty, and 
 breathing out its desires in this beautiful 
 prayer. It is the very spirit and disposition 
 which becomes a frail, ignorant, short-sighted 
 creature. We here acknowledge the over- 
 ruling ' and never-failing providence of God, 
 and present, as it were, a blank, to be filled up 
 as Infinite Wisdom sees best for us. We beg 
 of God to 4 put away from us all hurtful things,’ 
 and to 4 give us those things which be profitable 
 for us.’ We do not ask for riches, or honour, 
 or ease, or health : these may be hurtful to us. 
 We do not pray to be preserved from sickness, 
 trials, or adversities ; these may be profitable 
 to us ; we leave the . disposal of all events to 
 Him who is toe wise to err, and too gracious 
 to be unkind; and could we imbibe more of 
 the spirit which breathes through these holy 
 petitions, this would be the habitual language 
 of our hearts.” 
 
 THOMAS BATEMAN, M.D. 
 
 Dr. Thomas Bateman was born at Whitby, in 
 Yorkshire, on the 29th of April, 1778, at 
 which place he died on the 9th of April, 1821. 
 He was, from infancy, of a delicate constitution, 
 and being naturally silent and reserved, mani- 
 fested but little indication of the 1 talent and 
 ability which afterwards distinguished him. 
 
THOMAS BATEMAN, M.D. 
 
 61 
 
 When not at school it was a constant practice 
 with him to sit on the top of a gate near the 
 house, for great part of the day, lost in thought, 
 without seeking either employment or amuse- 
 ment ; so that his father, who was engaged in 
 an extensive medical practice at Whitby, and 
 had little time to spend with his family, used 
 to lament continually to his mother, when he 
 saw Thomas upon “ his old seat at the gate,” 
 that “ that boy would never be good for any 
 thing” — a very common prediction,” it has 
 been remarked by Mr. DTsraeli, in his Essay 
 on Literary Characters, u of the friends of such 
 men in their childhood, and which is soon 
 falsified when they are placed in situations 
 favourable to the development of their par- 
 ticular talent.” So it was with young Bateman. 
 In his twelfth year, he was placed in the school 
 of the Bev. M. Mackereth, at Thornton, a 
 village twenty miles from Whitby. Here, 
 from the first, he distinguished himself, and 
 took the lead in every branch of learning, 
 with an ardour altogether different from his 
 former habits. He pursued his studies even 
 in his hours of leisure : and almost his only 
 relaxations were music, drawing, and botany. 
 Astronomy and electricity were also among 
 his favourite pursuits; and without having 
 seen either a planetarium, or an electrical 
 machine, and with great disadvantage as to 
 tools and materials, he made both, as well as 
 an iEolian harp, from the descriptions in 
 Chambers’ Dictionary, cutting out all the 
 
62 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 wheels of the former with his penknife. His 
 teacher used to observe that his most remark- 
 able faculty was a sound and penetrating 
 judgment, that he was not so much dis- 
 tinguished by quickness, as by the unceasing 
 energy and vigour with which every power of 
 his mind was kept in full and active employ- 
 ment, and brought to bear at once upon every 
 object presented to it. 
 
 At the age of fifteen, he lost his father. 
 His profession had been already determined 
 by his own choice ; and, by the advice of 
 Dr. Beckwith, who had commenced his career 
 as a physician, at Whitby, but was then in 
 practice at York, he was taken home that he 
 might acquire a knowledge of pharmacy, 
 whilst he completed his general education. 
 At nineteen, he went to London, well furnished 
 with the knowledge, classical and scientific, 
 proper to his future profession, and trained to 
 habits of industry, observation, and research, 
 which he was subsequently enabled to direct 
 to subjects of high practical value. It may 
 be properly mentioned, as an instance of filial 
 affection and attention, not perhaps very 
 common, that, on his first leaving home, he 
 asked his mother how often she would expect 
 him to write to her. She replied, “ Once a 
 fortnight;” and from that time, through all the 
 subsequent twenty years of his absence, and 
 in the midst of his most active engagements, 
 he never in one single instance exceeded the 
 given period, even by a single day; each letter 
 
THOMAS BATEMAN, M.D. 
 
 63 
 
 containing a minute detail of everything 
 which he thought would be interesting to his 
 family. Being intended to graduate at Edin- 
 burgh, Mr. Bateman’s chief objects, in London, 
 were anatomy and the practice of physic. He 
 entered, therefore, to the lectures at Windmill- 
 street, and as physician’s pupil at St. George’s 
 Hospital, for the winter of 1797-98. Thus 
 prepared, he went to Edinburgh in the following 
 winter, where, after having pursued his studies 
 with the greatest assiduity and attention, he 
 graduated in June, 1801. 
 
 Dr. Bateman was now to enter upon a new 
 and important field. He settled in London 
 for practice, being admitted as a licentiate of 
 the College of Physicians. Here he diligently 
 carried forward his pursuit of improvement, 
 under Dr. Willan, whose high and merited 
 reputation had induced many young physicians 
 to enter as his pupils at the Public Dis- 
 pensary. Dr. Bateman’s assiduity at that 
 institution, led to his being appointed assistant 
 physician, under a temporary pressure of 
 business, and, subsequently, to his becoming 
 the colleague of Dr. Willan and Mr. Pearson 
 in 1804 ; and he was elected physician to 
 the Fever Hospital, in the same year. His 
 ardour in these offices was unabated by any 
 difficulties so long as his health enabled him 
 to discharge their duties. Those of the latter 
 very important charity were wholly committed 
 to him, and he sustained them for many years 
 without any assistance. He soon likewise 
 
64 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 became a contributor to the diffusion of medical 
 knowledge by his pen. His “ Dispensary 
 Deports” in the Edinburgh Medical and Sur- 
 gical Journal, first introduced him to the 
 notice of the public as a writer, to the esta- 
 blishment of which periodical he gave efficient 
 support, by contributing a considerable number 
 of very valuable articles. He wrote also most 
 of the medical articles in the Edinburgh Cyclo- 
 paedia, and the medical portion of the article on 
 “Imagination” in that work, as well as most of 
 the professional biographies. But h£ principally 
 distinguished himself as an author, by his 
 “ Synopsis,” and his “ Delineations ” of 
 cutaneous diseases. In these he followed up 
 the design which Dr. Willan had commenced. 
 The plates are in part those of Dr. Willan, 
 retouched and improved by the engraver, and 
 partly original. Several characteristic repre- 
 sentations among them are from Dr. Bateman’s 
 own pencil. Altogether they furnish a standard 
 work of most essential importance in facili- 
 tating the acquisition of a discriminating, or 
 what in technical language is called a dia- 
 gnostic, tact in these diseases. Dr. Bateman 
 now r succeeded Dr. Willan, as the principal au- 
 thority on all questions relating to affections of 
 the skin. The “ Synopsis” was soon trans- 
 lated into the French, German, and Italian 
 languages, and was well received throughout 
 the continent of Europe, of which Dr. Bateman 
 had the gratification of receiving evidence 
 
THOMAS BATEMAN, M.D. 
 
 65 
 
 from the highest quarter. The emperor of 
 Kussia was pleased to desire that a copy might 
 be sent to him, through the hands of the 
 imperial ambassador in London. And on the 
 command being carefully fulfilled, his majesty 
 farther condescended to convey to Dr. B. by 
 the same channel, a ring of a hundred guineas 
 value, with an intimation of his pleasure, that 
 any future works written by Dr. Bateman 
 should be transmitted in like manner to 
 St. Petersburgh. 
 
 Dr. Bateman, as may well be imagined, was 
 a great economist of time. In the intervals of 
 professional duty his pen was always in his 
 hand, and he was accustomed to write with 
 great fluency. In preparing his manuscript 
 upon any particular subject — as, for instance, 
 more especially his articles for the Cyclopaedia — 
 he was in the habit of noting down on a scrap 
 of paper the heads into which he thought of 
 dividing his subject, of then reading all the 
 books upon it which he had occasion to con- 
 sult, after which he arranged in his mind all 
 he proposed to say, so that when he began to 
 write he considered his labour done. He 
 wrote, indeed, as fast as his pen could move, 
 and with so little necessity of correction or 
 interlineation, that his first copy always went 
 to the printer. Neither was any part of this 
 process hastily or inconsiderately performed. 
 He said that to prepare for the single article 
 on “ Imagination ” above referred to, he 
 6 * 
 
66 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 read the greater part of one- and -twenty 
 volumes. 
 
 But amidst his various labours Dr. Bate- 
 man’s health, originally delicate, began to give 
 way. To derangement of the digestive organs, 
 and successive attacks of periodic headache, 
 was superadded a gradual failure of the sight 
 of his right eye, which was considered to be 
 of the nature of amaurosis, and the vision of 
 the left eye was to a certain degree likewise 
 affected. It was thought requisite to have 
 recourse to mercury, which unhappily pro- 
 duced a most exhausting and distressing train 
 of symptoms, known in the profession by the 
 name of “ mercurial erethism,” of which he 
 himself published an interesting sketch in 
 the ninth volume of the “ Medico-Chirurgical 
 Transactions.” From this time he no longer 
 enjoyed good health, and derived little or no 
 benefit from some journeys he was induced 
 to take into the north. In the month of April, 
 1817, he recommenced his attendance at the 
 Fever Hospital, when scarce equal to the duties 
 he had to perform. But an epidemic fever 
 had then appeared in London, and his zeal 
 was not to be restrained. From that time, 
 till the beginning of the following February, 
 he spent from an hour and a half to two hours 
 and a half, daily, in the wards of that hospital, 
 having under his care, during this period, 
 nearly seven hundred patients. He was then 
 himself attacked by fever, and, after his 
 recovery, never gained any tolerable degree 
 
THOMAS BATEMAN, M.D. 
 
 67 
 
 of strength, but went on rather declining than 
 improving, until in June, 1819, he Was taken 
 ill on the road from London to Middleton, in 
 Durham ; being again attacked with alarming 
 languors, in which he was thought to be dying, 
 by himself and by all around him, and which 
 cohtinually returned if he attempted to make 
 the least exertion. Finding it impossible to 
 proceed to Whitby, as he had intended, he 
 removed to a temporary habitation at Bishop 
 Burton. He now determined to give up his 
 appointment to the Public Dispensary ; he had 
 already resigned the office of physician to the 
 Fever Hospital, after having discharged it faith- 
 fully for fourteen years, and was, in con- 
 sequence, appointed consulting 'physician. 
 During the ensuing winter he gradually im- 
 proved in strength so as to be able to take 
 gentle exercise on a pony or in a gig almost 
 daily ; but on the return of warm weather, 
 early in April, he had a severe attack of 
 languor after a short ride, and ultimately 
 became the subject of a progressive affection 
 of the digestive organs, accompanied with 
 great exhaustion of strength, without fever or 
 any manifest structural disease, of the fatal 
 tendency of which he had himself the strongest 
 impression. 
 
 And now we arrive at the last eventful year 
 of Dr. Bateman’s life : the ever memorable era 
 to him, of the commencement and development 
 of the most momentous change which can possi- 
 bly affect the human mind. This remarkable 
 
68 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 event, and its attending circumstances, have 
 been so faithfully and so well detailed by a 
 near relative, that we cannot do better than 
 relate them in the writer’s own words. It may 
 be sufficient only to premise, that although Dr. 
 Bateman’s moral character had been unim- 
 peachable, and he had always retained a high 
 sense of “ honour,” and a desire to avoid every- 
 thing that the world esteems discreditable, he 
 had hitherto not merely remained an utter 
 stranger to the power of vital godliness, but had 
 gradually become more and more confirmed in 
 his leaning to the wretched doctrine of material- 
 ism. This lamentable tendency, first acquired 
 during the course of his studies at Edinburgh, 
 had been unhappily increased by the society of 
 some men of considerable talent, who had 
 espoused all its unphilosophical and unchris- 
 tian tenets ; and, although never able fully to 
 embrace those opinions himself, he was suffi- 
 ciently influenced by them to become sceptical 
 respecting the truth of Divine revelation. Of 
 course, he was a stranger to the hopes, as well 
 as negligent of the duties of Christianity. 
 
 “ It was on Sunday, the &th of April,” says 
 the writer just referred to, “ that he first spoke 
 to me. on the subject of religion. He had 
 passed the whole of the day in a state of extra- 
 ordinary suffering, from languor and a variety 
 of nervous feelings, which he always said it was 
 impossible to describe, further than that they 
 were inconceivably painful and distressing ; and 
 he went to bed at night with a firm persuasion 
 
THOMAS BATEMAN, M.D. 
 
 69 
 
 that he should never again quit it ; and, in fact, 
 he did confine himself to it for the following 
 three weeks, from the mere apprehension of the 
 consequences of exertion. Beligion was a sub- 
 ject which, for many reasons, had never been 
 discussed between us. Though the tenor of 
 his life had made me but too well acquainted 
 with the state of his mind, he had always 
 avoided any declaration of his opinions, know- 
 ing the pain it would give me to hear them. 
 He was habitually fond of argument, and 
 skilled in it ; and I knew that I was quite in- 
 competent to argue with him. I considered, 
 too, that the habit of disputing in favour of any 
 opinion, only serves, in general, to rivet it 
 more firmly in the mind ; men commonly find- 
 ing their own arguments more convincing than 
 those of their adversaries. And, above all, I 
 knew that this was a case in which mere argu- 
 ment must always be insufficient, — for it is 
 1 with the heart that man believeth. unto right- 
 eousness and in most, if not all, cases of scep- 
 ticism, the will and the affections need to be 
 set right even more than the understanding ; 
 and upon these, argument can have no influ- 
 ence. On the evening of the day I have men- 
 tioned, Dr. Bateman had been expressing to 
 me his conviction that he could not live much 
 longer, and complaining of the dreadful nerv- 
 ous sensations which continually harassed him ; 
 and then he added, 1 But all these sufferings 
 are a just punishment for my long scepticism, 
 and neglect of God and religion.’ This led to 
 
70 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 a conversation, in the course of which he ob- 
 served, that medical men w ? ere very generally 
 sceptical ; and that the mischief arose from 
 what he considered a natural tendency of some 
 of their studies to lead to materialism. I re- 
 plied, that the mischief appeared to me to 
 originate rather in their neglect to examine 
 into the evidences of the truth of the Bible, as 
 an actual revelation from God; because, if a 
 firm conviction of that w r ere once established, 
 the authority of the Scriptures must be para- 
 mount; and the tendency of all inferior studies, 
 in opposition to their declarations, could have 
 no weight. He said, he believed I was right, 
 and that he had, in fact, been intending to exa- 
 mine fully into the subject, when the complaint 
 in his eyes came on, and shut him out from 
 reading. Our conversation ended in his per- 
 mitting me to read to him the first of Scott’s 
 4 Essays on the most important Subjects 
 in Religion , 7 which treats of 4 The Divine In- 
 spiration of the 'Scriptures . 7 He listened with 
 intense earnestness ; and when it was con- 
 cluded, exclaimed, ‘This is demonstration! 
 complete demonstration ! 7 He then asked me 
 to read ' to him the account given in the New 
 Testament of the resurrection of our Saviour; 
 which I did from all the four evangelists. I read 
 also many other passages of Scripture, with some 
 of which he was extremely struck ; especially 
 with that declaration, that 4 the natural man 
 receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God : 
 for they are foolishness unto him ; neither can 
 
THOMAS BATEMAN, M.D. 
 
 71 
 
 lie know them, because they are spiritually 
 discerned,’ 1 Cor. ii. 14. 
 
 u For two or three days, he showed increas- 
 ing interest in the subject of religion; and I 
 read to him continually the Scriptures, and 
 other books which seemed to me best calcu- 
 lated to give him the information he thirsted 
 for. When I went into his room a few morn- 
 ings after, he said, 4 It is quite impossible to 
 describe to you the change which has taken 
 place in my mind : I feel as if a new world were 
 opened to me, and all the interests and pursuits 
 of this have faded into nothing in comparison 
 with it. They seem so mean, and paltry, and 
 insignificant, that my blindness in living so 
 long immersed in them, and devoted to them, 
 is quite inconceivable and astonishing to my- 
 self.’ He often expressed in the strongest 
 terms, and with many tears, his deep repent- 
 ance, and his abhorrence of himself for his 
 former sinful life and rebellion against God ; 
 but he seemed to have, from the first, so clear a 
 view of the all-sufficiency of the Saviour’s 
 atonement, and of the Christian scheme of sal- 
 vation, as freed him at once from that distrust 
 of forgiveness which is so apt to afflict persons 
 at the first sight of their sins, and of the purity 
 and holiness of Him 1 with whom they have to 
 do.’ The self-abasing views which he enter- 
 tained of himself, necessarily enhanced his sense 
 of the pardoning love and mercy of God in 
 Christ Jesus, thus graciously extended to him: 
 and which he felt so strongly, that he was filled 
 
72 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN 
 
 with the liveliest emotions of gratitude and joy, 
 and in this happy state continued for several 
 days. 
 
 “ He soon, however, experienced an afflicting 
 reverse of feeling. One evening I left him to 
 visit a near relative, at that time confined to 
 her room in a precarious state of health ; and 
 his mother, who had been in attendance upon 
 her, took my place at the bed-side of her son. 
 Dr. Bateman told her, that I had been reading 
 to him various detached portions of Scripture, 
 and that he now wished to hear the New Test- 
 ament read regularly through from the begin- 
 ing. She consequently began to read, and had 
 proceeded as far as the tenth chapter of St. 
 Matthew, when he suddenly exclaimed, that he 
 could not believe in the miracles of the Saviour, 
 and that therefore he must perish for ever.* 
 This suggestion of his spiritual enemy threw 
 him into a state of the most dreadful anguish, 
 and I was immediately sent for to his bed-side. 
 On my arrival, he had become a little more 
 composed, but was still in great agitation; and 
 was praying in agony to be saved, and not 
 to be given up to this dreadful state of unbe- 
 lief. To comfort his mind, we said what w r e 
 could from Scripture, and from the experience 
 of other Christians : and he was a little relieved 
 by hearing some passages from an essay in the 
 
 • It needs scarcely be pointed out, how much more properly 
 this might be called temptation to unbelief, than unbelief itself. 
 While the difficulty of believing was felt, the awful consequences 
 of not believing were fully admitted ; that is, -were tLmly be- 
 lieved. 
 
THOMAS BATEMAN, M.D. 73 
 
 volume before mentioned, 1 On the Warfare 
 and Experience of Believers;’ finding that his 
 was not, as he had supposed, a case of new 
 occurrence ; but that the author of that work 
 was already acquainted with its symptoms, and 
 augured favourably of them, as often accom- 
 panying the progress of religion in the soul. 
 Still the idea that his death was fast approach- 
 ing, and that there was no hope of his mind 
 being convinced before it arrived, quite over- 
 whelmed him. Feeling ourselves to be very 
 inadequate guides and comforters in these 
 afflicting circumstances, we gladly adopted the 
 suggestion of a friend that we should request a 
 neighbouring clergyman of piety and judgment 
 to visit him. Dr. Bateman himself grasped 
 eagerly at the proposal, and I wrote imme- 
 diately to the clergyman in question ; but he 
 was from home, and was not expected to return 
 for two or three weeks. A few days after this 
 unwelcome intelligence, Dr. Bateman told me, 
 he had no doubt this disappointment was for 
 his good ; and that it was better for him to be 
 left to himself, as he did not think anything 
 could have convinced him so fully of the efficacy 
 of prayer, as the sensible relief which he expe- 
 rienced from it during those conflicts of doubt 
 and unbelief with which his mind continued to 
 be harassed. He added, that he now spent 
 whole nights in prayer. He felt perfectly 
 assured that these doubts were the sug- 
 gestions of the great adversary of souls, and 
 remarked, that they were vividly and mani- 
 7 
 
74 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 festly darted, as it were, into his mind, instead 
 of arising from his own reflections, or resulting 
 from any train of reasoning ; and the absurdity 
 of them, in many instances, was so obvious, 
 that his judgment detected it at once, though 
 he still had not power to drive them from the 
 hold they took on his imagination, or to banish 
 them, for the time, from his thoughts. 
 
 “ These paroxysms of distress and conflict, 
 which sometimes lasted many hours, he conti- 
 nued subject, to for about a fortnight: but they 
 gradually became less long and violent, and he 
 experienced increasingly great relief from 
 prayer during their continuance ; till at length 
 they subsided entirely, and left his mind satis- 
 fied on all those points which had before pre- 
 sented so many obstacles to his belief. 
 
 u About this time he received an unexpected 
 visit from a medical friend, whose piety and 
 truly Christian character distinguish him still 
 more than his eminent abilities and professional 
 skill. This gentleman, with great difficulty, 
 succeeded in persuading him that he was by 
 no means in that state of danger and debility 
 which he had apprehended, and that he had 
 the power of taking exercise if he could but 
 exert sufficient resolution to attempt it. Expe- 
 riment convinced him that this opinion was 
 correct: he was prevailed upon to leave his 
 bed, and, in a very few days, was able to be 
 some hours daily in the open air, and to take 
 considerable exercise ; and it is remarkable, 
 that, from this time, he had no return of languor 
 
THOMAS BATEMAN, M.D. 
 
 75 
 
 after fatigue, except in one instance. Thus 
 was lie delivered, by the gracious providence 
 of God, from those overwhelming apprehensions 
 of immediate death which had been so instru- 
 mental in bringing him to Christ, as soon as 
 they had effected that blessed purpose. 
 
 “ He now rarely spoke of the state of his 
 mind and feelings ; for such was the extreme 
 reserve of his character, that it could only be 
 overcome by deep and powerful emotions ; and 
 when no longer agitated by these, he returned 
 to his natural habits, and was silent on the 
 subject that most deeply interested him. Still 
 it was abundantly evident that it did interest 
 him. The avidity with which he listened to 
 the word of God — his eagerness to attend 
 public worship, (which for many years he had 
 entirely neglected,) and the heartfelt and de- 
 vout interest which he obviously took in the 
 service — his enlarged and active benevolence — 
 the Change which had taken place in his tastes, 
 inclinations, and pursuits — all testified that he 
 was indeed brought out of darkness into 
 1 marvellous light old things had passed 
 away, and all things had become new. 
 
