Chapter VIII: Part 8

At the conclusion of the war, Chantrey made a journey to Paris, which he had previously visited at the peace of Amiens, and inspected the various artistic works in the Louvre with much interest. From this point his progress in public esteem was steady and gratifying. On returning from the Continent he commenced the monument of the Two Sisters for Lichfield Cathedral; and when this exquisite specimen of his skillful fancy was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1817, it was regarded as marvelous for its grace, pathos, and beauty. The press to see it was unprecedented; mothers wept over the representation; children lovingly kissed the figures; and the effect it produced on the minds of beholders was deep, impressive, and enduring. Soon after he produced the statue of Lady Louisa Russell, daughter of the Duke of Bedford, fondling a dove in her bosom. She stands on tiptoe; and the attitude of the figure is said to be so singularly natural, that a little child of three years old coming into the sculptor’s studio held up its little hands to the figure, and addressed it under the impression that the form was a living one.

In 1818, Chantrey was worthily elected a member of the Royal Academy, and as his presentation work executed a bust of West, its venerable president. Becoming about the same time a member of the Royal Society, he presented a bust of the celebrated Sir Joseph Banks, then president. Next year he went to Italy, and while at Rome he had much friendly and familiar intercourse with Canova and Thorwaldsen. With the former he enacted the amicable ceremony of exchanging cloaks on parting.

In 1820, Chantrey’s admiration of Sir Walter Scott induced him to request the northern poet to sit for his bust. This being agreed to, it was finished in 1822, and presented to the illustrious bard six years later, on condition of his sitting for another, which was accordingly executed. It ultimately passed into the possession of Sir Robert Peel. These are by many considered not only the most felicitous of Chantrey’s busts, but the most striking portraits of the great Borderer’s variable countenance. The original has been viewed by multitudes at Abbotsford, always with the highest admiration by those most qualified to judge of its merits. The ample forehead, so full of thought and sagacity; the penetrating eye, which had looked with rapture on many a frowning fortress and fair landscape, and the mouth, grave but humorous, are portrayed with rare and fascinating skill. The whole face is represented with fine effect, and has altogether the expression likely to be produced when Chantrey was chiseling, and laughing merrily at some happy remark which had just escaped from the “Great Unknown.”

The few years following that on which this memorable sitting occurred, were the busiest of the eminent sculptor’s life. Between 1823 and 1826 he is stated to have received the largest number of commissions, and to have labored in their execution with intense devotion and exemplary industry. Nor was he without another kind of encouragement, which, whatever may be said to the contrary by the very persons who would most loudly rejoice in having it, has always proved strangely fascinating to the imaginations of men of talent. Royal and patrician favor was freely bestowed upon him throughout his career; and he knew how to use without abusing it. He enjoyed the countenance of successive sovereigns, was distinguished by the honor of knighthood, and had the comfort of believing that George the Fourth, who, with all his faults, understood something of such matters, appreciated his artistic genius. When this statue was erected on the grand staircase of Windsor Castle, his Majesty, patting Chantrey familiarly on the back, said, “I have reason to be obliged to you; for you have immortalized me.”

Among the numerous and admirable statues which attest Chantrey’s power and success in this branch of his art, a few may be mentioned: as that of William Pitt, in Hanover Square; George the Fourth, in Trafalgar Square; James Watt, in Westminster Abbey; and the Duke of Wellington, in front of the Royal Exchange. Watt’s statue at Glasgow, Roscoe’s at Liverpool, and that of Canning in the hall of the latter town, have, as draped figures, rarely been surpassed. Dalton’s statue at Manchester, exhibited in 1837, is likewise thought to be of great merit; and one of his early, though great, monumental efforts was that of Perceval, in All Saints’ Church, Northampton. But there are seen, elsewhere than in his own country, monuments from his hand to commemorate the deeds, the virtues, and achievements of the departed great. He furnished an equestrian statue of Sir Thomas Munro to adorn Madras; and for the State-house of Boston he executed a statue of Washington, which is ever mentioned with praise and honor. The hero of the War of Independence stands erect, and wrapped up in thought. The costume, which the sculptor knew well how to deal with, is a military cloak, which displays the historical figure to advantage; and the effect is altogether good and imposing.

Chantrey’s genius was most prolific and successful in busts. It is stated, that such was his art, that he could generally seize on the likeness of a head in an hour; but, both in his conceptions and in working them out, he was particularly fastidious. He was singularly quick and skillful in seizing the very best expressions which the countenances of his sitters were capable of presenting.

In 1839 a perceptible and melancholy change came over the famous sculptor; and at length, on the 25th of November, 1841, he expired. He left a large fortune, the result of his industry; and munificently destined it to the service and promotion of the fine arts in his native land. With a view to its responsible application to the intended purpose, he constituted the President and Council of the Royal Academy his trustees forever.