 “ In the course of the summer, his health and 
 strength were considerably recruited : but 
 towards the close of it, a little over-exertion in 
 walking brought on an accession of fever, and 
 a great aggravation of all the symptoms of his 
 disorder ; but still he continued able to take a 
 little exercise. While he remained in the 
 country, he had much leisure, which was de- 
 
76 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 voted entirely to religious reading ; for every 
 other subject had now become insipid and 
 uninteresting to- him.; and never did the 
 pursuits of science and literature afford him 
 such vivid enjoyment as he now received from 
 these hallowed studies. In November, he re- 
 moved to Whitby for the winter : and his 
 health continued in much the same state till a 
 short time before Christmas, when a walk, 
 rather longer than usual, again produced in- • 
 creased fever and debility ; and from that 
 period his strength and appetite visibly de- 
 clined, while his spirit was as visibly ripening 
 for heaven. His faith and patience were 
 strengthened ; his hope was increased ; his 
 charity enlarged : yet he was naturally so 
 extremely reserved in the expression of his 
 feelings, that he rarely spoke of them till 
 within the last month of his life, when he re- 
 joiced 1 with a joy unspeakable and full of 
 glory,’ w T hich bore down all opposition* for 
 he experienced a happiness to which all the 
 accumulated enjoyments of his whole previous 
 life could bear no proportion or comparison, 
 even that 1 peace of God which passeth all 
 understanding,’ and which must be felt, or, at 
 least, witnessed, in order to form any just con- 
 ception of its nature and effects. What a 
 striking example did our dying friend now 
 exhibit to us ! From his early youth he had 
 devoted himself with delight and industry to 
 the acquisition of knowledge and the pursuits 
 of literature and science ; and he had 1 had his 
 
THOMAS BATEMAN, M.D. 77 
 
 reward’ in the honour and reputation which 
 his success had procured for him, — a reward 
 which he keenly enjoyed and very highly 
 prized. Those who have known only the 
 pleasures which arise from worldly gratifica- 
 tions, surely ought to recollect, that, being 
 confessedly ignorant of the spiritual enjoy- 
 ments which they despise, they cannot be 
 competent to decide upon their reality or their 
 value : it belongs only to those who have 
 experienced both , to appreciate either. And 
 how did Dr. Bateman appreciate them ? In 
 contrasting, as he frequently did, his present 
 happiness with all that he had formerly enjoyed 
 and called happiness, he seemed always at a 
 loss to find words to express how poor, and 
 mean, and despicable, all earthly gratifications 
 appeared to him, when compared with that 
 * joy and peace in believing,’ which now filled 
 his soul : 1 one particle of which,’ he some- 
 times said, 1 ten thousand worlds would not 
 tempt him to part with.’ And it should be 
 remembered, that this was not the evidence of 
 a man disappointed in his worldly pursuits : 
 he had already, as before observed, 1 had his 
 reward’ in this world — he had experienced the 
 utmost success in the path which he had chosen 
 — he had been keenly susceptible to intellectual 
 pleasures ; and of these, as well as of all inferior 
 amusements, he had enjoyed more than a 
 common portion ; but when the only object 
 that can satisfy the affections, and fill the 
 capacities of a rational and immortal being, was 
 7 * 
 
78 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 revealed to him — when he viewed by the eye 
 of faith that life and immortality which are 
 brought to light by the gospel — earthly fame, 
 and honour, and pleasure, sank into the dust ; 
 and, in reflecting upon his past life, the only 
 thing that gave him any satisfaction was the 
 hope that his labours might have been bene- 
 ficial to his fellow-creatureg, for whom his 
 charity had now become unbounded. He often 
 said, that ‘ the blessing of his conversion was 
 never out of his mind day or night ; that it 
 was a theme of perpetual thanksgiving ; ' and 
 that he never awoke in the night without being 
 overwhelmed with joy and gratitude in the 
 recollection of it.’ He always spoke of his 
 long bodily afflictions with the most devout 
 thankfulness, as having been instrumental in 
 bringing him to God ; and considered his 
 almost total blindness as an especial mercy, 
 because, by shutting out external objects, it 
 had enabled him to devote his mind more 
 entirely to spiritual things. Often, latterly, he 
 expressed an ardent desire to 1 depart and to 
 be with Christ but always added, that he 
 was cheerfully willing to wait the Lord’s 
 pleasure, certain that if he were continued in 
 this world it was only for his own good, and to 
 make him more meet to be a partaker 1 of the 
 inheritance of the saints in light.’ 
 
 “ He bore his bodily afflictions with the most 
 exemplary patience, and even cheerfulness, and 
 •continually expressed his thankfulness that they 
 were not greater ; sometimes saying, 4 What a 
 
THOMAS BATEMAN, M.D. 
 
 79 
 
 blessing it is to be allowed to slip gently and 
 gradually out of life as I am doing f He 
 
 would not allow any one to speak of his suffer- 
 ings , always saying, 4 they did not deserve a 
 stronger name than inconveniences.’ He 
 neither complained himself, nor would permit 
 others to complain for him. Once, when the 
 nurse who attended him said, 4 Oh that cough ! 
 how troublesome it is f he replied, 4 Have a 
 little patience, nurse : I shall soon be in a 
 better world ; and what a glorious change that 
 will be !’ Indeed, the joy of his mind seemed 
 to have absorbed all sense of his physical 
 sufferings. I once remarked to him, that he 
 appeared to have experienced no intermission 
 of these joyful feelings ; and he answered, 
 4 For some months past, never , and never the 
 smallest rising of anything like impatience or 
 complaint.’ His mind, naturally active and 
 ardent, retained all its powers in full vigour to 
 the last moment of his life : and was never 
 once clouded or debilitated, even in the most 
 depressing nervous languors. Indeed, after 
 the whole current of his tastes and affections 
 had been turned into a new channel, its ardour 
 and activity rather increased than diminished, 
 from the deep conviction which he felt of the 
 superiority of his present views and pursuits 
 to all that had hitherto engrossed him. During 
 the last week of his^ life, especially, the strength 
 and clearness of his intellect and of his 
 spiritual perceptions, were very remarkable ; 
 and on its being one day observed to him, that 
 
80 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 as His bodily powers decayed, those of his soul 
 seemed to become more vigorous, he replied, 
 
 1 They do, exactly in an inverse ratio : I have 
 been very sensible of it.’ 
 
 “He conversed with the greatest animation all 
 the day, and almost all the night, preceding his 
 death, principally on the joys of heaven and 
 the glorious change he was soon to experience ; 
 often exclaiming, 1 What a happy hour will 
 the hour of death be !’ He dwelt much on 
 the description of the new Jerusalem in the 
 Revelation of St. John, and listened with great 
 delight to several passages from Baxter’s 
 4 Saints’ Rest,’ and to some of Watts’s hymns 
 on the same subject. Once in the night he 
 said to his mother, 1 Surely you are not in 
 tears ! Mine is a case that calls for rejoicing, 
 and not for sorrow. Only think what it will 
 be to drop this poor, frail, perishing body, and 
 to go to the glories that are set before me !’ 
 Not more than an hour before his death, when 
 he had been expressing his faith and hopjs in 
 very animated terms, I remarked to him, how 
 striking the uniformity of faith and of feeling 
 expressed by believers at every distance of 
 time and place, and spoke of it as an indis- 
 putable evidence that these graces are wrought 
 by 1 one and the self-same Spirit,’ and as a 
 proof of the truth of the Bible, the promises 
 and descriptions of which are thus so strikingly 
 fulfilled and exemplified. He entered into the 
 argument with his accustomed energy, and 
 assented to its truth with delight. It seemed 
 
THOMAS BATEMAN, M.D. 81 
 
 remarkable, that though he had, during his 
 whole illness, been very sensible of his increas- 
 ing weakness, and had watched and marked 
 accurately all its gradations, yet he spoke, in 
 the last moments of his life, of going down 
 stairs as usual, (he had been carried up and 
 down for several days,) and said, 4 it could not 
 require more than a very few weeks now to 
 wear him out ;’ not appearing to be at all aware 
 that his end was so very near, till about half 
 an hour before his death. Finding himself 
 extremely languid, he took a little milk, and 
 desired that air might be admitted into the 
 room ; and on being asked if he felt relieved at 
 all, said, ‘Very little: I can hardly distinguish, 
 indeed, whether this is languor or drowsiness 
 which has come over me ; but it is a very 
 agreeable feeling.’ Soon after, he said suddenly, 
 4 1 surely must be going now, my strength 
 sinks so fast and on my making some ob- 
 servation on the glorious prospect before him, 
 he added, 4 Oh, yes ! I am glad to go, if it be 
 the Lord’s will.’ He shut his eyes and lay 
 quite composed, and by-and-by said, 4 What 
 glory ! the jftgels are waiting for me!’ — then* 
 after another short interval of quiet, added, 
 4 Lord Jesus, receive my soul!’ and to those 
 who were about him, 4 Farewell !’ These 
 were the last words he spoke : he gradually 
 and gently sunk away, and, in about ten 
 minutes, breathed his last, calmly and without 
 a struggle, at nine in the morning of the 9th of 
 April, the very day on which, twelve months 
 
82 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 before, his mind had first been awakened to 
 the hopes and joys of the ever-blessed gospel ! 
 
 “ What a contrast did his actual departure 
 form with what I had had reason to apprehend, 
 when I watched over his couch in London, 
 expecting that every moment would be his 
 last ; and when, with a hard indifference and 
 insensibility, he talked only of going to his 
 1 last sleep !’ And how can I worthily ac- 
 knowledge the goodness of Almighty God, who 
 effected such a change in his state ! 
 
 “ It appears that he preceded his revered, 
 though unknown, instructor, Mr. Scott, exactly 
 one w r eek. He never ceased to remember, with 
 the deepest gratitude, his obligations to that 
 excellent man. It was only the evening before 
 his death that he was recommending with great 
 fervency, to a young friend, whose mother, 
 under affliction, was first beginning to inquire 
 after religious truth, to engage her to read 
 c Scott’s Essays,’ acknowledging, with fervent 
 gratitude, the benefit he had himself received 
 from that work, and concluding an animated 
 eulogium, by saying, 4 How have I prayed for 
 that man !’ What a blessed meeting may we 
 not suppose they have had in the world of 
 glory ! 
 
 44 The medical friend before alluded to has 
 most justly remarked, that 4 the entire sim- 
 plicity and sincerity of Dr. Bateman’s natural 
 character give additional value to all that fell 
 from him. He never used a language that was 
 at all at variance with his real feelings ; and 
 
EDWARD JENNER, M.D. 
 
 83 
 
 was in no degree given to vain imaginations.’ 
 This testimony is very true, and this remark- 
 able simplicity and sobriety of his natural 
 character remained unaltered in the great re- 
 volution which took place in his principles and 
 dispositions : he went into no exaggerations of 
 feelings, or excesses of enthusiasm. And surely 
 the merciful Providence . which preserved his 
 sound understanding, in all its integrity, to the 
 last moment of his life, must silence the gain- 
 sayer and u the disputer of this world,” who 
 might strive to attribute the sacred influence 
 of religion on his mind to the errors of an 
 intellect impaired by long disease and suffering.” 
 
 EDWARD JENNER, M.D. 
 
 If it be the chief end of medical science to 
 insure to the community the largest amount of 
 health, and in the most successful manner 
 possible to alleviate suffering and avert the 
 stroke of death, then may the name of this 
 illustrious individual be considered as justly 
 entitled to rank highest among practitioners of 
 the healing art. What discovery or improve- 
 ment ever hitherto arrived at, in the annals of 
 the profession, can bear a parallel with that 
 which ministers, in every part of the globe, to 
 the prevention of disease and deformity, and, in 
 a great proportion of cases, to exemption from 
 actual destruction ? Into whatever corner of 
 
84 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 the world the blessings of civilisation have been 
 conducted, it has followed in their rear, and 
 will doubtless be hailed by all future genera- 
 tions as one of the greatest temporal benefits 
 ever conferred on mankind. 
 
 The father of Jenner was vicar of Berkeley, 
 in Gloucestershire, a possessor of considerable 
 landed property, and a member of a family of 
 great antiquity in that county and Worcester- 
 shire. The illustrious subject of this biogra- 
 phical sketch was his third son, and was born 
 at the vicarage, on the 17th of May, 1749. 
 
 Before Edward Jenner was nine years of age 
 he manifested a growing taste for natural his- 
 tory. He had already formed a collection of 
 the nests of the dormouse ; and when at Dr. 
 Washbourne’s school, at Cirencester, he spent 
 the hours devoted by other pupils to play, in 
 searching for the fossils which abound in that 
 neighbourhood. He was instructed in the ele- 
 ments of surgery and pharmacy by Mr. Ludlow, 
 of Sudbury, near Bristol, a man of considerable 
 eminence in his profession. After the comple- 
 tion of his apprenticeship, he proceeded to 
 London to pursue his studies under the care of 
 the celebrated John Hunter, in whose house he 
 resided as a pupil for two years. Jenner was 
 now in his twenty-first year, and John Hunter 
 in his forty-second. This difference of age did 
 not prevent the formation of a real friendship; 
 a community of tastes and pursuits united them 
 to the last. The pupil, like his patron and 
 instructor, became an enthusiast in the pursuit 
 
EDWARD JENNER, M.D. 
 
 85 
 
 of natural history in its most extensive sense, 
 and did not neglect to avail himself of the advan- 
 tages he enjoyed. In the dissection of tender 
 and delicate organs, he was unrivalled, and his 
 minute injections were remarkable for the 
 accuracy and elegance with which they were 
 finished off. He bequeathed to Dr. Baron, of 
 Gloucester, his able friend and biographer, a 
 preparation which combines all these qualities. 
 It represents the progress of the ovum in the 
 domestic fowl, from its first development to its 
 full and complete growth. 
 
 During the period of his residence with 
 Hunter, captain Cook returned from his first 
 voyage of discovery. The specimens of natural 
 history which had been collected by sir Joseph 
 Banks were principally arranged by Jenner, 
 who was recommended by Hunter for that ser- 
 vice. And so great was the science and dex- 
 terity evinced by him in the execution of this 
 task, that he was offered the appointment of 
 naturalist to the next expedition, wdiich sailed 
 in 1772. But neither this flattering offer nor 
 any more enticing prospect, could divert him 
 from his fixed purpose of establishing himself 
 as a medical man in his beloved native county. 
 He returned to Berkeley, and, taking up his 
 residence with his eldest brother Stephen, wdio 
 had been the guide of his orphan years, rapidly 
 acquired a degree of reputation rarely attained 
 at so early an age. Still he abstracted from 
 the fatigues of a country practice, a sufficient 
 portion of time to accumulate, within a short 
 8 
 
86 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 period, a series of specimens, illustrative of com- 
 parative anatomy and natural history, enough 
 to form no inconsiderable museum. His sur- 
 gical attainments, his amiable and polished 
 manners, and his very general information, 
 secured a welcome reception from the most 
 distinguished families of the district. His 
 tenderness, kindness, and meekness were re- 
 markable ; an uncommon delicacy of feeling 
 occasionally threw a pensive shade over his 
 mind, but his lively disposition equally entered 
 into the deepest sympathy with the saddest 
 moments of his friends, or gaily participated 
 in their happier hours. His humour is de- 
 scribed by l)r. Baron as having been most 
 enlivening and descriptive; and such was the 
 charm of his conversation, that many were 
 delighted to join him in his morning rides, and 
 frequently even after midnight, to accompany 
 him many miles on his road homewards from 
 his professional avocations. His appearance 
 and manners at this period of his life are w'ell 
 described by one of his early friends in the 
 following graphic sketch. “ His height was 
 under the middle size ; his person was robust, 
 but active and well formed. In his dress, he 
 was peculiarly neat ; and everything about him 
 showed the man intent and serious, and well 
 prepared to meet the duties of his calling. 
 When I first saw "him, it was on Frampton 
 Green. I was somewhat his junior in years, 
 and had heard so much of Mr. Jenner, of 
 Berkeley, that I had no small curiosity to see 
 
EDWARD JENNER, M.D. 87 
 
 him. He was dressed in a blue coat and yellow 
 buttons, buckskins, well-polished jockey boots, 
 with handsome silver spurs, and he carried a 
 smart whip with a silver handle. His hair, 
 after the fashion of the times, was done up in a 
 club, and he wore a broad-brimmed hat. We 
 were introduced on that occasion, and I was 
 delighted and astonished. I was prepared to 
 find an accomplished man, and all the country 
 spoke of him as a skilful surgeon and a great 
 naturalist ; but I did not expect to find him so 
 much at home on other matters.” 
 
 In March, 1788, Jenner added greatly to his 
 happiness, by marrying Miss Catherine ' Kings- 
 cote, a lady of vigorous understanding, accom- 
 plished mind, and religious principle, in whose 
 counsel and sympathy he found support in 
 many of the future trials of his life. In the 
 year 1792, oppressed by the fatigues of a gene- 
 ral country practice, he resolved to confine 
 himself to medicine, and obtained a degree of 
 m.d. from the University of St. Andrews. 
 
 But we must hasten to give some outline of 
 the great discovery which was so soon to bring 
 him into public life, and has since immortalized 
 his name. 
 
 It was at a very early period that he obtained 
 the first glimpse of the engrossing object of the 
 attention of his whole subsequent life. When 
 pursuing his professional education, during the 
 period of his apprenticeship at Sudbury, a 
 young country woman applied for advice ; the 
 subject of small-pox was casually mentioned 
 
88 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 in her presence ; she immediately remarked, 
 “ I cannot take that disease, for I have had 
 cow-pox.” This, it appears, was a popular 
 notion in that district. A pustular eruption 
 derived from infection, and chiefly showing 
 itself on the hands of milkers, who had milked 
 cows similarly disordered, had already attracted 
 notice, and been found to secure some persons 
 from small-pox. Jenner’s attention was now 
 arrested. Young as he was, and insufficiently 
 acquainted with any of the laws of physiology 
 or pathology, he dwelt with the deepest interest 
 upon this extraordinary fact, and speedily 
 began to anticipate the vast consequences that 
 might be involved in so remarkable a phenome- 
 non. He was the more stimulated, by having 
 frequently witnessed the ravages of small-pox ; 
 he also vividly remembered the discipline to 
 which he had been himself subjected, prepara- 
 tory to his inoculation for that disease, which 
 was bleeding, physicking, and starving, till 
 the body was wasted to a skeleton. When 
 residing with Mr. Hunter, he ventured to men- 
 tion the circumstance to him, and the train of 
 thought to which it had given rise in his mind. 
 Mr. H. did not damp his ardour, but, as was 
 usual with him on all occasions, when the 
 matter in hand admitted of being brought to 
 the test of experiment, advised that trial should 
 be made, and that accuracy and faithfulness 
 should guide the investigation. In cases cf 
 this kind, he would say, “ Don’t think, but try : 
 be patient ; be accura te and he was a ecus- 
 
EDWARD JENNER, M.D. 89 
 
 tomed to make known Jenner’s opinion among 
 his friends, and to mention it in his lectures. 
 But many untoward circumstances arose to 
 damp the ardent anticipations which the future 
 benefactor of his race had begun so fondly to 
 indulge. It was not till the year 1780, ten 
 years after he first went to reside with Mr. 
 Hunter, that Jenner was able, in any tolerable 
 degree, to unravel the perplexing obscurity in 
 which the subject was enveloped, and which 
 had led those who knew the tradition of the 
 country to think that it defied all satisfactory 
 elucidation. When riding with his friend 
 Edward Gardner, in that year, on the road 
 between Gloucester and Bristol, he commu- 
 nicated to him, in the confidence of friendship, 
 the plan he intended to pursue, and the success 
 which he thought might possibly hereafter 
 dawn upon him. He went over the natural 
 history of cow-pox ; stated his opinion as to 
 the origin of this affection from the heels of 
 the horse ; specified the different sorts of disease 
 that attacked the milkers when they handled 
 affected cows ; dwelt on that variety which he 
 conceived to afford protection against small-pox ; 
 and then with deep and anxious emotion 
 mentioned his confident hope of being able to 
 propagate that variety from one human being to 
 another, till he had disseminated the practice 
 all over the globe, to the total extermination 
 of small-pox : adding, 61 Gardner, I have en- 
 trusted a most important matter to you, which 
 I firmly believe will prove a most essential 
 8 * 
 
90 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 benefit to tlie human race. I know you, and 
 should . not wish what I have stated to be 
 brought into conversation, for, should anything* 
 untoward turn up in my experiments, I should 
 be made, particularly by my medical brethren, 
 the subject of ridicule, for I am the mark they 
 all aim at.” But, by whatever passing emotion 
 this caution was dictated, Jenner certainly 
 himself soon made no secret of his discovery or 
 his views. At the meetings of the Alveston 
 Medical Club, of which he was a member, he 
 often introduced his favourite theme; so fre- 
 quently, indeed, that at length the topic was de- 
 nounced as a nuisance, and his hearers to whom 
 he failed to communicate his own enthusiasm, 
 sportively threatened to expel the orator if he 
 continued to harass them with this importunate 
 discourse. 
 
 Sixteen more years elapsed after the con- 
 versation above alluded to, before the 
 efficacy of vaccination was put to the test of 
 actual experiment on the human subject. 
 They were years of anxious suspense to 
 Jenner; of patient and searching investigation. 
 He discovered, from his own observations, as 
 well as from those of others, that what was 
 commonly called cow-pox was not a certain 
 preventive of small-pox. This likewise 
 moderated, but did not extinguish his ardour. 
 He found that cows were subject to a variety 
 of spontaneous eruptions on their teats, and 
 that all were capable of communicating sores 
 to the hands of the milkers, and that whatever 
 
EDWARD JENNER, M.D. 91 
 
 sore was so produced was called cow-pox. 
 This again was satisfactory ; he was now able 
 to discriminate between what he termed the 
 true and the spurious cow-pox : the former 
 possessing a specific power over the consti- 
 tution — the other not. Then a more for- 
 midable difficulty arose. He found that there 
 were well - authenticated instances to prove 
 that when the true cow-pox broke out among 
 the cattle and was communicated to the 
 milkers, even they had subsequently small-pox. 
 Most men would have abandoned the subject 
 in despair. But Jenner did not. By still 
 prosecuting the inquiry he ascertained- that it 
 was only in a certain state of the pustule 
 that virus was afforded capable of imparting 
 to the constitution its protective power — that 
 matter taken after this period might excite a 
 local disease, but not of such a sort as to render 
 the individual proof against the effect of 
 variolous contagion. The causes of failure, in 
 the casual dissemination of the disease, were 
 now ascertained, and his chief care was to 
 avoid them in attempting to propagate it by 
 artificial means. He has left us an interesting 
 picture of his feelings during this eventful 
 period. “ While the vaccine discovery was 
 progressive, the joy I felt at the prospect before 
 me, of being the instrument destined to take 
 away from the world one of its greatest 
 calamities, blended with the fond hope of en- 
 joying independence, and domestic peace and 
 happiness, were often so excessive, that in 
 
92 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 pursuing my favourite subject among the 
 meadows, I have sometimes found myself in a 
 kind of reverie. It is pleasant to me to 
 recollect that those reflections always ended 
 in devout acknowledgments to that Being from 
 ■whom this and all other blessings flow.” 
 
 At length, on the 14th of May, 1796, an 
 opportunity occurred of making a decisive 
 trial. — (On the annual occurrence of this day 
 a festival is held at Berlin to commemorate the 
 event.)— Matter was taken from the hand of 
 Sarah Nelmes, who had been infected by her 
 master’s cows, and inserted by two superficial 
 incisions into the arms of James Phipps, a 
 healthy boy of about eight years of age. He 
 went through the disease apparently in a very 
 satisfactory manner, but the most anxious part 
 of the trial still remained to be performed. 
 Was he secure against the contagion of small 
 pox ? This point was fully put to issue. 
 Variolous matter immediately taken from a 
 pustule was carefully inserted by several in- 
 cisions, and the result is related by Jenner to 
 his friend Gardner in the following language: 
 “ But now listen to the most delightful part of 
 my story. The boy has since been inoculated 
 for the small-pox, which, as 1 ventured to 
 predict, produced no effect. I shall now pursue 
 my studies with redoubled ardour.” 
 
 After zealously multiplying his experiments, 
 Jenner published his first memoir in June, 
 1798. He had originally intended, it appears, 
 to have announced them to the world, in the 
 
EDWARD JENNER, M.D. 93 
 
 “ Transactions of the Koyal Society.” In 
 Moore’s “ History of Vaccination,” we find 
 the true cause of their not appearing in that 
 form. He had been seriously admonished, 
 not to present his paper, lest it should injure 
 the character he had acquired amongst scien- 
 tific men by a paper he had already published 
 in those “Transactions” on the “Cuckoo”! 
 Before the publication of this work, Jenner 
 went up to London for the purpose of ex- 
 hibiting the cow-pox, and of demonstrating 
 to his professional friends, the accuracy of his 
 delineations and the truth of his assertions. 
 All were received with the greatest distrust. 
 During a residence of three months, he could 
 not obtain permission to exhibit the vaccine 
 disease upon one individual. Mr. Cline was 
 almost the only professional man who was able 
 to see at once what invaluable blessings were 
 likely to result from the diffusion of the 
 practice, and, with just regard for the welfare 
 of the discoverer, wished his personal advan- 
 tage to keep pace with the benefits he had it 
 in his power to impart. He therefore advised 
 him to quit the country, and to settle in 
 Grosvenor-square, assuring him he might rely 
 on an income of ten thousand a year as the 
 fruits of his practice. Here was the tide in 
 Jenner 1 s life to which he might probably have 
 committed himself with the greatest temporal 
 advantage. But even now nothing could 
 induce him to leave Gloucestershire. “ Shall 
 I,” he writes in reply, “ who, even in the 
 
94 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 morning of my days, sought the lowly and 
 sequestered paths of life, the valley and not 
 the mountain, — shall I, now my evening is fast 
 approaching, hold myself up as an object for 
 fortune and for fame ? Admitting it as a 
 certainty that I obtain both, what stock shall 
 I add to my little fund of happiness ? And as 
 for fame, what is it ? — A^gilded bait for ever 
 pierced with the arrows of malignancy.” 
 
 But in spite of incredulity, apathy, and 
 ridicule, the fruits of Jenner’s study and 
 patient research were not very long in mani- 
 festing themselves. We find an honourable 
 tribute was paid to him, even so early as the 
 summer of 1799, when no less than thirty- 
 three of the leading physicians, and forty 
 eminent surgeons of London, signed an ex- 
 pression of their confidence in the efficacy of 
 vaccination. And the royal family began to 
 exert themselves to encourage the great dis- 
 covery. The duke of Clarence was very active 
 in the cause in the early part of 1800; and in 
 March of that year, its author was introduced 
 successively to the duke of York, the king, 
 the prince of Wales, and the queen. A 
 reaction now ensued, and vaccination became 
 rather suddenly a favourite practice with all 
 ranks, and, in consequence, not always judi- 
 ciously practised or carefully examined. 
 
 We may here well pause for a moment, to 
 call to mind the nature and extent of the boon 
 that was thus offered to the world. We are 
 now apt to forget that not half a century has 
 
EDWARD JENNER, M.D. 
 
 95 
 
 elapsed since small- pox constituted the most 
 dreadful scourge of the human race ; more 
 extensive and more insidious than the plague. 
 A family blighted in its fairest prospects was 
 an every-day occurrence. Whole towns were 
 occasionally half-depopulated by its ravages. 
 In the Russian empire, it is said to have swept 
 away two millions in a single year. Dr. Letson 
 calculated that two hundred and ten thousand 
 fell victims to it annually in Europe. Of 
 persons of every age taken ill, one in five or 
 six died, while, of those who recovered, traces 
 often remained in the habit only inferior in 
 severity to the evil itself : it appears from the 
 records of the London Asylum for the Indigent 
 Blind, that three-fourths of the objects there 
 relieved, had lost their sight through small- 
 pox ; many were permanently disfigured ; in 
 some, other diseases — such as scrofula, chronic 
 ophthalmia, pulmonary consumption, etc. — 
 were called forth. And the practice of in- 
 oculation, the greatest improvement ever in- 
 troduced in its treatment, however beneficial 
 to the individual, was generally detrimental, 
 by keeping up a constant source of infection 
 which more than overbalanced the advantage 
 of individual recovery. It appears by a 
 document compiled from the bills of mortality, 
 that in the period of forty-two years preceding 
 the introduction of inoculation (from 1680 to 
 1722) the number of deaths from small-pox 
 was, to the population, as seventy-two in 
 one thousand, or about one in fourteen ; but 
 
96 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 that in forty-two years subsequent to that 
 event (from 1730 to 1772) they were as eighty- 
 nine to one thousand, or a little more than one 
 in eleven. Dr. Heberden also states the num- 
 ber who died of small-pox in the first thirty 
 years of the last century to have been seventy 
 in one thousand, whereas, in the last thirty 
 years of the century, it was as many as ninety- 
 five in one thousand. 
 
 The discovery of the properties of the 
 vaccine lymph has put an end to all this 
 suffering and mortality. The affection pro- 
 duced by it is exceedingly mild in its nature ; 
 it affords, when it has regularly passed through 
 all its stages, as complete immunity from the 
 small-pox as the disease itself does ; and no 
 dangerous or destructive influence is com- 
 municated by its effluvia. 
 
 The late professor Gregory had the merit of 
 introducing vaccination into Scotland, in which 
 he was aided by sir Matthew Tierney. 
 Dr. Waterhouse succeeded, about the year 
 1800, in establishing the practice in America. 
 Dr. Sacco, of Milan, distinguished himself by 
 active co-operation on the continent of Europe ; 
 and Dr. De Cano, at that period settled at 
 Vienna, deserves particular mention for his 
 successful exertions in communicating this 
 antidote to Asia. Most of the governments of 
 Europe have since enjoined the practice by 
 various enactments, with more or less of com- 
 pulsion, the results of which, whatever may 
 be thought of such coercion of the liberty of 
 
EDWARD JENNER, M.D. 97 
 
 the subject, have been more favourable than 
 even in our own country.* 
 
 From the time of the publication of his 
 11 Inquiry,” Dr. Jenner consulted everything 
 but private interest in all he did. He not 
 only relinquished all exclusive benefit by dis- 
 closing, in the most unreserved manner, the 
 grand result of his labours, but incurred much 
 expense, as well as spent a great deal of time, 
 in enabling others to profit by his discovery. 
 Fie was all this time by no means in in- 
 dependent circumstances. He had a family 
 and many relations who looked to him for 
 support, and his ordinary practice' as a 
 physician had been greatly interrupted. 
 Alter much deliberation among his friends, it 
 was determined that his claims should be 
 brought before the House of Commons by 
 petition. A committee was appointed, who 
 reported that he was entitled to a reward of 
 £20,000. It detracts from the gratitude and 
 honour of our nation, to record that Jenner 
 did not, on this occasion, meet with the dis- 
 
 * In Sweden the number of deaths from small-pox ill the 
 following years was as follows : 
 
 In 1779 
 
 
 
 15,000 
 
 1784 
 
 
 
 12,000 
 
 1800 
 
 
 
 12,000 
 
 1801 
 
 
 
 6,000 
 
 1822 
 
 
 
 11 
 
 1823 
 
 
 
 37 
 
 111 Copenhagen, between 
 
 
 1752—1762 
 
 the deaths were 
 
 2644 
 
 1762—1772 
 
 
 
 2116 
 
 1772—1782 
 
 
 
 2233 
 
 1782—1792 
 
 
 
 2785 
 
 1802—1818 
 
 
 . 
 
 153 
 
 9 
 
98 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 tinction he merited. By a majority of three 
 only, the smaller sum of £10,000 was voted to 
 him by the house. But in 1807, parliament 
 displayed more justice, and awarded to him an 
 additional grant of £20,000 — a sum certainly 
 not too munificent, when the magnitude of the 
 achievement is .considered in connexion wbh 
 the fact that Jenner had spent several thou- 
 sands in bringing it to perfection. In 1803, 
 the “Royal Jennerian Society” was formed, 
 “ for the extermination of small-pox.” Thirteen 
 stations were appointed in different parts of 
 the metropolis, and in eighteen months the 
 society was able to announce that twelve 
 thousand two hundred and eighty-eight in- 
 oculations had taken place, and nineteen 
 thousand three hundred and fifty-two charges 
 of vaccine virus had been supplied from the 
 central house to most parts of the British 
 empire, and to foreign countries. A striking 
 diminution in the number of deaths was soon 
 perceptible within the bills of mortality. In 
 1803, they amounted to eleven hundred and 
 seventy-three; in 1804, to six hundred and 
 twenty-two only; whereas in the year 1800, 
 they had been two thousand four hundred and 
 nine, and the average annual amount of the 
 preceding fifty years, had been two thousand 
 and eighteen. 
 
 The life of Jenner becomes henceforth iden- 
 tified with the history of vaccination — an in- 
 teresting subject, but a bare outline of which 
 would lead us beyond the limit of this memoir. 
 
EDWARD JENNER, M.D. 
 
 99 
 
 We will, therefore, now take a glance at the 
 account left us of the character and private 
 life of this remarkable man. 
 
 If he had much to elate him — and applause 
 certainly fell to his lot more than most men 
 could have borne — his sensitive mind had, on 
 the other hand, much to endure, during the 
 whole course of the inquiries and transactions 
 in which he was engaged. Severe and unme- 
 rited reproaches were cast upon him by ene- 
 mies, and he was perpetually wounded by 
 the desertion of friends. Attempts were made 
 to injure his reputation, and even to impeach 
 his moral character, and to interfere with that 
 distinction and reward which his country con- 
 ferred upon him. “ The persecutors of Galileo,” 
 says Dr. Baron, “would, I believe, have been 
 eclipsed in their monstrous and outrageous 
 hostility to the splendid discoveries of that 
 illustrious man, by some of the opponents of 
 vaccination, had the spirit of the age, or their 
 own power, enabled them to carry their designs 
 into execution.” It is to the honour of Jenner, 
 that it may with truth be recorded, that he not 
 onlybore success and prosperity with a singular 
 humility of mind, but that he ever exercised 
 the utmost composure and forbearance, and 
 always manifested a forgiving disposition to- 
 wards his calumniators. 
 
 His general habits were in perfect accordance 
 with the native and unaffected simplicity of 
 his mind. Whilst he well knew how to com- 
 port himself with men of elevated rank, he 
 
100 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 loved to visit and converse with his inferiors, 
 and to take a benevolent interest in their do- 
 mestic concerns. “ If the reader could in 
 imagination accompany me with him,” says his 
 biographer, “ to the dwellings of the poor of 
 his native village, and see him kindly and 
 heartily inquiring into their wants, and entering 
 into all the little details of their domestic eco- 
 nomy, or if he could have witnessed him 
 listening with perfect patience and good-humour 
 to the history of their maladies, he would have 
 seen an engaging instance of untiring benevo- 
 lence.” He was particularly fond of conversing 
 with people in the lower ranks of life who were 
 of a religious character. The general cast of 
 his mind is said to have exhibited a happy 
 union of great solemnity and seriousness with 
 extraordinary playfulness, amounting at times 
 to the height of mirth and jocularity ; — yet so, 
 that no one ever had to complain that these 
 latter qualities were misplaced, or obtruded 
 themselves unseasonably. He was accustomed, 
 frequently, especially towards the close of life, 
 to express his regret that mankind were so 
 little alive to the value of vaccination. Amongst 
 the last words which he addressed to his friend, " 
 Dr. Baron, not many days before his fatal sei- 
 zure, were, “ I am not surprised that men are 
 not thankful to me ; but I wonder that they are 
 not grateful to God for the good which he has 
 made me the instrument of conveying to my 
 fellow-creatures.” Incomparably great, how- 
 ever, as was the temporal blessing which 
 
EDV'AED JENNER, M.D. 
 
 101 
 
 Jenner was enabled to confer, he knew its com- 
 parative importance ; he was well aware that 
 there was an instrumentality in operation of a 
 higher order, because it respects that imperish- 
 able part of man’s nature, concerning which, 
 He who could look through the destinies of a 
 coming eternity Himself declared, “ What shall 
 it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, 
 and lose his own soul ?” Of this the following 
 interesting anecdote, in the “ Life of the late 
 Rev. Rowland Hill,” furnishes evidence. It is 
 well known, that that somewhat eccentric, but 
 excellent man, warmly espoused the Jennerian 
 discovery, and frequently offered his services 
 from the pulpit to carry it into effect. He is 
 said to have vaccinated 10,000 individuals with 
 his own hands. A warm friendship subsisted 
 between him and Jenner. Although the latter 
 did not fully participate in his venerable friend’s 
 religious views and feelings, he had the greatest 
 reverence for his character, was a frequent 
 attendant on his ministry at Cheltenham, and 
 was at times forcibly struck with the deep tone 
 of his piety, and glowing anticipations of hap- 
 piness in a future state. Mr. Hill once intro- 
 duced his friend to a nobleman in these terms: 
 “ Allow me to present to your lordship my 
 friend Dr. Jenner, who has been the means of 
 saving more lives than any other man.” “ Ah !” 
 replied Jenner, “ would I, like you, could say, 
 souls !” 
 
 It was Jenner’s happiness to be blest with a 
 “ helpmeet,” who not only herself experienced 
 9 * 
 
102 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 “ peace” from the best of all sources, but was 
 enabled to extend to all around the influence 
 of that spirit which sustained and comforted 
 her. “ I do not mean to aflirm,” says Dr. 
 Baron, “that Dr. Jenner at all times, or 
 during the whole course of his life, participated 
 in the deep and inexhaustible sources of 
 strength and consolation, which so manifestly 
 nourished the heart, and guided the under- 
 standing of his partner, but I should act 
 unjustly by that principle that directed her, 
 were I not to avow it as my firm conviction, 
 that it is to her devout and holy life, and her 
 meek and firm and consistent conduct, that we 
 are in some measure enabled to dwell with so 
 much pleasure on the memory of her husband. 
 I remember, when discussing with him certain 
 questions, touching the condition of man in 
 this life, and when dwelling on the deformity 
 of the heart, our blindness, our ignorance, the 
 evils connected with our physical structure, our 
 crimes, our calamities, and our unfathomable 
 capacity both for suffering and enjoyment, he 
 observed, 4 Mrs. Jenner can explain all these 
 things, they cause no difficulty to her.’ ” For 
 many years before her death, this excellent 
 woman was chiefly confined to her own apart- 
 ments. During this trying period, the tender- 
 ness and delicacy with which Jenner superin- 
 tended everything that could be thought of 
 for her comfort, the administration of her 
 medicine, and the preparation of her food, 
 (which a difficult deglutition rendered neces- 
 
EDWARD JENNER, M.D. 103 
 
 sary,) all indicated the warmest attachment and 
 the kindliest feelings. The unaffected cheer- 
 fulness and thankfulness with which, amidst 
 her pain, she received such offices, was truly 
 instructive. This temper was conspicuous at 
 all times — in the day of comparative health as 
 at the hour of death. She was removed from 
 this world to a better in the month of Septem- 
 ber, 1815. 
 
 The susceptible mind of Jenner was deeply 
 affected by this severe trial, and with it his 
 public life may be said to have terminated. 
 He never again left Berkley except for a day 
 or two. But he did not waste time in unavail- 
 ing grief. As soon as he had in some measure 
 recovered the buoyancy of his feelings, he 
 spent the remainder of his life, though darkened 
 by domestic affliction, in that cheerful devotion 
 to useful knowledge which distinguished his 
 earlier years. Another event of a mournful 
 character, which happened not very long before 
 his own death, rendered his condition still 
 more desolate. His only daughter, Catherine, 
 who had married J. G. Bedford, esq. of Edg- 
 baston, near Birmingham, died a few days after 
 giving birth to her first child. 
 
 Dr. Jenner was himself removed by death in 
 consequence of a sudden attack of apoplexy, in 
 * February 1823, in the seventy-fourth year of 
 his age. 
 
 The following statement is worthy of notice, 
 as having been found on the back of a letter, 
 written apparently only a few days before his 
 
104 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 death, and as being, in all probability, the last 
 sentence which he ever wrote upon the subject; 
 “ My opinion of vaccination is precisely as it 
 was when I first promulgated the discovery. It is 
 not in the least strengthened by any event that 
 has happened, for it could gain no strength; 
 it is not in the least weakened, for if the failures 
 you speak of had not happened, the truth of 
 my assertions respecting those coincidences 
 which occasioned them would not have been 
 made out.” 
 
 A statue was erected to his memory in his 
 native county; but it is matter of surprise and 
 regret, that neither in Westminster Abbey nor 
 in any other public building, has any national 
 monument been raised to him. 
 
 % 
 
 JOHN MASON GOOD, M.D. 
 
 John Mason Good was the son of the rev. 
 Peter Good, and on his mother’s side, was nearly 
 related to John Mason, author of the well- 
 known “Treatise on Self-Knowledge” — a 
 grandson of the rev. John Mason, rector of 
 Water Stratford, in Buckinghamshire, whose 
 “ Select Remains” have likewise had a deser- 
 vedly wide circulation. He received the rudi- 
 ments of education in a seminary conducted 
 by his father, and early evinced those mental 
 feelings and capabilities which contributed to 
 the ultimate development of a no ordinary 
 
JOHN MASON GOOD, M.D. 
 
 105 
 
 character. Delighting in intellectual pursuits 
 of every kind— blessed throughout life with 
 corporeal vigour, and the highest degree of 
 mental elasticity — endowed with a memory 
 extraordinarily retentive, from the ample stores 
 of which he could draw at any time with the 
 greatest promptness, he excelled alike in ac- 
 quiring, retaining, and imparting knowledge. 
 Combining the opposite attributes of contem- 
 plation and activity, he attained unusual emi- 
 nence, not only in his profession, but as a man 
 of general science — not in one department of 
 literature merely, but in many at the same 
 time. Benevolent, communicative, and habit- 
 ually cheerful, there was a charm in his so- 
 ciety which delighted all who were privileged 
 to enjoy it, and in every relation of life he was 
 esteemed and beloved in no ordinary degree. 
 
 At the age of fifteen, young Good was ap- 
 prenticed to a general practitioner at Gosport, 
 in whose employ his time was necessarily much 
 occupied, but he still found leisure to increase 
 his already ample literary and scientific store 
 of knowledge, as well as to exercise his powers 
 in original composition. At this early age, he 
 wrote many poems, and his taste as well as 
 diligence were exemplified by a volume of 
 extracts, in which he laid nearly one hundred 
 authors — Greek, Latin, French, Italian, and 
 English — under contribution. The winter of 
 1783-4 was spent in London. He was now in 
 his twentieth year, and, meeting with a few 
 associates of kindred minds, we may readily 
 
106 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 imagine how ardently he would pursue his 
 professional and scientific inquiries. No sooner 
 was the session finished, than we find him, 
 with strong recommendation from his hospital 
 friends, entering at once into partnership with 
 Mr. Deeks, a respectable surgeon at Sudbury, 
 in Suffolk ; and, within the short space of a 
 few months, that gentleman left the entire 
 business in his hands. 
 
 At this juncture, Mr. Good appeared to have 
 reached the very summit of earthly happiness. 
 Engaged in pursuits congenial to his taste, and 
 possessing cheerful and engaging manners, 
 combined with a disposition ready to evince 
 the liveliest sympathy in cases where it was 
 most needed, manjr proofs of his surgical skill 
 soon were given, which imparted a solidity and 
 extent to his reputation, beyond what could 
 have been anticipated. He was, moreover, 
 united to a highly accomplished and amiable 
 young lady, to whom he was affectionately 
 attached. But alas ! there was a worm at the 
 root of this felicity. In little more than six 
 months after their marriage, his youthful bride 
 died of consumption, and it was his bitter lot 
 to experience that 
 
 “ Cords which vibrate sweetest pleasure, 
 
 Thrill the deepest notes of woe.’' 
 
 After Mr. Good had remained for four years 
 a widower, endeavouring, by professional 
 avocations, scientific pursuits, and the soothing 
 influence of society, to recover his native 
 
JOHN MASON GOOD, M.D. 
 
 107 
 
 cheerfulness, he again married, and the object 
 of his choice was a daughter of Thomas 
 Fenn, esq., a highly respectable ' banker at 
 Sudbury. 
 
 In the year 1792, either by becoming legally 
 bound for some friends, or by advancing them 
 a large sum of money, as to the expected re- 
 payment of which he was disappointed, Mr. 
 Good was brought into circumstances of con- 
 siderable pecuniary embarrassment. Mr. Fenn 
 cheerfully stepped forward to remove his diffi- 
 culties, and would have rendered him more 
 effectual aid, had not Mr. Good resolved that 
 perplexities, resulting from his own want of 
 caution, should be removed principally by his 
 own exertions ; and he forthwith entered upon 
 a course of literary activity, which, though 
 interrupted by repeated disappointments, did 
 ultimately issue in the desired end. He for- 
 warded numerous contributions to periodical 
 publications; he wrote plays; he composed 
 poems; he prepared a series of philosophical 
 essays ; and at length determined on removing 
 to London, where, in the early part of the 
 following year, he accepted a proposal to go 
 
 into partnership with a Mr. W , a surgeon 
 
 and apothecary in extensive practice, and who 
 had likewise an official connexion with one of 
 the prisons. But in this connexion he met 
 with nothing but perplexity and trial. Mr. W. 
 became jealous of his talents and rising 
 popularity, and had recourse to the basest 
 means to injure his reputation ; the business 
 
108 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 failed ; the partnership was dissolved, and Mr. 
 W. died in the Fleet prison. All these cir- 
 cumstances, however, — the defeat of projects on 
 which his hopes had been fondly fixed, and an 
 increasing family,— did but supply Mr. Good 
 with fresh incentives to professional activity 
 and extended literary research. Again he 
 shrank from a full reception of the aid once 
 more offered to him by his kind relative at 
 Sudbury, and, concealing his anxieties from 
 those he most loved, still continued to rely upon 
 his own exertions for success, till he was at 
 length placed by them, under God’s blessing, 
 in reputable and easy circumstances. 
 