In his works, Chantrey trusted entirely to form and effect; and his dislike to ornament appears to have been almost excessive. His successful efforts were the result of deep reflection, a fine taste, and a noble imagination. He strove to exhibit the perfections of nature, and to impart an air of grandeur to all his productions. He commenced art where Art itself began. Nature was, from first to last, his chief study, the safe school in which he learned his art, and the exhaustless fountain from which he drew the inspiration that carried him onward to lasting fame as a truly English and really great sculptor. He thought that an artist should daily ponder what to avoid, as well as what to imitate; and unlike his predecessors, who were perpetually striving to rival the productions of by-gone ages, he wisely aspired rather to guide the future than follow the past. He had imbibed in youth a fondness for landscape scenery, which he could represent with success; and he made many interesting drawings when traveling to view the marbles and pictures in Italy.

He was plain and unpretending in manner; and, as became so great a man, above all little affectations in society, which, however, he liked and relished. Under his own roof he was distinguished by hospitality and kindliness of spirit; and his house was frequently the resort of men who had won renown in art, science, or literature.

SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN.

The architectural skill and superiority of this illustrious man were most conspicuously displayed in the age which his rich genius adorned. A multitude of buildings bore honorable testimony to the fertility of his brain, and the success of his undertakings, at a time when a terrible devastation had rendered such services as he rendered to his country peculiarly necessary; and later generations have confessed with high pride and admiration, that the inscription, “_Si quæris monumentum circumspice_,” has lost none of its point.

The pious architect of so many churches was closely connected by birth with the ecclesiastical establishment, whose edifices he did so much to improve and beautify. The family to which he belonged was of Danish extraction, but had been settled on English ground long ere it produced the most famous representative of the name. From a branch planted in Warwickshire came Sir Christopher’s grandfather, who traded and flourished as a mercer in the city of London, and left two sons. The elder obtained the bishopric of Ely, suffered and survived persecution, and went down to the grave in peace, after many trials and vicissitudes. The ambition of the other was seemingly less lofty in degree, and his existence less checkered. However, he became a royal chaplain, dean of Windsor, and rector of Knoyle, in Wiltshire, and had the good fortune to marry one of those young ladies known and sighed for as heiresses. In due time, on the 20th of October, 1632, Christopher Wren was born at East Knoyle.

Like many destined to eminence, the future architect was an exceedingly weak, small, and delicate child; and more than ordinary care was required in rearing him. From this cause he was for several years educated by a domestic tutor in his father’s house, which at this period received in its oak hall the Elector Palatine. Wren took care to recall to memory the pretty long visit, when he afterward addressed to that prince a rather high-flown epistle, calling attention to some of his youthful inventions, among which were the instrument for writing with two pens and the machine for sowing corn. The boy showed much fondness for classical learning, and was sent to Westminster School to pursue his studies for a while, under the auspices of Dr. Busby. There he exhibited his remarkable powers of mind, as well as a strong liking for the pursuits of mathematics and astronomy, rather than the useful art with which his name was afterward associated. But his father was a man of talent and ingenuity, and of such architectural taste as to have attracted the notice of Charles the First, to whom he was chaplain in ordinary. This circumstance, in all probability, gave Wren’s mind a bias toward the profession in which he achieved the triumphs on which his fame chiefly rests, and led to his raising up, in the face of the world, visible and enduring monuments of his greatness. Every step of his juvenile career, however, was marked by the vigor, prudence, and intelligence befitting one destined for European celebrity.

At the age of fourteen Wren was removed to Oxford and entered at Wadham College, where he was speedily recognized as “a rare and early prodigy of universal science,” and distinguished by much attention. He proved his mathematical knowledge by writing on spherical trigonometry; he invented several instruments; he translated Oughtred’s “Geometrical Dialling” into Latin; and at the instance of Sir Charles Scarborough, a celebrated physician and mathematician, he formed some admirable architectural models from pasteboard. In his eighteenth year he took the degree of Bachelor of Arts, and soon after published an algebraical tract relating to the Julian period. While he was thus achieving academic distinction, Wren’s pillow was visited by a dream, which Aubrey deemed not unworthy of being chronicled and recorded. He was staying at his father’s residence in Wiltshire, in the year 1651; and one night, among the visions which his brain conjured up in sleep, he saw a great battle in a market-place unknown to him. He marked the bloody strife for victory, the rapid flight for safety, and the keen pursuit for vengeance; and among those who sought to escape the cruel carnage he perceived a young cousin of his own, who had formerly gone with the king into Scotland. Probably, on waking, he thought little more of the matter; but next evening, the kinsman, whose retreating form had been so strangely presented to his sleeping fancy, appeared unexpectedly, after dusk, at the rectory-house, and surprised its inmates with the startling news of the king’s forces having sustained a defeat at Worcester, where he had been. Surprise was, of course, depicted on the fair and intelligent countenance of the Oxford scholar, at an occurrence which seemed so natural a sequel to his dream of the previous night.