 It was not long before he was enabled to 
 obtain that distinction amongst medical men 
 which he eagerly sought. In February, 1795, 
 he gained a prize — a premium of twenty 
 guineas — from the “Medical Society,” for the 
 best dissertation upon the question, “ What are 
 the diseases most frequent in workhouses, poor- 
 houses, and similar institutions ; and what are 
 the best means of cure and of prevention ?” 
 which he was requested to publish imme- 
 diately'. And he also became an active 
 member of a society, formed in the year 1794, 
 under the title of the “ General Pharmaceutic 
 Association,” the object of which was to pre- 
 serve the distinction between the apothecary 
 and the druggist, which it was feared, unless 
 some special efforts were adopted, would soon 
 be altogether lost. Not only in London, but 
 throughout Great Britain, men of the most 
 
JOHN MASON GOOD, M.D. 100 
 
 illiterate character, and grossly ignorant of the 
 science of medicine, did not hesitate to combine 
 the practice of it with the business of retailing 
 drugs, to which, in the country, the depart- 
 ment of u grocer” was occasionally added. 
 Some of these drug-dealing grocers, at Marlow, 
 had substituted, for want of better knowledge, 
 arsenic for cream of tartar, tinctures of opium 
 and jalap for those of senna and rhubarb, 
 and nitre for Glauber’s salts. A physician 
 at Worcester had prescribed for a patient. 
 “ Decoct . Cascarill^e,” to which he added 
 “ Tinct. ejusdem” (of the same.) This pre- 
 scription was sent to a druggist in that city to 
 be made up, but in vain was the shop searched 
 by the principal assistant, for a bottle labelled 
 “ Tinct. ejusdem.” An equally fruitless search 
 was made through all the druggists’ shops in 
 that city. At length the conclusion was 
 arrived at, that so scarce a tincture as the 
 “ Tinct. ejusdem” certainly must be, was not 
 to be met with in Worcester, and the prescrip- 
 tion was actually returned, with the request, 
 
 that Dr. would be so good as to substitute 
 
 some other tincture instead of it. A mistake 
 of more serious consequence had also occurred 
 in the same city. Two drams of “ Tinct. Opii 
 CampJiT had been ordered in a draught for a 
 boy of ten years of age. But the druggist’s 
 shopman, not being aware that this was the 
 technical name for “ paregoric elixir,” made it 
 up with two drams of Tinct. Opii (laudanum,) 
 advising the mother to give the child only half 
 10 
 
110 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 the draught, but that proved sufficiently strong 
 to deprive him of life in twenty-four hours. 
 These are a few only out of many instances of 
 the numerous mistakes — sometimes ludicrous, 
 sometimes truly horrible — which were at that 
 time notoriously committed. Engaging very 
 warmly in the objects of this association, at 
 whose suggestion he drew up a “ History of 
 Medicine, as far as relates to the profession of 
 the Apothecary,” and in others connected with 
 his profession, Mr. Good still continued to pur- 
 sue his literary inquiries, and, as heretofore, to 
 soothe his mind by the delights of poetry. 
 Translations from the poets of France and 
 Italy now occupied much of his comparatively 
 leisure hours. In a letter to his friend Dr. 
 Drake, in October, 1799, he speaks of “ having 
 just begun the German language, after having 
 gone with tolerable ease through the French, 
 Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese and, not 
 very long after, he informs him he had been 
 “ sedulously studying Arabic and Persian.” 
 About this time, he commenced, and, in two 
 years, completed, a translation of Lucretius, 
 “ On the Nature of Things,” an undertaking in 
 which he engaged, according to his own state- 
 ment, that he might bring himself under a 
 moral necessity of becoming thoroughly ac- 
 quainted with the utmost possible variety of 
 subjects upon which men of science had been 
 able to throw any light. This translation was 
 carried on in a way not very usual with works 
 of such magnitude— it was composed in the 
 
JOHN MASON GOOD, M.D. Ill 
 
 streets of London, during the translator’s exten- 
 sive walks to visit his numerous patients. His 
 practice was to take in his pocket two or three 
 leaves of an octavo edition of the original ; to 
 read over a passage two or three times as he 
 walked along, until he had engraven it upon 
 his ready memory ; then to translate the 
 passage, meditate upon his translation, correct 
 and elaborate it, until he had satisfied himself ; 
 and, after he had returned home, and disposed 
 of all his professional business, he would go 
 to his standing desk, and enter upon his 
 manuscript so much of the translation as he 
 had been able to prepare satisfactorily. - During 
 several following years, in addition to the task 
 of compiling elaborate notes and a running 
 commentary in connexion with the above 
 translation, Mr. Good contributed largely to 
 the Analytical and Critical Review, the British 
 and Monthly Magazines, and, besides smaller 
 pieces, published a “ Memoir of the Life and 
 Writings of Dr. Geddes.” Nor was this all. 
 In a letter to the friend above mentioned, 
 dated January 29, 1803 — when, notwithstand- 
 ing these engagements, he was in the habit of 
 walking from twelve to fourteen miles a day 
 to visit his patients — adverting with thankful- 
 ness to the state of his practice as a surgeon, 
 (which then produced more than 1400/. per 
 annum,) he proceeds thus: “ I have edited the 
 Critical Review, besides writing several of its 
 most elaborate articles. I have every week 
 supplied a column of matter for the 1 Sunday 
 
112 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 Review,’ and for some days have had the great 
 weight of the ‘British Press’ upon my hands ; 
 the committee for conducting which having 
 applied to me lately, in the utmost consterna- 
 tion, in consequence of a trick put upon them 
 by the proprietors of other newspapers, and 
 which stopped abruptly the exertions of their 
 editor, and several of their most valuable 
 hands.” It should also be mentioned, that a 
 work which Mr. Good undertook, in con- 
 junction with Dr. Olinthus Gregory and Mr. 
 Newton Bos worth, entitled “Pantologia; or, a 
 Universal Dictionary of Arts, Sciences, and 
 Words,” and which was published in twelve 
 thick and closely- printed volumes, royal octavo, 
 occupied much of his time between the years 
 1804 and 1812. It seems difficult to imagine 
 how he could, with any degree of efficiency, 
 have pursued such a vaiiety of occupations; 
 but such, it is said, w-as the “ energy of his 
 mind, and such his habits of activity and order, 
 that he carried them all forward simultaneously, 
 suffering none to be neglected, left in arrear, 
 or inadequately executed.” 
 
 Plitherto it might emphatically be said of 
 Mr. Good, “ But one thing thou lackest that 
 one, hov r ever, by far the most momentous of 
 all. But the early dawn of a brighter day w T as 
 now T approaching. At first, an almost imper- 
 ceptible, but gradual, change took place in his 
 religious view's and prospects. The “ day- 
 spring from on high ” visited him, enabled him 
 to emerge from the darkness even of Socinian 
 
JOHN MASON GOOD, M.D. 
 
 113 
 
 heresy ; guided his feet into the “ way of peace 
 and shone with increasing brightness upon his 
 latter years, till it conducted his happy spirit 
 to that city which “the glory of God” doth 
 lighten, “ and the Lamb is the light thereof.” 
 
 In consequence, probably, of early associa- 
 tions, Mr. Good always expressed, and no doubt 
 felt, a high respect for religion and religious 
 men, and appears never to have called in ques- 
 tion the genuineness and Divine authority of 
 the sacred Scriptures ; but before he left 
 Sudbury, he avowed his belief in materialism, 
 and the doctrine of Universalists wdth regard 
 to future punishment, and selected for his prin- 
 cipal associates some gentlemen who maintained 
 the soul-destroying tenets of modern Socinian- 
 ism. On his removal to London, he was, un- 
 happily, induced to join the most celebrated 
 Unitarian congregation of the day, and he con- 
 tinued in connexion with it for fourteen years. 
 During all this time, the Bible was always a 
 favourite book with him, but it is to be feared 
 he turned to it rather as a source of literary 
 amusement or critical speculation, than for any 
 higher purposes. But his mind, as he after- 
 wards confessed, was ill at ease. Early recol- 
 lections of better sentiments often assailed him. 
 Numerous engagements, and the delights of 
 the literary society into which he was intro- 
 duced soon after his removal to town, enabled 
 him, in a great measure, to stifle such convic- 
 tions, but without the possession of inward 
 serenity or peace. Still he was, in a measure, 
 10 * 
 
114 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 preserved from some of the worst tendencies of 
 the system ; and when his teacher, the notorious 
 Mr. Belsham, used language in the pulpit 
 which Mr. Good regarded as equivalent to the 
 recommendation of scepticism, he at once wrote 
 a note to him, stating that he felt compelled, with 
 much reluctance, to discontinue attendance at 
 his chapel, and to break off connexion with his 
 society. This circumstance led him to a re- 
 examination of all the sentiments held by them 
 in common, and the consequence was, a gradual 
 surrender of all the leading tenets of the Soci- 
 nian creed, and a corresponding adoption of 
 sentiments more and more in unison with the 
 great fundamental doctrines of scriptural Chris- 
 tianity. As yet, however, he looked upon 
 them as little more than speculative opinions, 
 simply preferable to those he had just aban- 
 doned. It was still a considerable time before 
 they assumed the character of principles of 
 action, and issued, by the teaching and blessing 
 of the Spirit of God, in the transformation of 
 his heart and affections. This great change 
 was brought about in so very imperceptible a 
 manner, that the precise epoch of it was not 
 known to his nearest friends — probably not to 
 Mr. Good himself ; but its reality was indis- 
 putable. One thing was evident to all, that 
 whereas he u was once blind, he subsequently 
 obtained the sense of spiritual sight ; and it was 
 with no small emotions of joy, that some who 
 had mourned over the midnight darkness of 
 such a mind, now witnessed the light which 
 
JOHN MASON GOOD, M.D. 
 
 115 
 
 was in him, shining tl more and more unto the 
 perfect day.” “ When }'cu are weighing things 
 in the balance,” says Baxter, “ you may add 
 grain after grain and it makes no turning or 
 motion at all, till you come to the very last 
 grain, and then suddenly that end which was 
 downward is turned upward. So is it (not un- 
 frequently) in the change of a sinner’s heart 
 and life ; he is not changed (but preparing to- 
 wards it) while he is but deliberating whether 
 he should choose Christ or the world. But the 
 last reason which comes in and determineth his 
 will to Christ, and maketh him resolve and 
 enter a firm covenant with him, this makes the 
 greatest change that ever is made by any work 
 in the world. For how can there be a greater 
 than the turning of a soul from the creature to 
 the Creator ? so distant are the terms of this 
 change. After this one turning act, Christ 
 hath that heart, and the main bent and endea- 
 vours of the life, which the world had before. 
 The man hath a new end, a new rule, a new 
 guide, and a new Master.” Thus it was with 
 Mr. Good ; furnishing one instance among 
 many of that striking diversity of operations 
 wherewith the same Spirit worketh all in all. 
 However long there might continue an uncer- 
 tain suspense, the' “ last grain” was at length 
 mercifully applied, and the indications of the 
 balance were no longer doubtful. In accom- 
 plishing and confirming this change, several 
 afflicting dispensations of Providence seem to 
 have been in a great measure instrumental. 
 
116 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 For a considerable period Mrs. Good’s health 
 was very indifferent, and at a season when she 
 had been longer than usual well, both their 
 daughters were afflicted, almost simultaneously, 
 with protracted and dangerous indispositions. 
 The family were then on a visit to Mr. Good’s 
 son-in-law at South End, and Mr. G. was for 
 six or seven weeks in succession, engaged dur- 
 ing the day in his professional pursuits, and 
 during the night most sedulously and solicit- 
 ously watching the sick beds of his afflicted 
 children. At this season of parental anxiety 
 he scarcely got any sleep, except as he tra- 
 velled from South End to his house in town. 
 But he seems to have heard “ the rod, and who 
 hath appointed it,” deriving from these afflictions 
 a deeper sense of the uncertainty of life and its 
 enjoyments; of the sovereignty of God; the effi- 
 cacy of faith; and the delight of resignation 
 upon those Christian principles the reality of 
 which he now felt. In the year 1823, he met 
 with a farther trial in the loss of his beloved 
 son-in-law, the rev. Cornelius Neale.* “ The 
 conflict is now over,” he writes to Dr. Drake 
 on August 18th in that year; “he has entered 
 into his rest, as you may have probably seen 
 by the newspapers, on Friday the 8th inst. 
 He suffered much at times, and the pain alone 
 
 * Mr. Neale was a Fellow of St. John’s College, Cambridge, 
 in which university he was Senior Wrangler, Chancellor’s 
 Second Medallist, and obtained Dr. Smith’s first mathematical 
 prize. His “Literary Remains” were published in a small 
 volume, edited by his friend, the rev. Wm. Jowett, to vliicli is 
 prefixed a most interesting memoir. 
 
JOHN MASON GOOD. M.D. 
 
 117 
 
 was sufficient — and especially towards tlie close 
 of the struggle — to throw him into severe per- 
 spiration; but his remark was, 4 My Saviour 
 sweated drops of blood for me,’ and this up- 
 held him" It was a severe conflict to break olf 
 his strong attachment to his beloved children, 
 and his still more beloved 'syife ; and yet, at last, 
 he was enabled to make a total surrender of 
 himself to the will of God, and for months had 
 his conversation in heaven far more than on 
 
 earth During the night before his 
 
 departure, it was observed by Mrs. Good, who 
 sat up by him, that she was fearful the night 
 had been tedious to him : he replied, 4 1 shall 
 have a long and glorious day.’ He spoke 
 prophetically, and the prophecy was fulfilled. 
 What, my dear friend, are all the splendour 
 and the pageantry in the world, compared with 
 the sublime and solemn scenes to which I have 
 thus been an eye-witness ? Surely these are 
 foretastes of that 4 fulness of joy,’ and those 
 4 pleasures for evermore,’ which are reserved at 
 the right hand of God, for those who are 
 favoured with so beatific a vision. They give, 
 if it were wanted, a fresh and energetic stamp 
 of reality to the glorious manifestation of the 
 gospel, and show us for what we were born, 
 and the more important lesson how this high 
 destiny may be obtained. My earnest prayer 
 is, that the lesson may be lost on no one within 
 its sphere ; and, with the feeble powers of my 
 own pen, I would enlarge that sphere, if possi- 
 ble, throughout the universe ; and I would 
 
118 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 address it to you, my dear friend, as impor- 
 tunately as to myself.” 
 
 Mr. Good now earnestly cultivated the ac- 
 quaintance of pious men. After the breach of 
 his connexion with the Unitarian congregation 
 before mentioned, he was, for some time, an 
 attendant at the Temple Church, and afterwards 
 at St. Dunstan’s, Fleet Street ; and his private 
 intercourse with Mr. Lloyd, the rector of the 
 latter church, was of much use to him in the 
 best of senses ; but during the latter years of 
 his life, a cordial esteem for the minister and 
 his doctrines led him almost constantly to 
 worship at St. John’s Chapel, Bedford Bow, 
 where he availed himself of the successive 
 ministerial labours of the rev. D. Wilson, the 
 present bishop of Calcutta, and the rev. C. 
 Jerram, until he passed from all worshipping 
 assemblies here, to join “ the general assembly 
 and church of the first-born, which are written 
 in heaven.” 
 
 It should be mentioned, that, in the year 
 1820, by the advice of several medical friends, 
 and the earnest entreaty of others, Mr. Good 
 had entered upon the higher department of the 
 profession. His diploma, which is dated July 
 10th of that year, was from the Marischal 
 College, Aberdeen. In a letter to the friend 
 already mentioned, dated February, 1821, after 
 speaking of various professional topics, he adds : 
 “ I have now tried my new fortune for nearly 
 six months, and only wish I had felt it prudent 
 to have commenced earlier ; for it has sue- 
 
JOHN MASON GOOD, M.D. 
 
 119 
 
 ceeded beyond my best expectations. All my 
 old circle of patients are, in turn, patients still, 
 without a single exception, so far as I know ; 
 and I have added very considerably to the 
 number, as well as have to reply to a tolerably 
 extensive range of advice from the country ; 
 so that my hands are pretty full still.” From 
 the period of Dr. Good’s assuming the practice 
 of a physician, he did not cease to study, but 
 gave to his leading literary occupations an 
 appropriate direction. At the close of the year 
 1820, he published his “ System of Nosology,” 
 a work which had, more or less, occupied his 
 attention, since he first laid down the plan of it 
 in the year 1808. No sooner was this work 
 issued from the press, than its indefatigable 
 author commenced a still more extensive and 
 elaborate performance, which was published in 
 1822, in four large octavo volumes, entitled, 
 “ The Study of Medicine.” And in the spring 
 of 1826, Dr. Good found time to publish some 
 Lectures, which he had, several years before, 
 delivered at the Surrey Institution. They are 
 contained in three volumes, entitled “ The Book 
 of Nature.” Other literary pursuits, which 
 still more engaged his heart and affections, 
 he carried on simultaneously ; but the results 
 of these he did not live to lay before the world. 
 
 During the greater part of his life, Dr. 
 Good had enjoyed excellent health. His con- 
 stitution, as already intimated, was naturally 
 robust, and the cheerfulness of his disposition, 
 and activity of his habits, contributed to its 
 
120 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 preservation. But, about this time, liis friends 
 began to notice, with concern, that the cor- 
 poreal vigour which had carried him, almost 
 unconscious of fatigue, through so much labour, 
 was now beginning to give way, and, during 
 the three last months of his life, his strength 
 declined rapidly. On the arrival of Christmas, 
 1826, he expressed much anxiety to visit his 
 daughter, Mrs. Neale, and her children, then 
 . residing at Shepperton, in Middlesex. This 
 journey he accomplished; but it was to enter 
 the chamber of death. His illness — inflamma- 
 tion in the bladder — was short, but exceedingly 
 severe. From Sunday, Dec. 24th, to Thursday, 
 the 28th, it was found requisite to administer 
 frequent doses of opium, which produced occa- 
 sional confusion of thought — of which he was 
 fully aware ; but this was temporary. All the 
 statements which he gave of his views and 
 feelings, during his illness, were made when 
 entirely collected and self-possessed. A very 
 interesting account of these is contained in a 
 letter from a member of his family to Dr. 
 Olinthus Gregory, of which the following is an 
 abstract : — 
 
 “ On the evening of Saturday, Dec. 30th, 
 the rev. W. Bussell, rector of Shepperton, 
 was sent for. On his entrance, Dr. Good put 
 out his hand, saying, 4 You are the very person 
 whom, next to my own family, I am most 
 anxious to see.’ Mr. Bussell replied, 1 1 am 
 come for the purpose of imploring the blessing 
 of the Bedeemer upon you.’ Dr. Good then 
 
JOHN MASON GOOD, M.D. 121 
 
 inquired, mentioning their names individually, 
 if all his family were present ? And each 
 answering, he said, in almost his usual tone of 
 voice, and with much composure of manner, 
 1 1 cannot say I feel those triumphs which some 
 Christians have experienced ; but I have taken 
 what, unfortunately, the generality of Christians 
 too much take — I have taken the middle walk 
 of Christianity; I have endeavoured to live up 
 to its duties and doctrines, but I have lived 
 below its privileges. I most firmly believe all 
 the doctrines of Scripture, as declared by our 
 church. I have endeavoured to take God for 
 my Father and my Saviour; but I want more 
 spirituality, more humility; I want to be hum- 
 bled.’ Here he became much agitated, but 
 yet went on: ‘I have resigned myself to the 
 will of God. If I know myself, I neither 
 despair nor presume : but my constitution is by 
 nature sanguine in all things, so that I am 
 afraid of trusting to myself.’ Some remarks 
 being made about the righteousness of Christ, 
 Dr. Good replied, 1 No man living can be more 
 sensible than I am, that there is nothing in 
 ourselves; and of the absolute necessity of rely- 
 ing only upon the merits of Jesus Christ: I 
 know there is a sense in which that expression 
 of St. Paul’s, u of whom I am chief,” is appli- 
 cable to all; but there are some to whom it is 
 peculiarly appropriate, and I fear I am one. I 
 have not improved the opportunities given me; 
 I have had large opportunities given me, and I 
 have not improved them as I might; I have 
 11 
 
122 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 been led astray by the vanity of human learn- 
 ing, and the love of human applause.’ Mr. 
 Russell asked, ‘ But is there anything in parti- 
 cular that you wish me to pray for ?’ Dr. Good 
 answered, ‘ No, I have endeavoured to give you, 
 not as a matter of form, but in the sight of 
 God, a transcript of my feelings.’ 1 But,’ re- 
 peated Mr. R., ‘is there nothing in particular 
 that you wish me to pray for ?’ The reply 
 was, 1 I want to be more humble under a sense 
 of sin; I want more spirituality, more humility.’ 
 Mr. Russell accordingly knelt down to pray, 
 but after this testimony to the truth — this 
 statement of his feelings, in which all the 
 powers of his soul and body seemed summoned 
 up and concentrated, nature was exhausted. 
 
 “ Sunday, Dec. 31st, was a day of intense 
 agony and frequent wanderings of mind ; but, 
 in the intervals of composure, and when not 
 suffering from extreme exacerbations of pain, 
 some of Dr. G.’s family endeavoured to repeat 
 occasionally short texts of Scripture, to which 
 he always listened with pleasure; appearing, 
 however, much more struck with some than 
 with others. On one occasion, without any 
 suggestion or leading remark from those around, 
 he was heard to repeat distinctly, with quiver- 
 ing, convulsive lips, ‘ Ail the promises of God 
 are yea and amen in Christ Jesus.’ What 
 words for dying lips to rest upon ! At another 
 time, as one of his family was sitting by, lie 
 uttered some expression not accurately remem- 
 bered, of deep sorrow for sin. This text was 
 
JOHN MASON GOOD, M.D. 
 
 123 
 
 then mentioned: 4 If we confess our sins, he is 
 faithful and just.’ — He repeated, 4 Faithful — 
 yes, nothing can be more suitable !’ 
 
 44 Everything that medical skill could suggest 
 was attempted for Dr. Good’s relief, by his 
 friends, Mr. Cooper, Dr. Hooper, and Mr. B. 
 Travers, but in vain; and on Monday, Jan. 1st, 
 it was but too evident that life was ebbing fast 
 away. He still listened with manifest pleasure 
 to texts which were repeated at intervals 
 throughout the day, and his quivering lips 
 were continually re-uttering the words of Scrip- 
 ture, at times, when intense agony occasioned 
 such convulsive motions that the bed shook 
 under him. His youngest daughter, who was 
 holding his cold hands, said to him, 4 Do you 
 remember your favourite hymn, 44 There is a 
 fountain filled with blood ?” etc.’ He had repeated 
 it in the earlier part of his illness, and told Mr. 
 Russell, that, sometimes when walking through 
 the streets of London, he used to repeat it to 
 himself. In one instance, he altered it uninten- 
 tionally, but still strictly preserving the sense, 
 in a manner which showed that his mental 
 powers were yet vigorous. Instead of, 
 
 * When this poor lisping, stammering tongue 
 Lies silent in the grave,’ 
 
 He substituted, 
 
 * When this decaying, mouldering frame 
 Lies crumbling in the dust.’ 
 
 And a text on which he dwelt with much 
 earnestness and delight, was, 4 Jesus Christ, 
 
124 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever;’ 
 circumstances which evinced, in no slight 
 degree, how totally changed were his religious 
 views and feelings from those that he formerly 
 possessed. Another text, which, without any 
 suggestion or leading remark, he repeated 
 several times, was — ‘ Who art thou, O great 
 mountain? before Zerubbabel thou shalt become 
 a plain ; and he shall bring forth the headstone 
 thereof with shoutings, crying, Grace, grace 
 unto it’ — dwelling with peculiar emphasis 
 upon the words, ‘ Grace, grace unto it.’ He 
 also listened with much apparent comfort to 
 that portion of the Te Deum , ‘ When thou 
 hadst overcome the sharpness of death, thou 
 didst open the kingdom of heaven to all be- 
 lievers.’ On the afternoon of this day he was 
 constantly convulsed, and uttered but one or 
 two connected sentences. But his power of 
 comprehension appeared to last much longer 
 than his power of articulation or expression. 
 His hearing now became greatly affected. Mr. 
 Bussell called to him with a loud voice, ‘ Jesus 
 Christ the Saviour.’ He was not insensible to 
 that sound. His valued clerical friend then 
 repeated to him, in the same elevated tone, 
 1 Behold the Lamb of God.’ This roused him, 
 and with energy — the energy of a 'dying be- 
 liever — he terminated the sentence, * which 
 taketh away the sin of the world;’ and these 
 were the last words he intelligibly uttered, 
 being about three hours before his death. 
 Mr. Bussell twice commended the departing 
 
JOHN MASON GOOD, M.D. 125 
 
 spirit into the hands of Him who gave it. The 
 last time was about one o’clock on the morning 
 of Tuesday, the 2nd of Jan. 1827 ; and at 
 four o’clock the same morning, the breath, 
 which had gradually become shorter and 
 shorter, ceased entirely.” 
 
 Amongst Dr. Good’s papers was found the 
 following, which we here transcribe, as evincing 
 the spirit of prayer in which, during the latter 
 years of life, his practice was conducted : — 
 
 u July 27, 1823. Form of prayer, which 
 I purpose to use among others, so long as it 
 may please God that I shall continue in the 
 exercise of my profession ; and which' is here 
 copied out, not so much to assist my own 
 memory, as to give a hint to many who may 
 perhaps feel thankful for it when I am removed 
 to a state where personal vanity can have no 
 access, and the opinion of the world can be no 
 longer of any importance. I should wish it to 
 close the subsequent editions of my 4 Study of 
 Medicine.’ ” 
 
 u O thou great Bestower of health, strength, 
 and comfort, grant thy blessing upon the pro- 
 fessional duties in which this day I may engage. 
 Give me judgment to discern disease, and skill 
 to treat it ; and crown with thy favour the 
 means that may be devised for recovery ; for 
 with thine assistance the humblest instrument 
 may succeed, as, without it, the ablest must 
 prove unavailing. Save me from all sordid 
 motives, and endow me with a spirit of pity 
 and liberality towards the poor, and of tender- 
 11 * 
 
126 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 ness and sympathy towards all, that I may 
 enter into the various feelings by which they 
 are respectively tried, may weep with those 
 that weep, and rejoice with those that rejoice. 
 