But Wren wasted not much time in musing over dreams. He was so busy and enthusiastic in the pursuit of knowledge, and so dexterous in turning it to account, that he was spoken of as a “miracle of a youth.” He soon took the degree of Master of Arts, and was elected a Fellow of All Souls. He was exemplary in his conduct, and regular and temperate in his habits.

The great abilities and scientific acquirements of the Wiltshire miracle becoming widely known, he was, about his twenty-fifth year, appointed Professor of Astronomy in the Gresham College. About the time of his entrance upon its duties, this blushing youth, as he frankly described himself in one of his lectures, had a memorable interview with Cromwell, whose son-in-law, being fond of mathematics, had sought the learned professor’s acquaintance, and cultivated it by frequent invitations to his house. While dining there one day, he suddenly found himself face to face with the mighty Protector, who stalked in without ceremony, and took his place at table. After a while he fixed his eyes on the future architect to the kings of the house of Stuart.

“Your uncle has long been confined to the Tower,” he remarked after a pause, during which he keenly surveyed the short but dignified person of the youth.

“He has,” replied Wren, with some stateliness; “but he bears his affliction with patience and resignation.”

“He may come out, if he will,” said Cromwell.

“Will your highness permit me to tell him so?” asked Wren, with eagerness.

“Yes, you may,” said the Lord Protector.

Wren seized an early opportunity of retiring, and, with something of boyish delight, hurried to his venerable relative with the glad tidings; but the imprisoned prelate disdained the thought of obtaining liberty from the great usurper, and, after denouncing the proposal with ardent indignation, declared that he was determined to tarry the Lord’s leisure, and owe deliverance to Him only. The Restoration soon after set him free.

Wren resigned his chair at Gresham College when promoted to the Savilian Professorship of Astronomy at Oxford, where had for years existed the club out of which arose the Royal Society, of which he became a member, and afterward president. His reputation as a successful cultivator of the sciences had already extended his reputation to foreign lands, when he gloriously proved his possession of a very different and more popular kind of accomplishment. He had previously attracted the attention of the king, who must have been aware that the youth had been unostentatiously storing his mind with that minute knowledge of architecture which proved his source of power; and at the age of twenty-eight he was summoned to Whitehall, and informed that the time had arrived for putting his powers to the proof. He was appointed to assist at the public works then contemplated: namely, the building of a new palace at Greenwich, the embellishment of Windsor Castle, and the completion of old St. Paul’s, whose interior had been used as a stable by Cromwell’s troopers, and its beautiful pillars defaced and applied to the most sordid purposes. The Government were in no haste to commence operations. Perhaps

“The delay was wrought by want of thought,
As well as want of heart.”

At all events, Wren remained unemployed for two long years; and at the end of that period, delay having done its work, and there appearing no prospect of his talents being in requisition, he manifested symptoms of impatience. Under such circumstances ambitious spirits are not seldom troublesome, and Wren, no doubt, bore himself like other people; but his complaints were cut short by the offer of an office at Tangier, whither he was requested to go and direct the defenses of the harbor and citadel. The young architect did not pause long to consider the course he should pursue: an ample salary was indeed rather tempting; but, with characteristic decision, he declined the appointment, and returned to Oxford.

The condition of St. Paul’s, however, was such as could not be altogether disregarded. Soldiers had converted the body of the ancient church into quarters for their horses; the beautiful pillars of Inigo Jones’s portico had been hewed and broken down, and large portions of the roof had fallen in. The spectacle it presented was woeful in the extreme, and could no longer be overlooked; and, accordingly, Wren was commissioned to survey the building and furnish plans for its complete restoration.

While preparing designs with that view, he made a tour to France for the purpose of widening and improving his conception of architecture, and visited the most admired works of the greatest professors of his art in that country. In Paris he viewed, and made drawings of, the various edifices, and took due notice of every thing likely to elevate his ideas and improve his taste. He had, moreover, the distinction of being introduced to Bernini, the celebrated sculptor.

“I would have given my skin for Bernini’s design of the Louvre,” said Wren, with becoming ardor; “but the old reserved Italian gave me but a few minutes’ view. It was five little designs in paper, for which he had received as many thousand pistoles. I had only time to copy it in my fancy and memory.”

He strove to make himself acquainted with the most esteemed buildings in the city and its vicinity. With a mind refreshed by travel, and an eye impressed with the fabrics it had gazed on, Wren gladly enough returned to England, having, as he stated, surveyed and brought with him “almost all France on paper.” He was now enthusiastically intent on proceeding with the restoration of St. Paul’s; but there had arisen among the commissioners disputes, which effectually checked his eagerness. Public works are, in their progress, too frequently victims of private whims; and Wren now found so, to his dismay. Those who had been intrusted with the management of the business formed themselves into two parties. One of these obstinately contended that the church should be merely “patched up” to the best advantage; while the other were zealous for the full and complete restoration proposed by Wren. The architect, whose fortitude and patience were ever remarkable, reasoned with them in that calm tone which he ever adhered to under all annoyances; but he argued in vain. Suddenly the Great Fire not only put a period to the strife, but opened up a large stage for the genius and energy of this truly great Englishman, whose schemes speedily became the talk of Europe.