 “ And sanctify their souls, as well as heal 
 their bodies. Let faith and patience and every 
 Christian virtue they are called upon to exercise 
 have their perfect work ; so that in the gracious 
 dealings of thy Spirit and thy providence, they 
 may find in the end, whatever that end may be, 
 that it has been good for them to have been 
 afflicted. 
 
 “ Grant this, O heavenly Father, for the love 
 of that adorable Redeemer, who while on earth 
 went about doing good, and now ever liveth to 
 make intercession in heaven. Amen.” 
 
 ROBERT GOOCH, M.D. 
 
 Dr.. Gooch was a native of Yarmouth, in Nor- 
 folk, at which place he was born in June, 1784. 
 His father commanded a vessel in the merchant 
 service, but his circumstances were limited, 
 and it was not in his power to give his son a 
 classical education. At the age of fifteen, he 
 was apprenticed to Mr. Borrett, a surgeon and 
 apothecary in his native town. Without any 
 assistance from others, he now began the study 
 of Latin, and persevered till he was able to read 
 that language with tolerable facility. 
 
 Possessed of a highly imaginative mind, 
 
ROBERT GOOCH, M.D. 
 
 127 
 
 Gooch was not only in the habit of indulging 
 many a waking reverie, but was accustomed 
 to attach much importance to dreaming, as we 
 shall have again occasion to notice. The 
 following extract from one of his loose papers 
 gives us some insight into his habit of reverie 
 and is interesting as descriptive of his habits 
 at a very early period. 
 
 “ From the age of fifteen to twenty-one I was 
 an apprentice to a country surgeon; and when 
 I had nothing else to do, no pills to roll, nor 
 mixtures to compose, I used, by the advice of 
 my master, to go up into my bed-room, and 
 there with Cheselden, before me, learn the ana- 
 tomy of the bones, by the aid of some loose 
 ones, together with a whole articulated skeleton, 
 which hung up in a box at the foot of my bed. 
 It was some time before I overcame the awe 
 with which I used to approach this formidable 
 personage. At first, even by daylight, I liked 
 to have some one in the room during my inter- 
 views with him ; and at night, when I lay down 
 in my bed and beheld the painted door which 
 inclosed him, I was often obliged to make an 
 effort to think of something else. One summer 
 night, at my usual hour of retiring to rest, I 
 went up to my bed-rooin — it was in the attic 
 story, and overlooked the sea, not a quarter of 
 a mile off. It was a bright moonlight night, 
 the air was sultry, and after undressing I stood 
 for some time at my window, looking out on 
 the moonlit sea, and watching a white sail 
 which now and then passed. I shall never 
 
128 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 have such another bed-room, so high up, so 
 airy, and commanding such a prospect ; or, 
 probably, even if I had, it would never look 
 so beautiful, for then was the spring-time of 
 my life, when the gloss of novelty was fresh on 
 all the objects that surrounded me, and I looked 
 with unmingled hope upon the distant world. 
 Now — but I am rambling from my story. I 
 went to bed ; the moonlight, which fell bright 
 into my room, showed me distinctly the 
 panelled door behind which hung my silent 
 acquaintance — I could not help thinking of 
 him. I tried to think of something else, but 
 in vain. I shut my eyes, and began to forget 
 myself, when, whether I was awake or asleep, 
 or between both, I cannot tell, but suddenly I 
 felt two bony hands grasp my ancles, and pull 
 me down the bed ; if it had been real, it could 
 not have been more distinct. For some time, 
 how long I cannot tell, I almost fainted with 
 terror, but when I came to myself, I began to 
 observe how I was placed ; if what I had felt 
 had been a reality, I must have been pulled 
 halfway out of bed, but I found myself lying 
 with my head on my pillow, and my body in 
 the same place and attitude as when I shut my 
 eyes to go to sleep. At this moment this is the 
 only proof which I have that it was not a reality, 
 but a dream.” 
 
 During the period of his apprenticeship, an 
 event took place at Yarmouth, highly interest- 
 ing to young Gooch, and which was the means 
 of introducing him to useful connexions in after 
 
ROBERT GOOCH, M.D. 
 
 129 
 
 life. Lord Nelson arrived from Copenhagen, 
 with his victorious fleet, and the wounded were 
 placed in the Naval Hospital at that place. 
 u I was at the Naval Hospital,” he says, in a 
 letter written long afterwards, 44 on the morn- 
 ing when Nelson, after the battle at Copenhagen, 
 (having sent the wounded before him,) arrived 
 at the roads, and landed on the jetty. The 
 populace soon surrounded him, and the military 
 were drawn up in the market-place, ready to 
 receive him ; but making his way through the 
 dust, and the crowd, and the clamour, he went 
 straight to the hospital. I went round the 
 wards with him, and was much interested in 
 observing his demeanour to the sailors ; he 
 stopped at every bed, and to every man he 
 had something kind and cheering to say ; at 
 length he stopped opposite a bed on which a 
 sailor was lying, who had lost his right arm 
 close to the shoulder joint, and the following 
 short dialogue passed between them. Nelson : — 
 4 Well, Jack, what’s the matter with you?’ 
 Sailor : — ‘Lost my right arm, your honour.’ 
 Nelson paused, looked down at his own empty 
 sleeve, then at the sailor, and said playfully, 
 4 Well, Jack, then you and I are spoiled for 
 fishermen — cheer up, my brave fellow !’ and 
 he passed briskly on to the next bed ; but 
 these few words had a magical effect upon the 
 poor fellow, for I saw his eyes sparkle with 
 delight as Nelson turned away and pursued his 
 course through the wards.” Gooch speedily 
 formed an acquaintance with some of the 
 
130 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 junior surgeons, and, though but a boy, was not 
 unfrequently at the hospital. Mr. Jupper, since 
 an eminent surgeon in London, was one of the 
 number, and, being more advanced in education, 
 having attended the Borough hospitals, hap.- 
 pened to possess a manuscript copy of sir Astley 
 Coopers lectures. These he lent to his young- 
 friend, by whom they were speedily transcribed. 
 Little did he then anticipate the probability of 
 his coming in contact, at no distant period, with 
 the leading practitioners of his age, and taking 
 his place among them, on an equal footing. 
 His fathers difficulties had been augmented in 
 consequence of his detention in a French prison. 
 Great sacrifices were, however, made by his 
 mother, and an aunt, advanced in years, in 
 order to send him to Edinburgh, and with 
 scanty means he arrived there, landing from a 
 Leith smack, in October, 1804. At this time 
 Gooch was remarkably shy ; it was, in fact, 
 his first flight from home, everything around 
 him was new and strange, and he was known 
 only to one individual in the university, Mr. 
 Henry Southey, a fellow-townsman, who was 
 about one year his senior. But a few weeks 
 reconciled him to his new situation, and no one 
 ever entered upon his studies with a more fixed 
 determination to profit by the advantages which 
 the place afforded. During the first season, he 
 rarely, if ever, missed a lecture ; he attended 
 the lioyal Infirmary, and became a member of 
 the Medical and Speculative Societies. In 
 these societies he soon acquired the power of 
 
ROBERT GOOCH. M.D. 
 
 131 
 
 expressing himself with tolerable facility, and 
 before the end of the third session, became even 
 a formidable debater. lie did not affect to 
 declaim, but was always a close reasoner, and 
 usually a most unsparing opponent. In May, 
 most of the students leave Edinburgh ; and the 
 following summer proved an eventful one to 
 Gooch. He returned to Norfolk, and spent 
 part of the vacation at Norwich, with his 
 friend Mr. William Taylor, with whose assist- 
 ance he began the study of German. At this 
 time he became acquainted with Miss Emily 
 Bolingbroke, and soon formed an attachment 
 which became mutual. Highly accomplished, 
 but sensitive and delicate, she was one of those 
 beings who shrink from notice, and can be 
 appreciated only by those who know them 
 intimately. To a man of Gooch’s temperament, 
 disposed to take a gloomy view of his own 
 prospects, an engagement, the accomplishment 
 of which was to depend on his success, did not 
 contribute much to his immediate happiness ; 
 but the friends of the young lady entertained 
 more confidence in the probability of that 
 success than himself, and allowed a correspond- 
 ence to continue between them. When he 
 returned to Edinburgh, in the ensuing autumn, 
 lie first evinced that marked disposition to 
 melancholy which never afterwards wholly left 
 him. At times he was as cheerful as any man, 
 but the habitual tendency of his mind was to 
 despondency, especially with respect to his 
 future course in life, and the real or supposed 
 
132 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 difficulties he had to encounter. In the course 
 of this year he became acquainted with his 
 future friend and patron, sir William Knighton. 
 Gooch knew well how to appreciate the great 
 sagacity and power over other minds which 
 characterized that remarkable man, and, through 
 the whole of his future life, he was accustomed 
 to apply to sir William for advice in all matters 
 of importance. 
 
 The summer of 1806 was passed in Norfolk, 
 nearly in the same manner as the former had 
 been, in the society of Miss Bolingbroke, and 
 the study of modern languages. While he was 
 at Yarmouth, the French frigate, La Guerriere, 
 was captured, and brought into the roads by the 
 Clyde, and the number of the sick and wounded 
 in both vessels was so great, that Gooch’s 
 assistance was requested by the medical attend- 
 ants. In a letter to a friend, he relates an 
 anecdote, which not only evinces his humanity, 
 but gives us some insight into the secret of his 
 future professional success. A poor sailor, who 
 had undergone amputation, in consequence of a 
 splinter wound in the knee, as the only expe- 
 dient calculated to save his life, was suffering 
 from mortification spreading extensively from 
 his lying long on the back. With a great deal 
 of care and contrivance and repeated turning, 
 when the posture began to get uneasy, Gooch 
 at length contrived to take off all pressure from 
 the sloughing surfaces, and soon had the plea- 
 sure of seeing the wound become healthy, 
 florid, and beginning to heal. But the time 
 
ROBERT GOOCH, M.D. 
 
 133 
 
 was now come for him to leave and deliver up 
 his patients to another attendant. At the end 
 of a fortnight, however, he returned to Yar- 
 mouth, to take ship for Edinburgh, and walked 
 down to the hospital to see how Pierre, the poor 
 Frenchman, and his other patients were going 
 on. “ His eye,” said he, “ happened to be on the 
 door as I entered the ward ; he immediately caught 
 sight of me, and clasping his hands with a cry of 
 joy, turned his face upon the pillow and burse 
 into tears. . . . He had not been neglected, in 
 the common acceptation of the term amongst 
 hospital surgeons ; he had had the ordinary 
 attention of a naval hospital, but his situation 
 required more ; his new attendant, I dare say, 
 knew as much of surgery as I did, but he felt 
 less interest about him, and had not given him 
 that thought and attention that I had. He had 
 been suffered to lie continually upon his back ; 
 the wounds on the loins, which I had left clean 
 and florid, were covered with new and extensive 
 sloughs, and his constitution had sunk rapidly. 
 He was wasted to a skeleton, had become irri- 
 table and low-spirited, and did nothing but 
 complain of neglect, cry over his sufferings, and 
 regret the loss of my attendance. I am glad 
 that I came back when I did, for the poor 
 fellow died the night after my return. The 
 affair affected me a good deal; I shall never 
 forget it. His constitution was so reduced that 
 he might possibly have died under the most 
 careful attendance: but I have often regretted 
 that I did not defer my jourr^ in order to 
 12 * 
 
134 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 see him fairly through the dangers of his 
 illness.” 
 
 Gooch finished his academical career, and 
 graduated in 1807 ; and, after taking a tour to 
 the highlands, he resolved to pass the winter in 
 the study of anatomy and surgery in London. 
 He, therefore, became a pupil of Mr. Astley 
 Cooper, at the Borough hospitals, and dissected 
 diligently. Early in the following year, he 
 entered into partnership with Mr. James, a 
 general practitioner, of Croydon, and soon be- 
 came a favourite in the families he attended. 
 He was now married to the lady to whom he 
 had so long been engaged, and had a fair 
 prospect of success in his profession. Still he 
 was unhappy, and continued to indulge a 
 gloomy presentiment as to the future. Nor, in 
 one respect, was he, in this instance, mistaken. 
 The lady of his choice had scarcely recovered 
 from her first confinement, when decided con- 
 sumptive symptoms made their appearance, 
 under which she lingered for about fifteen 
 months, and died on the 2 1st of January, 1811. 
 The infant survived its mother about six 
 months, and was buried in the same grave with 
 her. Dr. Gooch felt this affliction most severely, 
 but he did not sink under it. What at this 
 time was the character, and what the extent, of 
 his religious perceptions, we have no means of 
 correctly ascertaining, but it is so far satis- 
 factory to find that he sought for consolation 
 from a higher source than any which this world 
 has to offer. As soon as he had recovered his 
 
ROBERT GOOCH, M.D. 
 
 135 
 
 spirits, he resolved to enter upon a new scene 
 of professional action. Being now in better 
 circumstances, he took a house in Alderman- 
 bury, and endeavoured to establish liihiseif as 
 an accoucheur physician, considering that to be 
 a line of practice in which his friends could 
 most easily assist him, which they did with the 
 greatest promptitude, especially Dr. Babington 
 and sir William Knighton, to the latter of 
 whom, then in full practice at the west end of 
 the town, more than to any other individual, he 
 owed his early success. In the following year, 
 Dr. Gooch was elected physician to the West- 
 minster Lying-in Hospital; and, in a letter to 
 a friend, written shortly after, he speaks thus 
 cheerfully of his prospects: “ You will be glad 
 to hear that practice is coming in upon me, in 
 a way and with a rapidity which surprise me; 
 if its after progress is at all proportionate to its 
 commencement, (of which I feel no doubt,) it 
 will soon carry me out of the reach of pecuniary 
 cares.” In the same year, he was elected joint 
 lecturer on midwifery at St. Bartholomew’s 
 Hospital with Dr. Thynne, whose death, which 
 occurred shortly afterwards, gave him the whole 
 profit of those lectures. But though a source 
 of emolument, they proved also a source of 
 much anxiety to him. It was impossible to 
 write each lecture, and he often found himself 
 compelled to go to the hospital with scanty 
 notes, and not fully possessed of all that was 
 known on the subject. In one of his letters, 
 he says, “ I am going down to lecture with a 
 
136 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 palsied mind and palpitating heart.” Such was 
 his anxiety, that it affected his health, and laid 
 the foundation of that disorder of his stomach, 
 from which he was never after entirely free. 
 But he was a severe critic of himself — in a few 
 years he became one of the best lecturers in 
 London, and used to go into the class-room with 
 perfect confidence and without any notes, able 
 to teach clearly and impressively that which he 
 himself thoroughly understood. 
 
 In January, 1814, Gooch was again married ; 
 the object of his choice being a sister of his 
 friend Mr. Travers. Not long after this, he 
 removed from Aldermanbury to Berners-street, 
 where he profited by the overflowings of the 
 practice of sir William Knighton. He was 
 introduced by the same kind friend to the mar- 
 quis of Wellesley; and, towards the close of the 
 year, he paid a professional visit to the marquis 
 at Ramsgate. Here he was taken alarmingly 
 ill; his stomach became so irritable as to reject 
 all aliment, and although he regained strength 
 enough to resume his professional duties, he was 
 subject at intervals to the same formidable dis- 
 order throughout the remainder of his life. In 
 1820, he lost his eldest son — an interesting child 
 of five years of age; no calamity which he had 
 ever experienced affected him so deeply as the 
 death of this boy. In a letter, written shortly 
 after this event, he thus expresses himself: 
 “ There is only one object I can talk to you 
 about, and that is my boy ; he is always in our 
 thoughts. Southey, in Roderick, gives the re- 
 
ROBERT GOOCH, M.D. 
 
 137 
 
 cipe for grief, — religion and strenuous exertion. 
 Whoever says that the latter is chief, says false, 
 for the former affords support when the mind 
 is incapable of exertion, and is not only not the 
 least, but the best of the two. When we went 
 dow r n to Croydon to deposit my dear boy in our 
 little tenement there, you will easily believe 
 that I approached the town and entered the 
 churchyard with strange feelings: ten years 
 back I had visited this spot to lay a wife and a 
 child in the same tomb ; since then I had re- 
 covered from my grief, had formed new affec- 
 tions, had had them wounded as bitterly as the 
 former, and was now approaching the' same 
 spot again, on a similar and as poignant an 
 occasion. The scene was singularly instructive ; 
 it cried out with a voice, which I heard to my 
 centre, of the endurableness and curability of 
 grief — of the insecurity of everything — the tran- 
 sience of life — the rapid and inevitable current 
 with which we are all hurrying on: and it 
 asked me how I could fear to submit to that 
 state, into which so many that I dearly loved 
 had already passed before me. . . I added 
 my beloved boy to its former inhabitants, and 
 then asked myself who goes next?” Within 
 ten years, he was himself deposited in the same 
 spot. 
 
 We are informed by his biographer, that 
 Dr. Gooch’s thoughts were at this time directed 
 “ more and more to the subject of religion” — 
 that he u read a good deal of theology, and his 
 letters and conversation showed how much his 
 12 * 
 
138 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 mind was occupied with this subject;” but that, 
 “ like many wise and truly pious men, he had, at 
 times, misgivings with regard to the efficacy of 
 his own faith.” It is matter of great regret, 
 that this important topic has been thus cursorily 
 passed over. It would have been highly in- 
 teresting to have met with more satisfactory 
 evidence of what this short notice gives us 
 reasonable ground for hoping was the fact, that 
 Gooch did indeed seek and derive comfort in 
 his affliction from the only source of satisfying 
 and abiding consolation. The following cir- 
 cumstance is added to the above very brief 
 notice of his religious character: — “ One night, 
 soon after the funeral, when he was harassed 
 with doubts, praying fervently for their removal, 
 and in a very excited state of mind, longing for 
 the apparition of his boy, he fell asleep, thinking 
 that, if such a vision should be vouchsafed him, 
 he could never doubt again. The dream which 
 followed is not the less striking, because it 
 may be reasonably explained by the state of his 
 mind and body at the time. He thought his 
 child appeared, and told him that, although his 
 prayers had been heard, and a spirit was allowed 
 to visit him, still, that he would not be satis- 
 fied, but would consider it merely as a dream; 
 adding ‘ he who will not believe Moses and 
 the prophets, will not believe, though one 
 comes from the dead.’ Here he awoke, and 
 afterwards related the dream to several of his 
 friends.” 
 
 The state of Dr. Gooch’s health was now 
 
ROBERT GOOCH, M.D. 139 
 
 such that he was compelled to restrict himself 
 in the number of his daily visits, and every 
 summer was obliged to quit London altogether 
 for some weeks. In 1822, he visited Paris, 
 and in the following autumn, made a tour 
 through North Wales. It was on his return 
 from the latter excursion, that he passed a day 
 at Warwick, in the company of Dr. Parr, 
 whom he had previously met in London, of 
 both which interviews he has given a lively 
 account in a paper in Blackwood’s Magazine, 
 entitled, u Two Days with Dr. Parr.” When 
 speaking on the latter occasion, on the advan- 
 tages and disadvantages of the different pro- 
 fessions, Parr said the most desirable was 
 that of physic, which was equally favourable 
 to a man’s moral sentiments and intellectual 
 faculties. — One of the party reminded him of 
 his first interview with Dr. Johnson. u I re- 
 member it well,” said Parr, “ I gave him no 
 quarter, — the subject of our dispute was the 
 liberty of the press. Dr. Johnson was very 
 great ; whilst he was arguing, I observed that 
 he stamped ; upon this I stamped. Dr. John- 
 son said, 4 Why do ‘you stamp, Dr. Parr ?’ I 
 replied, 1 Sir, because you stamped, and I was 
 resolved not to give you the advantage even of 
 a stamp in the argument.’ ” 
 
 Towards the close of 1824, Gooch took a 
 lively interest in the question of altering the 
 quarantine laws, which was then agitated, 
 fearing, as he expresses himself, lest “ a set 
 of half-educated, wrong-headed, medical ad- 
 
140 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 venturers should succeed in persuading the 
 government that the plague was not contagious, 
 and that there was no need of any precautions 
 to keep it out of the country.” He placed in 
 Mr. Peel’s hands the evidence he had collected 
 on the subject, and wrote a valuable article for 
 the Quarterly Review, on “ the Contagious 
 Nature of the Plague.” During the whole of 
 this year, he suffered much from illness. He 
 went to the continent in search of health, in 
 company with Mrs. Gooch and his friend, Dr. 
 Robert Fergusson, but he was confined to his 
 bed three days at Calais, and three weeks at 
 Bruges, and returned weaker than he went. 
 When at Ghent, ill as he was, he contrived to 
 visit the Beguinage there, of which he gives 
 the following account in one of his letters 
 “ When we entered, it was nearly 7 ” dark ; the 
 only lights were a few tall tapers before the 
 altar, and as many 7 at the opposite extremity of 
 the chapel before the organ ; the rest of the 
 building was in deep gloom, having no other 
 light than what it received from these few and 
 distant tapers. There were a few people of the 
 town kneeling on straw chairs in the open 
 space before the altar, but the rest of the 
 chapel was filled- on each side, from end to end, 
 by the Beguine nuns, amounting to several 
 hundreds, all in their dark russet gowns and 
 white stiff hoods ; and all in twilight and deep 
 silence, and motionless, and the silence in- 
 terrupted only by the occasional tinkling of 
 a bell, or by a nun starting up with out- 
 
ROBERT GOOCH, M.D. 
 
 141 
 
 stretclied arms, in the attitude of the cruci- 
 fixion, in which she remained fixed and silent 
 for a good many minutes. It was the strangest 
 and most unearthty scene I ever beheld.” The 
 Beguines, like the Soeurs de Charite , act as 
 nurses to the sick poor in hospitals, but are 
 bound by no permanent vow, and have the 
 power of returning to the world when they 
 please. It was a favourite scheme of Gooch’s 
 that a superior class of nurses might be 
 formed for the London hospitals, by a religious 
 association, of course on purely Protestant 
 principles. The letters on this subject in the 
 Appendix to Mr. Southey’s Colloquies, were 
 from his pen. 
 
 On his return from Flanders, he transferred 
 as much of his midwifery practice as possible 
 to Dr. Locock, and henceforth confined himself 
 to the prescribing part of his profession. Still 
 he always found that he had more patients on 
 his list than he could visit. On the promotion 
 of Dr. C. R. Sumner to a bishopric, in April, 
 182€, he was appointed principal librarian to 
 the king — an office which delighted him, on 
 account of his fondness for general literature, 
 and was especially honourable, from its being 
 the first instance, we believe, in which it was 
 ever held by a medical man. 
 
 In the summer of 1829, Dr. Gooch cor- 
 rected the last sheets of the most important 
 work he wrote — and which had occupied his 
 attention many years — that u On the Diseases 
 of Women.” It was the result of a very ex- 
 
142 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 tensive experience, and in no degree disap- 
 pointed the highest expectation of his friends. 
 It is an interesting fact, that nearly all his 
 writings were composed whilst confined to his 
 bed by sickness, and often, when too feeble to 
 hold his pen, he would dictate page by page 
 with a mind as active and powerful as ever. 
 His bodily powers now began to fail pro- 
 gressively, and on the 16th of February, 1830, 
 he breathed his last. 
 