The dreadful conflagration had destroyed the principal part of St. Paul’s, while helplessly damaging the remainder; and Wren, perceiving that any efficient repair was now utterly impracticable, conceived the idea of associating his name with a grand ecclesiastical structure worthy of the capital of royal England. His path, however, was not yet quite clear; for the hearts of the commissioners, “untraveled, still returned” to the old building, and another effort was made to reconstruct it. The rubbish was removed, and the enterprise entered on; but the fall of a pillar soon indicated how vain and futile such an attempt really was.

Wren was on a visit at Oxford, when he received the intelligence of this disaster; and perhaps he felt that his day of triumph had at length arrived. He forthwith wrote and recommended a total removal of the ruins of the former church, and the erection, from the foundation, of a cathedral that should exhibit the taste and dignity of the country. Nevertheless, so perverse is human nature, when a change of opinion involves a confession of error, that the system of “patching up any how” was persisted in till the middle of 1668, when it was resolved that a new cathedral should be built. Wren now applied himself to the production of several designs and models for the contemplated structure, and, in due time, they were laid before the proper authorities. It appears that, whatever credit pertains to the rejection of the best and adoption of the worst plans, must be assigned to that royal duke whose insane bigotry and superstition afterward cost him the proudest crown in Christendom. The architect’s temper did not give way; but he shed tears at the injudicious selection.

Operations were forthwith commenced in earnest, but though there was practiced none of the tardiness which had characterized the preliminary arrangements, the gigantic magnitude of the work occasioned a delay of years; and it was not till the third quarter of the eventful century had passed that the scorched ruins were altogether removed, and the first stone laid by the great architect, under whose superintendence it was completed in the comparatively brief space of thirty-five years. Previously to the work being entered on, Wren had the honor of knighthood conferred on him; and about the same period he married a lady of Oxfordshire; though he had reached his forty-second year――an age at which men are generally rather disinclined to relinquish their freedom. He was speedily blessed with a son, who, in 1700, laid the last and highest stone of the cathedral, in presence of the principal persons employed in the building. Wren subsequently planned no fewer than fifty new ecclesiastical edifices for the metropolis; and no man, however high in that art, which is half a science, and therefore requires mathematical knowledge in its votaries, ever imitated with so much success the churches of Italy. His mind was vigorous, his judgment accurate, and he excelled in unity and elegance.

In July, 1669, he had experienced the satisfaction of seeing the first of his architectural designs realized. This was the theatre at Oxford, founded by Archbishop Sheldon. It was opened with great and imposing solemnity; and the munificent founder marked his appreciation of the skill displayed in the building by presenting Wren with a golden cup, and appointing him one of the curators for life.

Meantime the plague of London had drawn public attention to the defective state of its architecture, and the great conflagration had afforded an opportunity of introducing extensive improvements. Wren then stood forth as an architect capable of making a new and extensive city arise, phœnix-like, from the ashes. He earnestly desired to give beauty and dignity to a capital of whose greatness, in other respects, he spoke in language of enthusiasm. His proposal was to run a spacious street, in a direct line, from St. Paul’s to the Exchange, another to the Tower, and a third westward to Piccadilly. The bank of the river was to be adorned with a terrace, and there he proposed to place the halls of the twelve great city companies. This scheme, which had the warm support of the king and his ministers, was all but frustrated by the citizens, who found that it unfortunately interfered too much with the rights and property of private individuals to be realized to any satisfactory extent.

About this period he was sauntering with Charles the Second through the hunting-lodge at Newmarket, in reference to which his majesty remarked――

“These rooms are too low.”

“An’ please your majesty, I think them high enough,” said Wren, as he walked up, carrying his figure, which was the reverse of tall, with much of the stateliness of those cavaliers whom, in boyish days, he had seen at his father’s deanery. Charles, with a merry twinkle of his eye, squatted down to Wren’s height, saying, as he did so――

“Ay, Sir Christopher, on second thoughts I think they are high enough, too.”

Sir Stephen Fox, progenitor of that family which has since produced so many celebrated persons――a man who had risen from obscurity to high honors in the state――persuaded the king that a military hospital should be founded. Wren furnished designs for, and superintended, the building at Chelsea, which was not completed till the reign of William and Mary. He also prepared designs for the palace of Winchester. In 1784 he was appointed Comptroller and Principal Officer of the Works at Windsor Castle.