 With regard to personal appearance, Dr. 
 Gooch was rather below the ordinary height, 
 and always thin : his dark full eyes were re- 
 markably fine — the habitual expression of his 
 countenance was made up of sagacity and 
 melancholy, though no features could exhibit 
 occasionally a more happy play of humour. 
 As a physician, he was eminently successful, 
 particularly excelling in the tact with which 
 he seized the symptoms of obscure diseases. 
 His manners were singularly well adapted to a 
 sick room, and the kindness of his heart led 
 him to sympathise readily with the feelings of 
 others, and rarely failed to attach his patients 
 strongly. 
 
 SIR WILLIAM KNIGHTON, BART., M.D. 
 
 William Knighton was born at Beer Ferris, 
 in the county of Devon, in the year 1776. JTe 
 was the grandson of William Knighton, esq., of 
 
SIR WILLIAM KNIGHTON, BART., M.D. 143 
 
 Greenoven, in tlie same county. His father, 
 in consequence of irregular conduct and an im- 
 prudent marriage, had been cut off from the 
 family property ; he died at the early age of 
 twenty-nine, and his widow afterwards formed 
 another alliance. The education of the subject 
 of our memoir was not, however, neglected. 
 He was placed at a respectable, school, and at 
 an early age was articled to his uncle, Mr. 
 Bredall, a surgeon and apothecary at Tavistock, 
 for the purpose of studying medicine. In his 
 nineteenth year, he repaired to London, to com- 
 plete his medical education, by the usual course 
 of attendance at the hospitals and dissecting- 
 rooms. But previously to this period, he had 
 become known to Dr. Geach, chief surgeon of 
 the Royal Naval Hospital at Plymouth, who 
 early discovered in his youthful acquaintance 
 an unusual degree of talent and ability, and, on 
 his return to Devonshire, took him entirely 
 under his own protection and roof ; with the 
 intention, as his own words expressed, “ to 
 model you as I like, introduce you into life and 
 business, and make your talents known.” In 
 the year 1796, he procured him the appoint- 
 ment of assistant surgeon to the Royal Naval 
 Hospital, and also obtained for him a diploma 
 from Aberdeen, for an essay on “ putrid fever.” 
 He had now the prospect of being introduced 
 to most influential connexions, as well as of 
 laying up an ample store of information from 
 his patron’s learning and experience. Of all 
 these advantages he was at once deprived, in a 
 
144 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 very short time, by the sudden death of Dr. 
 Geach, and left without patron, guide, or 
 money, and with the additional embarrassment 
 of a lawsuit, which he had been obliged to 
 undertake, to recover a small estate to which 
 he was entitled as heir at law, and which he 
 subsequently obtained. It was now necessary 
 that Dr. Knighton should settle; and, at the end 
 of 1797, he purchased a small house at Devon- 
 port, where he commenced his professional 
 career, which, notwithstanding his age and 
 inexperience — for he was then only twenty-one 
 — was, by persevering industry, attended with 
 remarkable success. He was soon received by 
 some of the most respectable families in the 
 town and country, by whom, and the occasional 
 naval, military, and other yisitants to the place, 
 his time was completely occupied. In the 
 year 1800, he married the youngest daughter 
 of the late captain Hawker, of the Royal Navy. 
 
 About three years after this event, Dr. 
 Knighton removed to London, with a fixed 
 resolution of surmounting all difficulties that 
 might lie in the way of establishing himself as 
 a physician in the metropolis. Here he met at 
 first with an unexpected embarrassment, from 
 being unqualified by his Aberdeen diploma to 
 obtain the college license. But nothing daunt- 
 ed, he resolved forthwith to go to Edinburgh, 
 and there to remain, and take his doctor’s 
 degree according to the statutes. A house 
 which had been purchased and furnished in 
 Argyle-street was disposed of, and Dr. and 
 
SIR WILLIAM KNIGHTON, BART., M.D. 145 
 
 Mrs. K. repaired to Edinburgh, where his 
 studies were pursued with the most unremit- 
 ting zeal ; volumes of notes and remarks were 
 compiled by him from the various lectures of 
 the professors ; and thus was the theoretical 
 knowledge of that science completed, which 
 had already been practically learned by the 
 bedside of the sick. “ Few people, I believe,” 
 he observes, in a letter written at this time, 
 “ who are determined to carry any particular 
 point, fail in its accomplishment ; and mine I 
 shall never give up but with my life.” In 
 1806, after completing the requisite period of 
 residence in Edinburgh, and passing his ex- 
 amination at the College of Physicians in 
 London, he took a house, previously occupied 
 by Dr. Halifax, in Hanover-square, and fur- 
 nished it with that attention to economy, which 
 the uncertainty of professional success, and the 
 apprehension in an honest mind of incurring 
 debts without the means of liquidating them, 
 naturally excited. But the fears of his rela- 
 tives and connexions in the country, by whom 
 he was strongly urged to return to Devonshire, 
 proved groundless, his own most sanguine 
 expectations were realized; and, through the 
 kind patronage and influence of a limited 
 number of persons of rank, to whom he had 
 become known in his former sphere of exertion, 
 he speedily got into practice. In a short time, 
 he was obliged to add a carriage to his esta- 
 blishment, and had no longer any appro 
 13 
 
146 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 hension of inability to meet the increased 
 expenditure. 
 
 In the year 1809, Dr. Knighton had the 
 honour of being chosen as medical attendant 
 by the marquis Wellesley, to accompany him 
 on his embassy to Spain. His absence on this 
 occasion proved shorter than he had antici- 
 pated, and did not materially interfere with 
 his medical practice. On his return, he was 
 introduced and recommended by his noble 
 patron to the prince of Wales, was eventually 
 appointed one of his royal highness’s physi- 
 cians, and, in 1812, made a baronet. At this 
 period, he had obtained extensive employment, 
 and was in the receipt of a considerable in- 
 come. In 1818, the prince regent appointed 
 him to the auditorship of the duchy of Corn- 
 wall, after which his secession from medical 
 avocations was gradual, till about the year 
 1822, when he altogether relinquished the 
 hope he had entertained of rapidly obtaining 
 an independence for his family by professional 
 labour, and, yielding to the gratificatior so 
 natural to the human heart, arising from the 
 unbounded favour, kindness, and liberality of 
 his sovereign, he became the devoted servant 
 of George the Fourth. From the following 
 short note written by his majesty in 1820, it 
 is evident how much comfort, even at that 
 period, he derived from having recourse to his 
 judgment when under any difficulty and em- 
 barrassment. 
 
 “ My dear Knighton, — Let me entreat of 
 
SIR WILLIAM KNIGHTON. BART., M.D. 147 
 
 you, if you possibly can, to call upon me 
 to-morrow morning, if your health will in any 
 way admit of it, at latest by eleven o'clock. I am 
 so overburthened, that I must absolutely see you. 
 Always most affectionately yours, — G. R. 
 
 “ C. H., Friday night or rather Saturday 
 morning, May 12-13, 1820.” 
 
 Sir William had been in close attendance 
 during the dangerous illness under which the 
 prince regent was suffering at the time of the 
 death of his father ; and on the night when the 
 intelligence was brought from Windsor that 
 George the Third had ceased to live, the fatal 
 tidings, he says, were received by the prince 
 with a burst of grief that was very affecting. 
 How great was the attachment of George the 
 Fourth to sir William, and how necessary he 
 had become to his happiness, is forcibly ex- 
 pressed in a letter written from Holyhead, 
 when the king was on his way to Ireland, in 
 August, 1821. After alluding to the circum- 
 stances of peculiar trial in which he was then 
 placed, he adds, “Continue, I conjure you, 
 from time to time, and constantly if you can, 
 to let me hear from you, be it only, that ‘ all 
 is well,’ for even this is a security and comfort 
 to me that you cannot imagine ; it is utterly 
 impossible for me to tell you how uncomfort- 
 able and miserable I always feel when I have 
 not you immediately at my elbow. You may 
 then judge what I do now at this moment feel, 
 and what I have gone through without you 
 near me, during all these recent perplexities 
 
148 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 and difficulties. You are too well acquainted 
 with the warmth of my feelings towards you, 
 to render it necessary for me to add a syllable 
 more upon that head, dear and best of friends, 
 except that I am always most affectionately 
 yours — G. R.” 
 
 Sir William accompanied his majesty in his 
 journeys to Hanover in the year 1821, and to 
 Scotland in the year 1822. In the latter year, 
 he was appointed keeper of the king’s privy 
 purse, a duty which he ever endeavoured to 
 execute with the unshrinking firmness which 
 its embarrassments required, and occasionally 
 so much in opposition to the. king’s inclination, 
 as would have displeased and alienated a heart 
 less affectionately attached to him. But the 
 king consented to second his servant’s wishes 
 when it was found necessary to put a stop to 
 much unforeseen expenditure, and on one 
 occasion in particular, by signing the following 
 document : — “ I hereby authorize and direct 
 sir William Knighton, bart., keeper of my 
 privy purse, to give notice to our several 
 tradesmen, that they are not to receive orders 
 or to furnish any articles of furniture, etc. etc. 
 etc., or to incur any expense whatever from 
 their different trades, where such expense is 
 to be provided for from my privy purse, 
 without receiving a specific order in writing 
 for that purpose from the said sir W. K. bart. 
 And I do also give my authority to the said 
 sir W. K., bart., and order and direct him, 
 during our will and pleasure, to undertake the 
 
SIR WILLIAM KNIGHTON, BART., M.D. 149 
 
 entire management of my private affairs, with 
 a view to the observance of the most strict and 
 rigid economy, that we may have the oppor- 
 tunity of relieving ourselves from certain em- 
 barrassments which it is not necessary to 
 mention further in detail. We do therefore 
 rely with confidence on the said sir Wm. 
 Knighton for the strict performance and 
 fulfilment of all our wishes on this head. 
 
 “ Royal Lodge, Oct. 26th, 1822. G. R.’ ? 
 
 Mr. Dickie, for many years a highly confi- 
 dential clerk in the banking-house of Messrs. 
 Coutts and Co., and latterly a partner in that 
 extensive establishment, and who, from his 
 position in the banking-house, was well known 
 to several members of the royal family, is 
 stated, when on his death-bed, to have expressed 
 himself as follows “ I thought it right to 
 say to sir * * * * that no monarch, nor any 
 man, had ever such a friend as sir Wm. 
 Knighton was to George the Fourth. He 
 managed and guarded his pecuniary concerns 
 with an indefatigable care, and such a peculiar 
 understanding, that, had I not myself been a 
 witness, I could scarcely have credited it. 
 There were times when sir William thought 
 that he was getting over difficulties, when large 
 accounts came in of which he was not aware, 
 like thunder- claps. He has more than once, 
 on such occasions, in my presence, most re- 
 spectfully but firmly remonstrated with his 
 majesty upon the impossibility of managing 
 his affairs with any satisfaction, or indeed 
 13* 
 
150 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 propriety of conduct, if such unforeseen expen- 
 diture occurred. Sir William’s words, tone, 
 and manner, acted like magic upon the king. 
 His majesty, like a sensible man, seemed 
 obliged from his heart, his whole demeanour 
 showed it ; and I myself, at such a novel 
 scene, was struck with astonishment. From 
 such circumstances, therefore, the name of 
 Knighton is very dear to me. I think it right,” 
 he added, addressing sir William, “ to inform 
 you of all this ; and I say it on my death-bed, 
 and will repeat, that no monarch ever had such a 
 friend as George the Fourth had in your person.” 
 
 The limit of this brief sketch will not allow 
 us to enter into all the various negotiations in 
 ■which sir William was engaged in his official 
 capacity. Suffice it to say, that he continued, 
 at much personal sacrifice of health and com- 
 fort, to be the faithful servant of his sovereign, 
 during the remaining years of his life, and 
 attended him indefatigably during his last 
 illness; and it is deserving of remark, that, 
 during that trying period, he anxiously em- 
 braced every opportunity of directing his 
 majesty’s attention to the great subject of 
 religion. 
 
 The following extracts from letters written 
 during this part of his life, relate to subjects 
 interesting in themselves, and are highly cha- 
 racteristic of his mind. 
 
 To his eldest daughter. 
 
 u Royal Lodge, 20tli Jan. 1827. 
 
 u It may make you comfortable to know that 
 
SIR WILLIAM KNIGHTON, BART., M.D. 151 
 
 I do not attend the funeral of his late royal 
 highness the duke of York ; but I remain with 
 his majesty in the silence of his chamber. 
 Two nights since, the king sent me to St. 
 George’s Chapel, at Windsor, for the purpose of 
 descending into the vault, which contains the 
 royal family who have died within these few 
 years. One man preceded me dow r n the ladder 
 that leads to this gloomy abode, whilst another 
 held the ladder above ; the first man carried a 
 lighted torch. We then traversed a subterra- 
 nean passage, of about one hundred yards in 
 length, at the end of which, looking to the east, 
 was the coffin of king George the Third, ele- 
 vated on a little block of marble. On one side 
 was the late queen Charlotte; on the other, his 
 majesty’s daughter, the princess Amelia ; next 
 to the princess, prince Edward, who died early ; 
 and, on the other side of the queen, another 
 prince, who died young. Then, by turning 
 round, and looking in another direction, on the 
 right, in a niche, was the princess Elizabeth, 
 at whose birth I was present. In the next 
 niche, the princess Charlotte and her baby, 
 her heart in an urn : next to the princess 
 Charlotte, the old duchess of Brunswick ; and 
 farther on in the vault, the duke of Kent. 
 The object of this melancholy and memorable 
 visit, was to fix on a desirable spot to place the 
 remains of the duke of York, that his majesty 
 may know, through my affectionate feelings to 
 fulfil his wishes, that the duke was placed in a 
 situation to be as near the late king as possible. 
 
152 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 “It is quite out of my power to describe to 
 you tlie imposing and solemn situation in which 
 I found myself, in the dead of night, with a 
 single torch in my hand, in the bowels of the 
 earth, with my late king and queen, and their 
 dead family, all of whom I believed had, at 
 that moment, a spiritual existence. I felt as if 
 the Almighty was present, and almost imagined 
 that the spirits of the departed were also before 
 me. I shall never forget this visit. I remained 
 in the vault above a quarter of an hour. The 
 hour at which I now write is four o’clock ; the 
 minute guns are firing ; the remains of the 
 duke of York will reach Windsor at about 
 eight. I am obliged to write in a great hurry. 
 
 “ Yours ever, etc., 
 
 “ W. K.” 
 
 “ March 7, 1827. 
 
 u What you have been told relative to 
 
 the Jesuits, I am satisfied is perfectly true. 
 The state of the world is very unsettled ; but 
 the ways of God are quite inscrutable to our 
 poor understandings. When I look at the 
 arguments on the Roman Catholic question in 
 the House of Commons, the wonder that strikes 
 me is the lightness with which it is argued. 
 Ridicule or flippancy of language, to excite a 
 vulgar or irreligious laugh, seem to be con- 
 sidered sufficient for the most awful purposes.” 
 
 “ April, 1827. 
 
 “ My little drawing-room looks com- 
 
SIR WILLIAM KNIGHTON, BART., M.D. 153 
 
 for table and companionable from my pictures. 
 Every little specimen is a little history to me, 
 and becomes a tale of time past. Ah ! that 
 quick passage of days leads rapidly to the 
 grave ! What then ? What we must all hope 
 for ! something better. I have been reading 
 to-night St. Paul’s narrative, which I had in 
 my hand for the morning portion of Scripture 
 when at Blendworth. I have been much struck 
 at his worldly management throughout the 
 whole of that business which led to his journey 
 and residence at Rome. Common sense is 
 evident throughout ; and that sense separates 
 itself in a remarkable manner from his spiritual 
 conduct. Remark how admirably he contrives 
 the distinction in all his conduct, words, and 
 actions ; taking the world as it was for the 
 circumstances of the moment, and the great 
 and momentous future results. This separation 
 of conduct, in relation to the words used, is 
 truly marvellous. One of the great points to 
 be observed in life is to go so far, and no 
 farther, to stop at the right moment ; in short, 
 to be cautious of errors, and shun extremes.” 
 
 To lady Knighton. 
 
 “ Royal Lodge, 5th Dec. 1827. 
 
 U I made the king laugh heartily a few 
 
 minutes since, at your anxiety lest his majesty 
 and I had quarrelled. You do not know the 
 newspaper tricks. That paragraph was manu- 
 factured for the purpose of mischief. All this 
 is political. — No, no ; there is nothing wrong 
 
154 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 here. His majesty and myself were never on 
 more happy terms of feeling. It is this know- 
 ledge that produces public abuse. I hope, with 
 my own peculiar intellect, I need not fear a 
 change. I have nothing to apprehend but my 
 health, and the eternal wear and tear that my 
 frame undergoes from my great exertions. 
 The king was very kind towards you, and said, 
 
 L Poor little soul ! I suppose she is in a fine 
 fuss !’ Kiss my dear children. 
 
 “ Ever yours truly, 
 
 “ W. K.” 
 
 To a Friend. 
 
 “ Nov. 19th, 1828. 
 
 “ I thank you, my very kind friend, for your 
 letter, which was sensible, entertaining, and 
 clever. Lord Bacon was a very intelligent 
 observer of nature, in every form, but he 
 wanted even the ordinary rules of the Christian 
 creed, as connected with the moral principles. 
 You may suppose, then, what must have been 
 his state as to spiritual Christianity, which, in 
 my opinion, is the only thing worth resting 
 upon. Without this, human nature is, I be- 
 lieve, very much upon a level, as to what is 
 
 called goodness or character, in this life 
 
 To speak personally of myself, little occurrences 
 or little things produce no excitement in my 
 mind. Is this to be wondered at, when one 
 knows certain things as truisms ? such as, for 
 example, that light travels at the rate of one 
 hundred and seventy thousand miles per second. 
 
SIR WILLIAM KNIGHTON, BART., M.D. 155 
 
 Herschel thinks and mentions in his writings, 
 that the light of some distant nebulae would be 
 forty-eight thousand years in reaching us ! 
 After such contemplations, how can one go into 
 the tattle of the drawing-room to be excited ! So 
 true is it, as St. Paul says, 4 It is written, I will 
 destroy the wisdom of the wise, and will bring 
 to nothing the understanding of the prudent.’ 
 This morning I have to thank you for the 
 inclosed, which I shall be glad to know that 
 you have received. The letter is sensible, full 
 of feeling, but imprudent. She is also mis- 
 taken in her religious progress. There must 
 be no vanity, if the heart is to be fully occupied 
 under the influence of spiritual grace. No ; 
 the thing is impossible ; and why ? because the 
 Scripture denounces every species of idolatry : 
 and what is vanity, or the anticipation of 
 worldly fame, whether present or future, but 
 idolatry ? While we think we are advancing 
 in fame, it is a deceptive progress we are 
 making.” 
 
 After the death of the king, sir William’s 
 health was, for a long time, in a most uncom- 
 fortable state ; the slightest emotion produced 
 violent palpitation of the heart, and great ner- 
 vous debility. He now disposed of his house 
 in town, and resided chiefly with his family in 
 the country, where he rendered himself much 
 beloved by his readiness on all occasions to 
 give the benefit of his medical knowledge to 
 the sick poor in his neighbourhood, as well as 
 occasionally to the higher clases, if requested. 
 
156 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 For several following years, his health became 
 less frequently interrupted. The necessity of 
 frequent visits to town, relieved that natural 
 dullness which the change from a life of such 
 great bodily and mental activity to one of 
 extreme quiet might have produced ; and his 
 occasional excursions to the continent were 
 beneficial to him. We w r ill here insert a few 
 more extracts from his correspondence during 
 these absences, including some specimens of 
 that graphic description of character in which 
 sir William particularly excelled. 
 
 To lady Knighton. 
 
 “ London, Oct. 28, 1830. 
 
 * * * “ I began my day by walking to Bays- 
 water to look after dear Mary’s picture. Lin- 
 nell gave me a sight of Raphael’s wooden en- 
 gravings of the history of the Bible. He finished 
 by saying there were parts of these that con- 
 stantly kept the mind on fire, and withdrew 
 it from the grovelling contemplations of things 
 connected "with the common course of art. I 
 then proceeded to the Duchy Office, where I 
 met Mr. Dickie, and having settled some details, 
 went on to the City, and determined to dine at 
 Dolly’s chop house, in St. Paul’s Churchyard. 
 It is a dark dismal place, and you pass through 
 two alleys to get to it. I counted five persons 
 
 on my entrance, one of whom was . We 
 
 recognised each other by a simple nod oi the 
 head, which seemed to imply tnat we were too 
 important to be there except incog. Such are 
 
SIR WILLIAM KNIGHTON, BART., M.D. 157 
 
 the many varieties of vanity. Vain of what ? 
 a lump of clay, that the slightest thing turns 
 into the most loathsome state, which every 
 living creature save the worm would shun. 
 Very near me was a plain man in a carefully 
 combed wig. His evident intention was to 
 confine his age to fifty, but it would not do ; 
 threescore and ten crept through the deception. 
 He directed, on sitting down, three veal cutlets 
 to be brought in succession, hot and hot, half 
 a pint of sherry, and a pint of porter. All 
 this was uttered in a sonorous voice, and with 
 a degree of self-consequence that developed 
 much of the character of the individual. In 
 short, it was evident that his had been, in a 
 little or great way, a life of self ; his own dear 
 self was the great and leading object with him. 
 From this place I crossed over to St. Paul’s ; 
 it was nearly dark, but I paid my two-pence 
 and was admitted. The monuments of the 
 dead bring to one’s thoughts another and a 
 better world ; but the question is important, 
 when you inquire, What are the deeds done in 
 the flesh by these men ? I looked round and 
 found the history of all I saw was blood and 
 carnage — in other words, war. The accidental 
 circumstance of being placed in a situation to 
 be killed by a fellow-man, was the boasted me- 
 morial of the perishable marble. When I said 
 all, there were three who required some skill to 
 find, and who were exceptions to the general 
 rule, Dr. Johnson, sir Joshua Reynolds, and the 
 great Ploward, — he who first taught the world 
 14 
 
EMINENT 3IEDICAL MEN. 
 
 to separate captivity from cruelty — he who 
 entered the loathsome dungeon for the purpose 
 of dividing the weight due to the commission of 
 particular crimes. From St. Paul’s, I paid a 
 
 visit to Mr. , a man clinging to the idolatry 
 
 of wealth, who has not, I believe, many 
 months to live.” 
 
 “ 8th May, 1832, Limmer’s Hotel. 
 
 * * * u I heard poor old Rowland Hill’s last 
 sermon, on Sunday morning. It was very 
 affecting when he used the painful word, 
 4 Farewell !’ Fie reminded all those who were 
 the true followers of Christ, that their separation 
 was but temporary — that they should all meet 
 again in heaven. The sobs in the chapel 
 could then be heard, and they were very gene- 
 ral. The good old man used this remark, 4 I 
 do think,’ said he, 4 a young idle clergyman to 
 be numbered among the most wicked upon 
 earth ; and, to tell you the truth, I should have 
 been ashamed to have lived so long, (eighty- 
 eight years,) if I had not worked hard, and done 
 my utmost, and used all my strength in God’s 
 service. 1 am now in the valley, but in all my 
 travels I could never see the top of the moun- 
 tains till I got into the valley.’ I am more and 
 more satisfied that to live a holy life is to be 
 as much as you can in retirement, and con- 
 stantly to contemplate that awful change that, 
 sooner or later, must come upon us.” 
 
SIR WILLIAM KNIGHTON, BART., M.D. 159 
 
 To a Friend. 
 