Wren had been born and bred among men who, from their position, took a lively interest in political affairs; and, in spite of his multifarious duties, he was far from declining such distinction in that sphere as was not likely to interfere with his professional pursuits. He was indebted to the people of Plympton――the native place of Sir Joshua Reynolds――for his first election to the House of Commons, in 1685. After the Revolution he was returned for New Windsor, and became a great favorite with that daughter of the banished king who then shared the English throne with her Dutch consort. She admired his genius, and perhaps appreciated the affection which he entertained for the kingly race whose errors had been her husband’s opportunity. Being pleased with the situation and scenery of Hampton Court, she commissioned the architect, who had done honor to the patronage of her merry uncle and her gloomy sire, to furnish designs for a splendid palace, to be connected with the pile which Cardinal Wolsey had reared and made over to the bluff Killer of Wives and Defender of the Faith. The queen was presented with several designs, and selected one which did credit to her character for taste and elegance, but the sanction of the royal Dutchman was required before she could finally decide. That great prince and soldier was a hero, though, unfortunately for his fame, one of no very scrupulous nature; and heroes are generally men of one design. If the question had been how to raise in England funds to carry on the war against France, his judgment would hardly have erred; but the construction of a palace was a different matter; and he chose and stuck by the very plan which had been prepared as a foil to the others. The queen was forced to yield, and the architect sighed at being thus obliged to erect a palace of which he disliked the plan; but regret could produce no remedy for the evil, and the work was proceeded with. He next designed Greenwich Hospital, and during the reign of Queen Anne he continued to enjoy from that royal lady a favor and protection not unworthy of a grand-daughter of Charles the First.

The distinguished architect, however, had not pursued his prosperous course without making enemies; and the time at length arrived when they could gratify their hoarded malice. When the first representative of the House of Brunswick left his delightful Electorate to ascend the throne of Great Britain, Wren was in his eighty-second year; and though so often thwarted in his designs during three reigns by citizens, and kings, and commissioners, he had done wonders, and on every side there were traces of his rare and fertile genius. The new sovereign, however, was almost as devoid of taste or capacity as he was destitute of virtue or popularity; and, from the beginning, he regarded the venerable architect with an inimical eye. After a lapse of four years the public learned, with astonishment and indignation, that Sir Christopher was dismissed from his office, and replaced by a wretched pretender, to whose undistinguished name Pope has given a somewhat unenviable notoriety.

The old knight had lived too long, and seen too much of the world, in a most eventful age, to be very deeply affected by this circumstance; though the insult touched his friends to the heart. He removed from his official residence in Scotland Yard, and betook himself to rural retirement. He had long survived his first wife; and not relishing a prolonged widowerhood, he sought and found a second bride in the daughter of a peer of Ireland. He now took a house at Hampton Court, where he passed the greater part of his remaining years in study and contemplation of the Holy Scriptures, which cheered his solitude and consoled him in his preparation for a higher state of existence. He indulged in a sleep in his easy chair after dinner, maintained the utmost serenity, and exhibited all his wonted vivacity. Gradually his limbs, which had been active, failed; and his movements thus became dependent on the assistance of others. Now and then he rejoiced in a visit to the metropolis, to inspect the repairs of Westminster Abbey, and look once more on the dome of St. Paul’s. His intellect remained unimpaired long after his bodily vigor had ceased. A journey between London and Hampton Court, then a more formidable affair to a person of advanced age than it has since become, proved more than his frame could endure, and, after a short illness, he died on the 27th of February, 1723. His corpse was consigned to the vaults of the magnificent cathedral, which stands alike the monument and the master-piece of his architectural genius, as his most appropriate epitaph is the brief inscription which has been alluded to at the commencement of this sketch. Sixty-nine years later the surrounding earth was disturbed on the death of Sir Joshua Reynolds; and the mortal remains of the illustrious painter, whose magic pencil had redeemed Englishmen from the reproach of being indebted to foreign nations for artistic skill, were, with much pomp and circumstance, laid by the side of the great architect, in the consecrated cemetery.

DR. WILLIAM HUNTER.

The name of Hunter is still of high account in the profession, which was raised and adorned by the talents and virtues of the two brothers. Indeed it is as inseparably connected with the progress of medical science in Great Britain, as is that of Wren with architecture, or that of Erskine with trial by jury. The career of the elder of the distinguished brothers is well worthy of attention, and eminently calculated to stimulate industry.

Dr. Hunter was not only a Scotchman, but to some extent a patriot; and an adventurer of mark or likelihood from that country, without a genealogy, would be like the year without the spring, or like the spring without the flowers. It serves to support his pride, and to sustain him in his poverty. In this respect the great physician was not deficient, his grandfather having been a younger son of Hunter of Hunterstone, chief of the name. Moreover, the parentage of this eminent man was respectable; for about the beginning of last century his father resided, in all the pride of territorial dignity, on the small hereditary estate of Long Calderwood, in the county of Lanark. The laird was, no doubt, a frugal-enough swain, with ideas as old-fashioned as the language in which they were expressed; but who lacked not sagacity, nor a stout heart and a strong hand. He had need of such qualities; for, however barren or the reverse might have been his acres, it appears that “the leddy,” though doubtless exemplary and diligent in “doubling his joys and all his cares dividing,” was, if any thing, inconveniently prolific; for with alarming rapidity, as years glided on, he was presented with no less than half a score of children――a progeny surely large enough, in all conscience, to daunt the bravest speculator on the probabilities of the future.

In the rustic abode, most likely one of those “thatched mansions” at that period commonly the residence of the lesser proprietors of the soil of North Britain, on the 23d of the merry month of May, 1718――if, indeed, all seasons were not then alike in that impoverished country, where, in the words of the clever but clumsy satirist,

“No flowers embalmed the air but one white rose,
Which on the tenth of June by instinct blows,”――

William Hunter, destined to be one of the most famous of medical practitioners, anatomists, and lecturers, was born and swaddled, with the usual form and ceremony. He was the seventh child of his parents; and ten years later, in the same place, appeared his brother, who is styled “the Prophet of the Healing Art,” and whose wise countenance, as portrayed by the potent pencil of Reynolds, made Lavater exclaim――“That man thinks for himself!”

Young Willie was, no doubt, a shrewd, grave, talented boy, whose time was divided between learning that quantity of Latin prescribed by statute to the son of every owner of a portion of Caledonian soil, however stern and wild, poor or paltry, it might be. Indeed, in his case there was another reason for attention to classical learning, it being originally intended that the Church of Scotland should have the benefit of the talents and abilities with which Nature had blessed him. Sir Robert Walpole boasted over his cups that, if the intention of his taking orders had been carried into effect, he would have one day been Archbishop of Canterbury; and had Hunter applied his intellect as vigorously to the study of divinity and Scottish ecclesiastical affairs as he did to those of the profession of which he became so eminent a member, he might possibly have climbed to the position, earned the fame, and exercised the influence, of an Erskine, a Blair, or a Chalmers. It was otherwise appointed:

“Scire potestates herbarum, usumque medendi
Maluit, et mutas agitare inglorias artes.”

At the distance of a mile and a half from his paternal mansion stood the village of Kilbride; and there, in the school-room belonging to the parish, some “Dominie Sampson,” whose sayings and doings have been consigned to oblivion, imparted instruction with a stentorian voice, and flourished the odious leathern scourge, before which many an erring urchin has shrunk, and winked, and howled. To this establishment, in all probability, would Hunter travel daily, on the back of a donkey or shaggy pony, with a wallet on his shoulder; save when, to his heart’s delight, a fall of rain or a snow-storm afforded a decent pretext for remaining at home, and making his escape at noon to the weekly market, or to one of the four parochial fairs held during the year.

At the customary age he was sent to the University of Glasgow; and no doubt, as it would likely be his first visit, gazed with wonder on such buildings as were there to be seen. The place was then very different from what it has since become. But to a boy, who hitherto had witnessed no scene more striking than a rural fair, who had only dreamt of greater things while reposing on a summer’s day by the margin of some haunted and murmuring streamlet, or while driving the cows in the gloaming to the modest grange, the venerable precincts of the college and of the ancient cathedral, described with so much felicity in the pages of “Rob Roy;” the battlemented mansion, that had lately been the residence of an archbishop; the tall masts of the vessels that had brought colonial produce to an extending market; and last, though not least, the Exchange, whose covered pavement was traversed by those proud “Virginians”――the aristocracy of tobacco――who wrapped themselves closer in their red cloaks, shook their flowing wigs, grasped more firmly their long gold-headed canes, and raised their eyes with haughty stare, when any inquisitive stranger approached the scene of their operations, must have seemed grand indeed.

Hunter now commenced his theological studies; and the sagacious sire rejoiced in the prospect of seeing his son “wagging his head in a pulpit.” But after a term of five years an obstacle to pursuing his course occurred, which could not be overcome without outraging his conscientious convictions. In fact, he entertained an insuperable repugnance to some of the articles of faith to which he was required to assent; and, sacrificing whatever prospects of preferment he had on the shrine of duty, he resolved to venture upon a new field, and make medicine and the art of healing the study and occupation of his life. He was still a boy, “showing a maiden chin,” without that wisdom which is commonly, but not seldom erroneously, supposed to lurk about the beard; and it can not be questioned but that hope would extravagantly gild any future that his fancy might conjure up. Yet, strongly as he might have felt within him the spirit and the faculty to ascend the hill of life, and wave his cocked hat in triumph from its summit, he could hardly contemplate such enviable success as it was his good fortune to seek and find. Little, it may be well conceived, could he foresee how rapidly he was to emerge from obscurity, and be recognized as one of the most celebrated votaries to a profession at once delicate and laborious in that illimitable city of which, at his father’s hearth, he had heard wondrous tales and accounts exciting curiosity.