 * * * <l I shall now tell you what 1 think 
 concerning the resurrection. The sense in which 
 we are to believe that the body will rise again, 
 is sublimely conveyed to us by the great apostle 
 as a mystery 1 “ This mortal must put on im- 
 mortality !” words as strongly implying as words 
 can do the mysterious fact, that the very body 
 we now inhabit, and which constitutes, in con- 
 junction with the soul, one man, shall meet 
 again in union with that Divine principle from 
 which it had been separated for a time, and 
 shall form with it, the very same intelligent 
 and conscious being as before, though in a 
 purer and higher state of existence. Some 
 men will say, How are the dead raised up, and 
 with what body do they come ? St. Paul 
 returns a similitude in answer, which for co- 
 gency and application to his subject, could not 
 be surpassed by the most renowned efforts of 
 philosophical reasoning ; 1 That which thou 
 sowest is not quickened,’ etc. No illustration 
 could more accurately convey or explain all we 
 should aspire to know of the miraculous trans- 
 formation which is implied in the notion of the 
 resurrection of the body. It expresses that 
 important point, a certain and fixed identity 
 between the risen body and the body dead. It 
 depicts the boundless possibilities of superior 
 excellence in which the vivified substance may 
 surpass its previous condition, just as the splen- 
 dour of the oak in its highest glory infinitely 
 surpasses that of the parent acorn, or the very 
 
160 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 same tree in its death-like garb of winter. 
 * * * In the delineations of our future state, 
 the use of our several corporeal senses is so 
 distinctly alluded to, that if these are not re- 
 stored at the resurrection, w r e cannot heip at 
 least expecting something greatly analogous to 
 their exercise. We are to hear the voice of 
 the archangel, and the trump of God. We are 
 to see eye to eye when the Lord bringeth again 
 Zion. * * * It is pleasing to think that the 
 soul that looks through eyes upon objects that 
 please us here, will look through the same iden- 
 tical eyes in another world, and will produce 
 the same feelings, ‘ though purified.’ ” 
 
 “ June 10th, 1833. 
 
 * * * 11 We breakfasted at the Bush Inn, 
 and then continued our journey by the Milford 
 mail. We took up an intelligent man who had 
 been till lately an innkeeper. He gave us some 
 account of the Bristol riots, and more particu- 
 larly of Davis, a man who had moved very 
 respectably in life, as a waggon-office keeper, 
 and who was much beloved by all who knew 
 him. He had a wife, but no family. This 
 person said, that in the course of a very short 
 time after he was taken, his anxiety and painful 
 state of mind brought upon him such an ap- 
 pearance of age, although not past the middle 
 life, that those who had known him could not 
 recognise him. A schoolfellow who saw him 
 previously to his execution, found the change 
 so complete, that there was no one point by 
 
SIR WILLIAM KNIGHTON, BART., M.D. 161 
 
 which to identify him. It is said of Marie 
 Antoinette, queen of France, that in one night, 
 during the perils of the frightful revolution, 
 her hair turned grey. The influence of the 
 mind on the structure of the frame is very 
 remarkable, and serves to show the principle 
 that God has given to us for purposes so very 
 different from those ordinarily required by the 
 natural man ; for who can help being struck 
 with the power and grace of God, and that 
 Divine influence of the Holy Spirit, when 
 he contemplates the lives of those martyrs who 
 were led to the burning stake ? Ho . change 
 was observed in them, in regard to the external 
 man, whilst the power of spiritual holiness gave 
 them strength and grace to die unflinchingly 
 in the cause of their God and Redeemer. Such 
 is the difference of living in the flesh, and dying 
 unto the Lord.” 
 
 “October 21st, 1833. 
 
 “The country from Geneva to Lyons is 
 beautiful and picturesque in the extreme. 
 We followed constantly the course of the Rhone ; 
 on either side we were encompassed by lofty 
 mountains, and every now and then the rich 
 arid cultivated ground below them gave a variety 
 in the beauty of the scenery not easily imagined. 
 The night was fine, the moon gave us her 
 greatest beauty. We passed several lakes, and 
 every now and then the sound of the rushing 
 waters down the rocks gave additional delight 
 to the mind fond of the beauties of nature. 
 Our company in the diligence was good, but 
 14 * 
 
162 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 the French have an unusual dread of much air, 
 and would rather almost suffocate themselves 
 by inhaling again and again their own corrupt 
 atmosphere than admit the pure air, which is 
 so essential to life, much more to health. We 
 put up at the Hotel de Milan, which, though 
 not good, answered our purpose for the time. 
 Our usual plan was to dine at the table d'hote 
 of the inn. Here we saw a variety of charac- 
 ters — the young, the coxcomb, the unexpe- 
 rienced, the cautious, the selfish, the soldier, 
 the man of business, and the man of pleasure — 
 each busy after his own manner — sensible or 
 insipid, filthy or the contrary, pretending or 
 the direct opposite. The most useful seemed 
 to be to us the man of business, and one whose 
 peculiarities interfered the least with the moral 
 observances of our nature ; he satisfied his 
 wants with as little loss of time as possible, 
 and away instantly to his vocation. The mili- 
 tary man, with his paraphernalia of orders, we 
 observed, always conducted his expenditure 
 with economy, and with an indication that he 
 expected attention from the domestics ; when- 
 ever he sounded his wants, it was always in the 
 form of a command, and with a demonstration 
 of consequence.” 
 
 u Athenaeum, January 5th, 1836. 
 
 “ I write again to-day, contrary to my in- 
 tention, for the purpose of acknowledging your 
 letter, and saying, that I shall be happy to 
 receive dear Mary on Thursday. I have just 
 
SIR WILLIAM KNIGHTON, BART., M.D. 163 
 
 returned from hearing old Mr. Wilkinson in the 
 City. I think he must be above eighty — quite 
 clear and distinct. A beautiful old church, 
 thronged to fulness. I could only just get in 
 and stand by the door. I was not in time for 
 his text; I think it was on regeneration. The 
 first words I heard from him were, 1 Eemember 
 that the day of death is, in effect, the day of 
 judgment.’ He then said that there were three 
 joyous periods in the history of the believer. 
 The first was the day of conversion, when the 
 finger of God, by his Holy Spirit, writes on the 
 heart the comfortable assurance, 1 Thy sins are 
 forgiven thee by the redeeming blood of thy 
 Saviour Jesus Christ.’ Under such circum- 
 stances, the next joyous day is the day of our 
 death, when all the miseries our mortal flesh is 
 heir to will terminate ; and then comes the third 
 period of our joy, namely, our ascension into 
 heaven. This gentleman has the most striking 
 countenance you ever saw. What a beautiful 
 picture might be made of him, and of the mar- 
 vellous variety of strange, care-worn faces, by 
 which his pulpit is surrounded! I mean this 
 evening to hear Mr. E. This will be a good 
 way of spending the evening of my birth. It 
 is a long time ago, and when I see what has 
 happened during the last year, it is not unlikely 
 that I may never see another.” 
 
 The letters of sir William Knighton, about 
 this time, were frequently filled with accounts 
 of the sermons he heard, and of particular 
 sentiments in them which had arrested his 
 
164 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 attention. Towards the close of his life, those 
 views of religion which he had gradually em- 
 braced became much clearer, and he rested 
 upon them with more cordial acquiescence. 
 Impressed with a deep sense of his own un- 
 worthiness, he appeared to be dying daily to 
 the hopes and consolations of this world, and 
 earnest in seeking those things which are above. 
 He had been honoured with the friendship of 
 princes and the favour of royalty. These high 
 and flattering distinctions he gratefully acknow- 
 ledged, but had now learned to estimate them 
 at their true value, for he could contrast them 
 with the far higher honour which cometh from 
 God only, and the infinite blessedness arising 
 from communion with Christ, the King of kings 
 and Lord of lords. He had investigated the 
 truths of Christianity with all the powers of a 
 strong mind, but, with simple dependence 
 upon that scriptural promise, the fulfilment of 
 which he experienced: “ Ask, and ye shall 
 receive ; seek, and ye shall find ; knock, and it 
 shall be opened unto you;” — your heavenly 
 Father will “ give the Holy Spirit to them that 
 ask him.” 
 
 He had for a long time suffered under symp- 
 toms of diseased heart, and much embarrass- 
 ment in respiration, and was fully aware of the 
 hopeless nature of his illness. He said to a 
 kind relative who was frequently at his bedside, 
 “ I do not know what my medical friends think 
 of me ; but they need not fear to tell me their 
 opinion. I have not left it to this hour to make 
 
SIR WILLIAM KNIGHTON, BART., M.D. 165 
 
 my peace with God.” — 44 When I was a young 
 man,” he added, 44 I knew God; but I departed 
 from him, and he has brought me back to 
 himself again.” Speaking of prayer, he said, 
 4 1 pray to God for the pardon of my sins, and 
 that he will give me his Holy Spirit for the sake 
 of Jesus Christ. I pray that my conversion 
 may be a sincere one, and that all my thoughts 
 may be purified in the blood of Christ.” A 
 friend, who visited him, prayed, 44 that if it were 
 the Lord’s will, he might be raised up from his 
 bed of sickness to glorify God ; but if not, that 
 God would give him a sense of sin, and of 
 peace and joy in his Saviour, and that, at last, 
 he would receive his spirit to himself.” He 
 said, 44 That is my mind and desire exactly.” 
 Prayer and meditation on the expiatory 
 sacrifice and justifying righteousness of Christ 
 seemed to alleviate his sufferings ; in speaking 
 of which, on one occasion, to his physician, 
 he observed, 44 See what sin has brought into 
 the world ! ” 
 
 He expressed a firm conviction that Christ 
 was sustaining him, and requested, even on the 
 night preceding his death, that his family 
 might be assembled as usual to unite with him 
 in family prayer, and in seeking that Divine 
 support which his circumstances required. On 
 this last occasion, he took an affectionate and 
 solemn farewell of them, and soon after sank 
 into a tranquil sleep, which, at about half- past 
 two on the following morning, was exchanged, 
 without the slightest apparent suffering, for the 
 
166 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 sleep of death, his spirit having fled to God his 
 Saviour. Sir William died on the 11th of 
 October, 1836. 
 
 JAMES HOPE, MD. 
 
 Dr. Hope was the son of Thomas Hope, esq., of 
 Prestbury Hall, Cheshire. He was born Feb. 
 23, 1801, and was the tenth child of a family 
 of twelve. It is remarkable that he felt in 
 early life an apparently almost invincible 
 aversion to that profession in which, at a 
 comparatively early period, he rapidly attained 
 such distinction, and for which his naturally 
 close and reflecting intellectual habits so well 
 qualified him. It was his father’s wish that 
 he should be a merchant ; his own to attain 
 eminence at the bar. At length, after a period 
 of much uncertainty, he yielded to the per- 
 suasion of a leading physician at Manchester, 
 to make trial of the practice of physic, upon 
 one condition only, that he should be allowed 
 to practise in London — a wish prompted by a 
 secret consciousness of his talents, and by that 
 proud ambition which, till overruled by higher 
 and better principles, seems to have been the 
 master-spring of all his conduct, leading him 
 to scorn success in every field except where he 
 should have to compete with talent of the 
 highest order. 
 
 He commenced his medical studies at Edin- 
 
JAMES HOPE, M.D. 
 
 167 
 
 burgh in the autumn of 1820. From the 
 extreme aversion he felt for practical anatomy, 
 his first year was one of disgust and unhappi- 
 ness. Still he determined to persevere. Having 
 now made up his mind that the medical 
 profession was the sphere in which all his 
 ambitious dreams were to be realized, he relied 
 on the power of habit to overcome his disgust. 
 But he dissected in gloves and with forceps, 
 so as never to touch the body ; and so strongly 
 rooted were his feelings, that it took two years 
 to overcome them in any tolerable degree, and 
 they continued to affect him slightly, even 
 six or seven }^ears afterwards. Dr. Baillie 
 was at that time at the head of the profession 
 in London, and he was the model which young 
 Hope proposed for his own imitation. He soon 
 discovered that that celebrated physician owed 
 much of his eminence and success to his 
 knowledge of morbid anatomy, and therefore 
 at once determined to concentrate all his 
 powers on this most essential, though least 
 agreeable part of his studies, and he speedily 
 planned a work on the morbid anatomy of the 
 whole body, illustrated by engravings. At 
 that time there was no similar work in exist- 
 ence. Before leaving Edinburgh, Dr. Hope 
 successively filled the offices of house-surgeon 
 and house-physician to the infirmary, and was 
 one of the presidents of the Medical Society. 
 The two years he spent in the Edinburgh 
 Infirmary, he has been often heard to saj', 
 were the most valuable of his life — he literally 
 
168 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 lived at the bed-side of his patients, and the 
 sphere for observation was nearly unlimited. 
 He graduated on the 1st of August, 1825. At 
 the commencement of the following year, Dr. 
 Hope went to London for the purpose of study- 
 ing surgery, for although he restricted himself 
 exclusively to the practice of medicine, he 
 determined from the first to study the two 
 branches equally, and was accustomed to 
 observe that his knowledge of surgery was 
 ever afterwards of the greatest use to him, 
 and that it gave him a confidence which he 
 could never otherwise have enjoyed. He 
 therefore proceeded so far as to pass his 
 examination before the College of Surgeons. 
 Mr. Cline was his only examiner, and he soon 
 dismissed him with the remark, “ You know 
 your profession, Sir; we need not detain you.” 
 The next year was spent at Paris, and it 
 proved to be one of the most laborious of his 
 life. A grand difficulty confronted him in 
 the outset. Although he had a good knowledge 
 of French and Italian, as far as mere reading 
 went, he found it by no means so easy a thing 
 as he imagined, to profit by the lessons of 
 professors, or to converse with the natives of 
 the country. Of this he soon met with a 
 humiliating proof. He went to engage apart- 
 ments at a private hotel, but after a panto- 
 mimic performance of some twenty minutes 
 between himself and the landlady, it was found 
 that neither could, in the slightest degree, 
 understand the other ; and after laughter and 
 
169 
 
 ja:.ies hope, m.d. 
 
 reciprocal bows, he retired in despair. He 
 now determined to devote twelve hours a day 
 to the mere practice of speaking French. He 
 engaged a master and made him go through 
 the drudgery of reading three words at a time, 
 while he mimicked them as closely as he could. 
 He exercised himself by means of Wanostrocht’ s 
 Grammar with a key to it. He went to dine 
 daily at a small and crowded restaurant, fre- 
 quented by the garde-du- corps, where the 
 company was so closely packed, that he could 
 not avoid overhearing the conversation of two 
 or three contiguous tables. In this way his ear 
 got familiarized with all the sounds of the 
 French language, and having a fancy for the 
 rooms of the private hotel, to which he had 
 originally gone, he again waited on the land- 
 lady. On entering, he addressed her in fluent 
 French, explained his wishes, etc. The land- 
 lady, meanwhile, with uplifted arms, and an air 
 of utter amazement, exclaimed, “ Voila, un 
 miracle /” “You cannot be the same gentle- 
 man who called here a month ago, and could 
 not speak a single word of French!” “ The 
 same notwithstanding.” The rooms were then 
 duly taken, and he continued to occupy them 
 during his residence in Paris. He now began 
 his attendance at the hospitals at the early 
 hour of live in the morning, visiting the most 
 important, but settling at La Charite, where 
 M. Chomel was professor of clinical medicine. 
 Chomel soon singled out the diligent English- 
 man, and proposed to make him one of his 
 15 
 
170 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 clinical clerks — an offer which was gladly 
 accepted. 
 
 From his earliest childhood Dr. Hope had 
 manifested an unusual facility in the use of 
 the pencil and the brush. During his resi- 
 dence in Edinburgh he began to carry into 
 execution his design, already alluded to, of a 
 work on morbid anatomy embellished with 
 plates, and he had now ample opportunities of 
 prosecuting such a work. From specimens of 
 morbid anatomy, procured from various 
 sources, he compelled himself to make three or 
 four drawings a week ; one of the most irksome 
 tasks, he was accustomed to say, that he ever 
 performed. His repugnance to anatomy was 
 not totally subdued, and it was only by the 
 strongest mental effort that he was able to 
 proceed. Notwithstanding, he thus occupied 
 himself five hours daily. On the 6th of 
 June, 1827, Dr. Hope quitted Paris, and in 
 company with a friend, took a delightful tour 
 through Switzerland and Italy, making a stay 
 of three weeks at Venice, in the family of the 
 late estimable British consul, Mr. Money. His 
 remarks on this family, in a letter to an inti- 
 mate friend, considered in connexion with the 
 subsequent change in his religious views, is 
 worthy of mention. “ The extreme kindness 
 of this amiable and estimable family has 
 almost domesticated us with them. The 
 prominent feature in the character of the 
 family is an ardent and sincere piety, and it is 
 a most impressive lesson to see how happy 
 
JAMES HOPE, M.D. 
 
 171 
 
 they are under the influence of such feelings. 
 Whatever the world may say, my dear George, 
 it is a clear case to me that the saints have 
 the laugh on their side. If wishing would 
 add me to their number, I would get enrolled 
 to-morrow.” 
 
 Preparatory to settling in his profession, 
 Dr. Hope spent some months in visiting his 
 family and friends in England and Scotland. 
 His father had now nearly attained the 1 
 eightieth year of his age. A series of afflic- 
 tions had bowed down his naturally high 
 spirit, and been the means of leading him to 
 seek u that peace which the world cannot 
 give.” Having been himself blessed through 
 life with excellent health, which he was in the 
 habit of attributing to his having “ always 
 kept out of the doctor’s hands,” it so happened 
 that he had a supreme contempt of medicine 
 and of medical men. Being proud, however, 
 of his son, he hoped he would prove an ex- 
 ception to the general rule, and to this end 
 did not fail to recommend a book of no 
 ordinary quack receipts, which was received 
 with all deference. But, what was much better, 
 he promised to give him a few words of good 
 advice. This promise was often claimed, but 
 never fulfilled, till the day before his departure, 
 when the old gentleman invited him to take a 
 walk in the neighbouring park, and suddenly 
 stopping, he delivered himself to the following 
 effect. “ Now, James, I shall give you the 
 advice that I promised, and if you follow it, 
 
172 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 you will be sure to succeed in your profession. 
 First : Never keep a patient ill longer than you 
 can possibly help. Secondly: Never take a 
 fee to which you do not feel yourself to be 
 justly entitled. And, thirdly: Always praij 
 for your patients.” A short time before his 
 death, Dr. Hope said that these maxims had 
 been the rule of his conduct, and that he could 
 testify to their success. 
 
 Fully aware of what was required to attain 
 what he considered the sole object worthy of 
 his ambition, to be at the head of the pro- 
 fession in London, he was now resolved not to 
 shrink from the ordeal through which he had 
 to pass. He turned a deaf ear to various 
 solicitations that were made him to settle in 
 other places where he had connexions, de- 
 termining either to be nothing or to be the 
 first physician in the first metropolis in the 
 world. He lay under two disadvantages, 
 which would alone have been sufficient to 
 deter any one of less determined energy than 
 himself. Fie had not taken his degree at an 
 English university, and was, therefore, in- 
 eligible to a fellowship of the College of Phy- 
 sicians — a circumstance which was a serious 
 obstacle to his obtaining those appointments to 
 which he aspired : and he had no private 
 connexion. The sole advantages which he 
 possessed were his natural powers of mind 
 and his superior education. To these alone 
 he could look, under providence, for success, 
 but they proved amply sufficient. He had 
 
JAMES HOPE, M.D. 
 
 173 
 
 formed, however, it appears, much too favour- 
 able an estimate of his profession, and believed 
 that the wealth which rewarded those who 
 attained eminence in it, was both greater and 
 more easily acquired than he afterwards 
 found it to be. On arriving in London, 
 Dr. Hope was led into the belief that the first 
 twenty physicians in the metropolis divided 
 •about £80,000 annually between them, and 
 that a successful physician might hope to be 
 established in good practice in five years. To 
 be one of so large a number as twenty seemed 
 no difficult task, and, therefore, he ignorantly 
 hoped that, if he succeeded at all, he should 
 be receiving £4000 per annum. But he soon 
 found that, notwithstanding the extraordinary 
 reputation which, in a very short period, he 
 acquired, his practice made very tardy ap- 
 proaches indeed towards anything like this 
 amount. Often did he try to discover wherein 
 lay his fault, (for such he thought it must be,) 
 until he was relieved by the observations of 
 two of the first physicians in London. Dr. 
 Chambers told him that it was absolutely 
 impossible for any man who did not keep a 
 carriage to find time to obtain more than <£500 
 per annum at the very most. Sir H. Halford, 
 while congratulating him on being of the 
 number of the successful few of his profession, 
 told him that if he made <£1000 per annum 
 by the time he was forty, he might feel certain 
 of attaining the first eminence that the pro- 
 fession could offer. Dr. Hope’s career ter- 
 15 * 
 
174 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 minated at this age, and he was then receiving 
 more than four times as much as sir Henry 
 had led him to expect. But he did not con- 
 sider himself as a fair criterion of professional 
 success, as he was universally considered to 
 have attained very early eminence, and his 
 own observation led him to believe that this 
 opinion was not unfounded. 
 
 Dr. Hope had long assigned to himself the 
 execution of two works — “ A Treatise on 
 Diseases of the Heart,” and that already men- 
 tioned, on “ Morbid Anatomy, illustrated by 
 plates;” and, for the completion of them, he 
 allotted seven years. The materials for the 
 latter work were nearly prepared, and the only 
 difficulty he had to encounter in its publication 
 was the enormous expense of the engravings. 
 But the subject of “Diseases of the Heart” 
 was then not very well understood. lie in- 
 tended to introduce a good deal of original 
 matter; and although he had bestowed much 
 thought upon it, from the period of his medical 
 studies at Edinburgh, there were many points 
 on which his judgment was not fully formed. 
 It appeared essential that he should continue 
 his studies at some large hospital, and he 
 selected St. George’s as the one to which his 
 ambition prompted him to hope he should one 
 day be physician. Here he soon became con- 
 spicuous for his regular attendance and un- 
 varying application. Never was he to be seen 
 without his stethoscope, his book for taking 
 notes of cases, and a small ink bottle attached 
 
JAMES HOPE, M.D. 
 
 175 
 
 to bis button. At that time there was much 
 prejudice in England, and especially at 
 St. George’s, against “ auscultation ,” (the use of 
 the stethoscope,) in the examination of diseases 
 of the chest. This Dr. Hope determined to 
 remove, and he adopted the most judicious 
 course, that, namely, of leaving facts to speak 
 for themselves. He took the most minute 
 notes of them all, wrote down the conclusions 
 to which he was led in as great detail as pos- 
 sible, and, before proceeding to a post mortem 
 examination, publicly placed his book on the 
 table that it might be read by every one. 
 He was invariably correct. Attention was 
 soon drawn to him. His accuracy silenced 
 every objection, and all intelligent and candid 
 men became convinced of the utility of the 
 stethoscope. In connexion with this subject, 
 Dr. Hope entered upon a series of experiments 
 relative to the various sounds of the heart in 
 a healthy and morbid condition, and satisfied 
 himself upon so many points that had remained 
 unexplored, that he now felt justified in pre- 
 senting his discoveries to the public. He ac- 
 cordingly set about his projected work, and 
 wrote with such diligence that he completed it 
 in one year, though it was an octavo volume 
 of about six hundred pages. Being favoured 
 with a good constitution, it had long been 
 his custom to work, with little intermission, 
 from seven in the morning till twelve at 
 night. In consequence, his name is to be added 
 to the list of victims who have ruined even 
 
176 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 robust health, by over- tasking their powers of 
 body and mind, till they have practically found, 
 in the emphatic language of one of the most 
 learned and accomplished of the human race, 
 that “ this also is vanity.” Once thoroughly 
 engaged in any work of interest, and not 
 feeling at the time any extraordinary fatigue, 
 he seemed not to know where to stop. When 
 writing this book, he frequently sat up half 
 the night. When completing it, he often rose 
 at three in the morning. On one occasion, he 
 rose at three, wrote without cessation till five 
 the following morning, then went to bed, and 
 at nine o’clock Mrs. Hope, to whom he had 
 been married a few months before, was at his 
 bed-side writing to his dictation while he 
 breakfasted. The work met with a most 
 favourable reception. He now directed his 
 attention to publishing the “ Morbid Anatomy.” 
 In the course of the summer of 1832, he per- 
 suaded Messrs. Whittaker and Co. to under- 
 take it on terms which experience had taught 
 him to consider advantageous. These were, 
 that he was to provide all the drawings and 
 lithography, and they were to be at the expense 
 of the printing and the colouring of the plates. 
 After having paid all their own expenses, 
 Messrs. Whittaker agreed to divide the profits 
 with him. After a lapse of three years 
 Dr. Hope received between £00 and £10 for 
 his share, a sum which would not have re- 
 munerated him for the expense of the litho- 
 graphy, if he had been compelled to employ a 
 
JAMES HOPE, M.D. 
 