Meantime, returning to his native district in 1737, he formed an intimacy with Dr. Cullen. This afterward celebrated man was a native of Hamilton. He had received an ordinary Scotch education, served an apprenticeship to an apothecary, and made several voyages in a vessel trading to the East Indies in the capacity of surgeon. He had commenced practice in a Lanarkshire parish, the clergyman of which had married Hunter’s sister; and at the manse of his brother-in-law doubtless our hero made Cullen’s acquaintance. The conversation of the latter exercised a mighty influence on the mind of his new friend; and when he had settled as a practitioner at Hamilton, a small town situated on the Clyde, Hunter entered into a sort of partnership with him. They even meditated it being of a permanent nature; but subsequent events rendered such a scheme altogether inexpedient, and it was abandoned with advantage to both. Nevertheless, it was pursued for years with mutual profit. Being equally and earnestly desirous of improvement, they agreed that each should pass a winter at one of the colleges, while the other should remain and attend to the patients who relied on the establishment for medical aid. Cullen’s seniority gave him the privilege of taking the first session; and so signal was his progress, that he was enabled to impart valuable information to his young associate. After a season, they parted in friendship, to divide the world between them; and while his former companion in arms was winning metropolitan honors and achieving innocent, though not bloodless victories, Cullen was by no means shrinking from the exertions which establish a reputation. Hunter seems to have disdained the company of a fair being to comfort and console him in his way through this troublesome world; but his northern friend and contemporary was not so remiss or self-denying. He forthwith strengthened his position by taking to wife the daughter of some neighboring worthy; but his abilities were not to be confined within narrow limits. He attracted the notice of men of pride and nobility――was patronized by the ducal houses of Hamilton and Argyle――filled professorial chairs in Glasgow and Edinburgh――influenced, in no inconsiderable degree, the opinion of medical men as to the science of physic――exhibited delightful amiability in private life; and, leaving behind several works to vindicate the high estimation in which he was held, he breathed his last in peace and prosperity. Having thus briefly sketched Cullen’s career, let us return to mark the footsteps of his redoubted countryman in pursuit of wealth and eminence.

Hunter went, in his turn, to the romantic capital of Scotland, and attended the lectures of several professors of distinction. In the year 1711 he set off to gratify his eyes with a sight of London, having obtained an introduction from a printer in Glasgow to James Douglas, who, as a surgeon and teacher of anatomy, had fattened in the rich South. This individual had early emigrated, but had not altogether lost his sentiments of nationality; and he had, perhaps, a keen eye to his own interests. Besides, he was a man of mark, and the author of several works of merit. He is spoken of by Pope and Harwood as an enthusiastic collector of the various editions of Horace, and eulogized by Haller for the art and ingenuity of his anatomical preparations. Doubtless at that date there were presented fewer letters recommending raw Scottish lads to the notice of their enriched countrymen, than when Wilkie charmingly depicted a similar ceremony. In any case, Douglas gave the young aspirant a gracious reception, and asked him to repeat his visit. Being engaged at the time with an elaborate treatise on the bones, he was anxious to enlist the services of some trustworthy youth as a dissector, and perceived that Hunter had the sense and acuteness requisite to qualify him for the situation. He therefore courteously invited our hero to live in his house, assist in his dissections, and superintend the education of his son.

When the curious and adulating Boswell had his cherished hopes crowned by an introduction, in the parlor of Tom Davies, to the great man whom he had long worshiped at a distance, and nervously blurted out, “I do indeed come from Scotland, but I can not help it,” Johnson said with truth. “That, sir, is what a great many of your countrymen can not help.” Such, however, was not the case with Hunter, who had sufficient influence to achieve a respectable position at home if he had wished. The offer of Douglas was, nevertheless, tempting. He requested time to consider it; and going to the house of a practitioner with whom he was staying in Pall Mall, he wrote to his partner and to his father on the subject. Cullen immediately approved of his accepting the post; but the laird, who was in his seventy-eighth year, and looked upon a journey to London as a most formidable affair, was already impatient for his son’s return, and was with no small difficulty prevailed on to give his consent. Matters were at length accommodated; and Hunter took up his quarters under the roof of Douglas as pupil and assistant, and entered vigorously upon his new duties.

This was, unquestionably, an auspicious commencement of his career; for his patron was high in his profession, a Fellow of the Royal Society, and Reader of Anatomy to the Company of Surgeons. Besides, public opinion was not yet violently excited against the inhabitants of the sterile north. The “silver-tongued Mansfield” had, it is true, ridden from Perthshire to Middlesex, “drunk champagne with the wits,” and distinguished himself at the bar; but he was not yet lord chief justice nor an English peer. Wedderburn had not yet crossed the Tweed to grasp successfully at the great seal. Lord Bute had still to be pulled out of the apothecary’s chariot at a cricket-match to play at whist with, and become the favorite of, Frederick Prince of Wales. On the other hand, Wilkes had not indulged in what Lord Chatham called “the expensive delights” of contested elections, nor in the profanity and licentiousness of Medenham Abbey. His services as embassador to Constantinople had to be declined, and “The North Briton” to be called into existence to avenge the slight. Poor, deluded Churchill, was sitting on the forms at Westminster with Lloyd, Cowper, and Warren Hastings. The time had to come when he could “blaze the comet of a season,” by applying such terms as “the poor, proud children of leprosy and hunger,” to the natives of an ancient and noble land, whose powers he did not comprehend, and whose achievements in art, science, law, letters, and commerce, he possessed not the prescience to divine. The events of 1745 had yet to fill the citizens of London with anger and apprehension; national animosity had still to be excited to madness by public appointments being almost exclusively bestowed on bare-legged Highlanders. Hunter was, in some respects, an adventurer, and one of whom his country had reason to be proud; but it was well that he arrived and struck his root in public favor before the frenzied cry had gone forth.