 177 
 
 regular artist, but much, more than was 
 mutually anticipated. No other respectable 
 bookseller would hear of the publication, 
 except on the stipulation of Dr. Hope’s making 
 himself responsible for the whole expense. 
 This work met with a reception no less favour- 
 able than that on the “ Heart.” 
 
 The ruling principle in the mind of Dr. 
 Hope, which had led him to use all this dili- 
 gence and unwearying perseverance, to practise 
 remarkable self-denial, and to control his 
 natural tastes and feelings, was, as .already 
 hinted, what, in the phraseology of the world, 
 would be called a laudable and truly noble 
 ambition ; but no feeling, it has been justly 
 observed, which has self for its ultimate object, 
 or which extends only to the brief space of 
 this life, when viewed in the light of revela- 
 tion, can be denominated either laudable or 
 noble. It was Dr. Hope’s happiness that this 
 principle was, at first, almost imperceptibly, 
 but gradually and certainly superseded, by a far 
 higher and better one. He did not then leave 
 the sphere in which Providence had placed him, 
 but it henceforth became the first object of 
 his life to glorify God by the use of every talent 
 committed to his charge. 
 
 It vras in Paris, 182G-7, that he was first 
 led to hear evangelical preaching, being induced 
 by his friend Dr. Nairne to attend at the chapel 
 of the rev. Lewis Way, with whose sermons 
 he was much interested. His judgment, now 
 first exercised on this subject, and aided by 
 
178 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 the guidance of the Spirit of truth, made him 
 perceive that, if religion were anything, it must 
 be everything. His progress was slow. He 
 did not say much on the subject, for with the 
 humility natural to him, he feared, by his un- 
 worthy conduct, to do injury to the pure religion 
 which he professed. But the result was that 
 religion gained a steady ascendency over him, 
 and his conduct answered to the scriptural 
 definition of the kingdom of heaven, in the 
 comparison of it to a little leaven which leaven- 
 eth the whole lump. A few days before his 
 death, when referring to this early period, he 
 spoke of the “ craving” which he had then felt, 
 and which never left him, “to be permitted to 
 be Christ’s soldier militant.” An observation 
 which he made to Mrs. Hope, very soon after 
 their marriage, gives a clue to what was his 
 mode of governing his feelings. Mrs. Hope 
 was speaking of the difficulty of evangelical 
 religion, because she believed that it required 
 the feelings to be constantly worked up to 
 love God. “Do not trouble yourself about 
 that matter,” answered he ; “do not think 
 whether you love him or not, but only endea- 
 vour to keep your thoughts fixed on the in- 
 dividual and collective blessings which he has 
 bestowed on you, and then you will not be able 
 to do otherwise than love him.” On Dr. 
 Hope’s first arrival in town, he had been intro- 
 duced to Dr. Burder, the son of the pious and 
 well-known author of “ Village Sermons.” A 
 similarity in mind and character drew these 
 
JAMES HOPE, 31. D. 
 
 179 
 
 two excellent men together, and when they 
 discovered in each other a unison of religious 
 opinion, these feelings kindled into warm affec- 
 tion. In death they were not long divided. 
 With reference to the early period of their ac- 
 quaintance, Dr. Burder observes, “ Some years 
 ago, before I was aware of Dr. Hope’s religious 
 principles, I had sometimes said to Mrs. Bur- 
 der, after observing him narrowly, 4 Well, if 
 Dr. Hope is not a pious man, he is the most 
 perfect man without religion that I ever met 
 with.’ But the more I knew of him, the more 
 anxious was I to discover whether any princi- 
 ples short of those which teach repentance 
 towards God, faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, 
 and an unreserved consecration of heart and 
 life to his service, could have yielded such 
 transparency of conduct, such humanity, dis- 
 interestedness, humility, guileless simplicity, 
 and undeviating integrity, as I observed in him. 
 At length I learned that he lived ‘ as seeing 
 Him who is invisible.’ ” Some very valuable 
 letters from Dr. Burder to Dr. Hope, entitled 
 “ Letters from a Senior to a Junior Physician 
 on promoting the religious welfare of his 
 Patients,” were first published in a periodical 
 work, and have since been appended to the 
 interesting memoir of Dr. Hope, by his widow, 
 from which we have draw r n largely in the pre- 
 sent sketch. 
 
 It should be mentioned that, not very long 
 after Dr. Hope had settled in London, he 
 obtained the appointment of physician to the 
 
180 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 Marylebone Infirmary, which he retained till 
 November, 1834. In order to lighten the 
 duties of the physicians of St. George’s, it was 
 at that time proposed to create a new office, 
 that of assistant physician, and, after an arduous 
 struggle, Dr. Hope was elected. On this occa- 
 sion, he gave a decided proof of the strength of 
 his religious principles. After having canvassed 
 for several days with little prospect of success, 
 a party of very influential medical governors 
 sent to offer him their support. The commu- 
 nication was made at ten o’clock on Saturday 
 night, these gentlemen stipulating that he 
 should canvass most actively under their 
 guidance, and they proceeded to point out his 
 work for the following day, Sunday. To observe 
 the sabbath was a principle from which he 
 could not swerve. He preferred risking the 
 offered support to offending his God. He 
 urged that, without the Divine blessing, his 
 election could not prosper, and that he could 
 not expect that blessing while acting in oppo- 
 sition to the Divine commands. It was in vain 
 that his new friends argued, entreated, and 
 even threatened to withdraw their support. 
 Dr. Hope was inflexible, and they finally yielded 
 the point. 
 
 In the year 1839, Dr. Chambers resigned 
 the office of physician to St. George’s. Dr. 
 Hope had now discharged the very laborious 
 duties of assistant physician for above four 
 years. He had likewise succeeded Dr. Marshall 
 Hall as lecturer on the practice of physic at the 
 
JAMES HOPE, M.D. 181 
 
 Aldersgate-street school. Under the pressure 
 of these and his other engagements, his health 
 had seriously given way. On these accounts, 
 the comparatively easy post of physician to the 
 hospital was one of no small importance to 
 him. As already hinted, it had been the 
 object of his ambition from the first ; and, 
 inasmuch as it was the established custom at 
 other hospitals, that the assistant physician 
 should, as a matter of course, succeed to the 
 higher post, on the occurrence of a vacancy, he 
 expected to be appointed without any oppo- 
 sition, on this first vacancy which had occurred 
 since the creation of his present office.. But in 
 this he was disappointed. He found that Dr. 
 Williams was a candidate, not for the assistant' 
 physicianship,. to be vacated by himself, but 
 for the office of physician ; and he received a 
 communication from Dr. Seymour, to the 
 effect that the medical committee had come to 
 a resolution not to give their collective support 
 to any candidate in particular. Nothing could 
 exceed Dr. Hope’s astonishment at this unex- 
 pected turn of affairs. He immediately imagined 
 that some accusation was about to be brought 
 against him before the board of governors, 
 which, even if refuted, might leave a stain upon 
 his reputation. He saw that to Dr. Williams a 
 defeat would be merely the loss of an election 
 to himself he conceived it would be the loss of 
 character, of fortune, and of fame — of all. that 
 he had worked so hard to attain. The shock 
 was too much for his already enfeebled frame. 
 
 16 
 
182 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 He was attacked with a spitting of blood, and 
 while his family sat up through the night, 
 occupied with preparations for the election, he 
 himself was obliged to go to bed. Every ima- 
 ginable exertion was, however, made by his 
 friends and connexions, both in the profession 
 and out of it. The students crowded to his 
 house, and intreated, if they had not influence to 
 canvass, they might write, transcribe, seal letters, 
 act as clerks, etc. In five days, three thousand 
 letters left the house, besides those sent privately 
 by friends. On the 26th of June, Dr. Wil- 
 liams retired from the contest, and on the 5th 
 of July Dr. Hope was elected without opposi- 
 tion. He reached the original goal of his am- 
 bition. He attained the post of honour upon 
 which, as a Christian man, his mind had 
 perhaps been far too inordinately set ; his 
 friends congratulated him at the result — but 
 what was the price he had paid ? it cost 
 him no less than life ! Well may we repeat 
 the often iterated apothegm of “ the preacher,” 
 “‘This also was vanity and a sore evil.” 
 The spitting of blood with which he had been 
 attacked, the agitation and excitement of 
 the ensuing week, the fatigue of the election, 
 which caused him to work almost without 
 cessation for five days and nights, were 
 what he never could recover. From this 
 time, he dated the final breaking up of his 
 health, which thenceforth progressively and 
 rapidly declined. 
 
 It now only remains to take a glance at the 
 
JAMES HOPE, M.D. 183 
 
 state of Dr. Hope’s mind during the remaining 
 months of sicknevss and decay. 
 
 It was a remarkable circumstance in liis 
 moral history, that it was very much through 
 the instrumentality of his reasoning powers 
 that his heart became affected by religious 
 subjects. He was slow in forming a conclusion 
 on any subject, nor was ever disposed to do so 
 till he had fathomed depths, and probably un- 
 ravelled many intricacies, which, to a more 
 superficial mind, would have been scarcely 
 apparent. But, being once satisfied of the 
 evidence on which any fact or doctrine rested, 
 he received it as settled and acknowledged 
 truth, as to which there was no room to doubt. 
 With the same calm and deliberate investiga- 
 tion did he examine every religious doctrine ; 
 but, being satisfied of the evidence on which it 
 rested, it henceforth formed part of his mind, 
 and there, like a “ tree planted by the rivers of 
 water,” it brought forth “ its fruit in due 
 season.” He paid little attention to occasional 
 feelings of depression, which he conceived to 
 depend mainly on the physical temperament, 
 and was backward to converse on the subject 
 of religious feelings, or what is sometimes 
 termed 11 Christian experience.” Simple faith, 
 and unwavering hope, formed a striking part 
 of his religious character. He knew that 
 Christ died for sinners ; he acknowledged that 
 he was a sinner ; he read the invitation to all 
 who were willing — he was willing — why, there- 
 fore, should he doubt ? This confidence in the 
 
184 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 word of truth was united to the deepest sense 
 of his own unworthiness. Had he trusted, in 
 the least, to himself, his unworthiness might 
 have depressed him, but while resting exclu- 
 sively on the righteousness and atonement of 
 Jesus Christ, and on promises to which the 
 Divine power and truth were pledged, no fear 
 or doubt could shake him. It cannot, there- 
 fore, be matter of surprise, that, in the prospect 
 of death, and its lingering approaches, Dr. 
 Hope should have been greatly supported. 
 Calculating from his medical experience, he 
 concluded that he should not, in all probability, 
 survive above nine months, after the abscesses 
 in his lungs had burst; and requested Mrs. 
 Hope not to mention to him the possibility of 
 recovery, for such conversations tended to 
 unsettle his mind, while his spirits were more 
 cheerful when he took an opposite view of the 
 subject. On his bed- room chimney-piece he 
 kept a strip of paper, with which he used to 
 measure the size of his leg ; and as it dimi- 
 nished inch by inch, he used to smile, and to 
 speculate on the probability of his going before 
 or after the time he had first named. 
 
 His family could find no more appropriate 
 manner of describing his conduct, throughout 
 the last seven months of his life, than that it 
 resembled that of a man who, expecting to set 
 off on a journey, puts everything in order 
 before his departure, and makes arrangements 
 to supply his absence. His own preparations 
 for the journey he was about to take had in- 
 
JAMES HOPE, M D. 
 
 185 
 
 deed been completed long before. When in 
 health, he had frequently spoken of the folly 
 of deferring preparation for death to a bed of 
 sickness. Even supposing, he used to say, 
 that a man could be sure of having a long ill- 
 ness, few have any idea how much illness 
 disqualifies the mind for thought, how many 
 diseases, even at an early stage, take away the 
 senses, and how very commonly a stupor pre- 
 cedes death. This subject had long dwelt on 
 his mind, and it was his intention to write a 
 book on the different modes of death, illustrat- 
 ing this religious view of the matter. During 
 his illness he often exclaimed, “How could I 
 now prepare for death ?” And yet his was a 
 disease peculiarly fitted for such a preparation, 
 and his mind was, to the last, so clear, that he, 
 if any, could have done so. 
 
 One day, he met Dr. Chambers in consultation 
 at the house of a patient, and, having alluded 
 to his approaching death, Dr. Chambers endea- 
 voured to cheer him by saying that there was 
 no occasion to despond, for that he might do 
 well yet. Dr. Hope stopped him with the 
 assurance that he needed not to be thus 
 cheered, for he was well aware of his condition ; 
 that, besides, the nature of Dr. Chambers’s 
 communication was not pleasing, for he should 
 be sorry to be detained long from his heavenly 
 inheritance, and to exchange its prospect for 
 the toils of his profession. 
 
 The last time Dr. Latham saw him, he in- 
 quired if he felt quite happy. “ Perfectly so,” 
 16 * 
 
186 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 was Dr. Hope’s answer ; “ I have always been 
 a sober thinking man, and I could not have 
 imagined the joy that I now feel. My only 
 wish is to convey it to the minds of others, but 
 that is impossible. It is such as I fcould not 
 have conceived possible.” 
 
 When asked whether he found that illness 
 enabled him to realize spiritual things in a 
 greater degree, he answered, “Yes, when we 
 approach the invisible world, it is astonishing 
 with what intensity of feeling we desire to be 
 there.” Adding, after an interval, “ When we 
 consider, too, what we now are ; how continu- 
 ally we sin — pollution is in every thought. 
 When we analyse our motives, we see sin in 
 them. I did this from such a motive — that, 
 from such another. — Charity is given with a 
 feeling of self-complacency. — The only way is 
 to bring the burden to the foot of the cross, 
 and tumble it down there, saying, 1 Here lam.’ 
 It is surprising how prominently the promises 
 come out.” Were a reprieve given me, I 
 should acquiesce in the will of God, but I must 
 confess it would be long before I could rejoice.” 
 With all this joy and peace — this “ desire to 
 depart and to be with Christ” — there was no 
 enthusiasm or excitement visible in his words 
 and demeanour. Nothing, it is said, could 
 have exceeded the sobriety of his mind. He 
 drew his hopes and conclusions from the Bible 
 alone. From that source he derived the sure 
 and joyful belief, that, in another world, his 
 renewed faculties and purified nature would 
 
JAMES HOPE, M.D. 
 
 187 
 
 enable him to love God more singly, and to 
 serve him more actively, than he had hitherto 
 been enabled to do, and therefore he could not 
 but rejoice. 
 
 During the early part of the last winter of 
 his life, 1840-41, Dr. Hope still continued 
 the practice of his profession. He saw patients 
 at home from ten o’clock till twelve or one. 
 After which he visited St. George’s, and drove 
 about seeing patients till five or six ; and pre- 
 ferred this employment to the feverish restless- 
 ness of a day spent at home. In his carriage, 
 he usually took some devotional work, or he 
 selected some texts, which furnished him with 
 ample meditation during his drive. 
 
 Towards the end of February, he listened to 
 the solicitations of Mrs. Hope to retire alto- 
 gether from practice, and, on the 80th of March, 
 he left town for Hampstead, with the certain 
 knowledge that he never should return. Thus 
 ended his professional life. Such was the 
 termination of all those dreams of wealth and 
 honour in which he had once so ardently 
 indulged. What, then, was the feeling with 
 which he relinquished all ? It is said, by one 
 who knew him best, that the only feeling of 
 which he was conscious was that of unalloyed 
 pleasure. He was going to enjoy repose — 
 imperfect indeed — but preparatory to that per- 
 fect rest to which he was hastening, and for the 
 rapid approach of which he earnestly prayed. 
 Did he not regret the change on account of his 
 only son ? The only remark that he appears 
 
188 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 to have made as to this, was to the effect that 
 his son, had he lived, would probably have 
 been independent of a profession, adding, “ But 
 I am not sorry for the change, for then he 
 would probably have been more a child of the 
 world than I trust he may now prove to be.” 
 Yet this is the same individual who, filled from 
 his earliest years with bright visions of fame, 
 and wealth, and honour, had sacrificed every 
 consideration to gain the treasures he now 
 prizes so lightly. It is well observed by his 
 biographer, that “ the Christian alone can dis- 
 cover the cause of so extraordinary a change. 
 In the book of God he finds, that, through 
 the Divine agency, man becomes 1 a new crea- 
 ture ; old things pass away, and all things 
 become new.’ Joyfully did he resign the 
 blessings of this world, because he found, 
 within his grasp, 1 richer treasures, surpassing 
 honours, purer joys, which shall never fade, 
 never cloy, but endure for ever and ever.’ ” 
 
 Mrs. Hope, who was the only witness of his 
 last few days, wrote an account of them for his 
 family ; from which we cannot refrain trans- 
 cribing a few extracts. 
 
 Sunday, May 9th — “ On this subject” — that 
 deep conviction of sin which alone can make a 
 sinner prize Christ as a Saviour — “ a painful 
 doubt flashed across my mind ; for though I 
 had frequently heard him insist on the general 
 depravity of human nature, I could not remem- 
 ber to have heard him speak of his own indi- 
 vidual sins, and lament them ; except on one 
 
189 - 
 
 JAMES HOPE, M.D. 
 
 occasion, when he was indeed humbled. I 
 explained how great would be my satisfaction 
 at hearing him express his feelings on the 
 subject. He looked up for one moment, and 
 then casting down his eyes and his head, he 
 remained silent for a few minutes, during 
 which time deep, strong, and painful emotions 
 apparently struggled in his breast. At length, 
 in a voice scarcely articulate from agitation, he 
 said, L I always begin my prayers with the I 
 mention of my sins, and generally with tears. 
 
 I always have a deep sense of my own unwor- 
 thiness. Even now I find all sorts of worldly 
 thoughts and feelings carrying me away from 
 God, and polluting my mind. I cannot say . 
 what a grief this is to me ; and it shows me 
 more than ever, that all my righteousness is 
 but a filthy rag. And when I think, on the 
 one hand, of the numberless offences which I 
 have committed ; and, on the other, remember 
 the blessings which I have enjoyed, oh, it is 
 enough to bow one down to the earth !’ These 
 words are, in themselves, strong expressions ; 
 but the earnestness and deep feeling with which 
 they were uttered made them doubly so. He 
 added, 1 1 have often taken a practical chapter 
 of the New Testament, and have determined to 
 act up to it during the day ; but alas ! I have 
 often forgotten it altogether ; and when I did 
 remember it, how miserably did I fall short of 
 it ! This, more than anything, showed me the 
 original sin in my nature, and threw me on the 
 promises of Christ. I found it was useless to 
 
EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 ]$0 
 
 rest too much on details, but I took fast hold 
 upon the grand leading truth, that Christ is an 
 all-sufficient sacrifice for sin. I think, also, 
 that I had a great fear of God, but I feared 
 him as one fears a parent.’ On hearing him 
 speak so decidedly, I expressed the pleasure 
 that I derived from it, adding, that when I 
 remembered how fully he had looked to Christ, 
 esj)ecially since Christmas, 1839, and what 
 peace he had enjoyed in the anticipation of 
 death, I could not think that Christ would have 
 allowed him to remain in error on any vital 
 point. He immediately answered, ‘ Long 
 before the time you name, I think I was in the 
 way of salvation, even so long as ten or twelve 
 years ago. When I attended Mr. Howels’ 
 chapel, I learned the saving truths of the 
 gospel; and although I was a most imperfect 
 creature, I believe I might have come within 
 the pale of salvation, because I had then the 
 evidence of the Spirit working a change within 
 me.’ After some farther conversation, he added, 
 
 1 1 cannot express my grief and humiliation at 
 not having been able to keep my attention 
 fixed at church. If Satan had a malicious 
 or wicked thought to suggest, he chose that 
 time. An exciting sermon might, indeed, 
 rouse my attention ; but the prayers — oh ! the 
 prayers. And when I think of the blessings 
 that I have enjoyed, is it not enough to grind 
 me to the dust ?’ He then spoke with much 
 warmth and gratitude of the many blessings 
 that had been vouchsafed to him. 
 
JAMES HOPE, M.D. 191 
 
 44 On the evening before his death he said, 4 T 
 will not^ake speeches, but I have two things 
 to say.’ 1 The first was an affectionate farewell 
 to myself. In reply, I reminded him of the 
 superior satisfaction which he possessed of 
 having promoted my happiness, not only in 
 this world, but also, as I trusted, in the world 
 to come. He answered meekly, 4 It was not I.’ 
 Here he was interrupted by coughing. When 
 he was again quiet, I reminded him that he 
 had another thing to say, and begged him to 
 take the earliest opportunity of doing so. He 
 then added, 4 The second is soon said. Christ is 
 all in all to me, I have no hope except in him. 
 He is, indeed, All in all.’ I quoted, 4 Though 
 I walk through the valley of the shadow of 
 death, — thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.’ 
 He said, 4 They do comfort me. There is no 
 darkness. I see Jordan and the heavenly Joshua 
 passing over dry-shod.’ Throughout the night, 
 when awake, he was perfectly calm and col- 
 lected. At his request I read the 15th chapter 
 of the first Epistle to the Corinthians, and, at a 
 later period, he begged me to repeat texts, 
 which I did from time to time. He frequently 
 asked whether I was cold or tired, made in- 
 quiries as to whether I was adequately clothed, 
 and proved, in various ways, that he retained 
 his faculties and his characteristic solicitude for 
 others. He also directed me what medicines* 
 to give him, how to prepare them, altering the 
 quantities, and making medical observations 
 from time to time on his state Day 
 
192 
 
 EMINENT MEDICAL MEN. 
 
 beginning to dawn, he looked out of the window, 
 and I remarked, 4 What a glorious day is dawn- 
 ing on you, my dearest ! ’ He assented with a 
 look of joy. I said, 4 There will be no sun 
 and no moon there, for the Lamb will be the 
 light thereof.’ Looking fixedly before him, he 
 murmured, 4 Christ ! angels ! beautiful ! magni- 
 ficent ! delightful !’ and then turning to me, 
 with a look as if re-assuring me, 4 Indeed, it is.’ 
 At one time he said, 4 This suffering is little to 
 what Christ suffered on the cross.’ I quoted, 
 4 But our light affliction,’ etc. A few minutes 
 after, he said, 4 1 thank God ! ’ and these were 
 the last connected .words that he spoke. * * 
 He continued to breathe till twenty- three 
 minutes past four, (May 13, 1841,) when he 
 slept in Jesus.” 
 
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