Douglas was not disappointed in the expectations he had formed of his assistant’s worth and ability, which he stimulated in various ways. He enabled him to enter as a dissecting pupil at St. George’s Hospital, and to attend a class for anatomy, besides a course of lectures on experimental philosophy, given by Dr. Desaguliers; and Hunter availed himself so earnestly of such advantages, and became so expert in dissection, that his excellent instructor was at the expense of having several of his preparations engraved. This aid, so well calculated to afford encouragement, was rendered just in time; for within twelve months after Hunter’s spirited expedition southward his employer died; and having apparently married past middle age, he left a widow and two children, with whom his talented _protégé_ continued to reside for the next eight years.

In 1743, Hunter, ever aspiring and energetic, contributed a paper on the structure and diseases of the cartilages to the “Philosophical Transactions;” and, three years later, was appointed Lecturer to the Society of Naval Surgeons. For the first course he received seventy guineas, which was the largest sum ever in his possession up to that date, as he declared when carrying it to his lodgings, in a bag, under his cloak. But he had not yet learned prudence; and the amount was soon reduced to such dimensions, that he was reluctantly compelled to postpone the second course for a fortnight, from want of the money to pay for advertising them. This circumstance taught him, after a somewhat stern fashion, that in worldly affairs caution and economy are essential elements of success. In 1747 he became a Member of the College of Surgeons; and, next year, went to Leyden. There the anatomical preparations of Albinus inspired him with enthusiastic admiration, and he was fired with the worthy ambition of emulating their excellence. On returning to this country he commenced practice as a surgeon.

As a medical practitioner, with anxious and laborious duties in the widest of all fields――the metropolis of England――Hunter was conspicuously successful; and, in truth, there are few more responsible occupations. The person to whom is raised the vail which conceals the privacy of domestic life from the public eye, exercises no small influence on multitudes of his fellow-creatures. His aid is invoked to relieve bodily and mental suffering in seasons of distress and perplexity. Lives are confided to his skill, and the peace of families to his honor. To society, therefore, his character and conduct are matters of no inconsiderable interest. Hunter showed himself eminently, and in all respects, worthy of his position. He displayed remarkable tact in winning the confidence of his patients; and, even when he gave signs of being more than ordinarily doubtful of success in his efforts on their behalf, anxious friends and relatives placed implicit reliance on his tried skill and sagacious judgment. His merit and ability were speedily recognized by election to important offices in two hospitals, being recommended thereto by the most eminent surgeons of the day. His manner and personal appearance contributed much to his success, and he began to distance all competitors in the field which he gradually chose for the exercise of his skill and experience. In 1750 the degree of Doctor of Medicine was bestowed on him by the University of Glasgow; and in the summer of the next year he visited his native district, where time had wrought considerable changes among his relations.

His father had died shortly after consenting to his remaining in London; and his eldest brother had since followed. But his mother yet lived at Long Calderwood, of which he had become proprietor on his brother’s decease. Nor had romance altogether disdained to alight on the unpretending mansion and its homely grounds. A cabinet-maker, fresh from the regions of Cockaigne, had settled at Glasgow, and ventured to pay his addresses to one of the sisters. He was the reverse of disagreeable, and “Miss Jenny” was quite content to be his. Her relatives, indeed, conceived that a match would compromise their gentility, and protested against its being consummated; but this “penniless lass wi’ a lang pedigree” resolved, at all risks, to secure herself against the possibility of becoming an old maid, took the bit between her teeth, and insisted on having her own way. Then, questionless, preparations would be made for a gay wedding, and numerous guests would be bidden. Smugglers would supply foreign wine and brandy. The gun, the farmyard, and the pigeon-house, would furnish the table; friends and kinsfolk would congregate from all directions; damsels, with the prospect of a bridal ceremony and a dance, would willingly submit to the inconvenience of passing the preceding night six in a room; while men combining something of the haughty spirit of the Master of Ravenswood with a moiety of the pedantry displayed by the Baron of Bradwardine, would in hay-lofts luxuriate in such sleep as is not always vouchsafed to kings reclining under gilded canopies. Another event of greater importance had occurred. Hunter’s brother John, the youngest of the brood, after attempting to work for some time at his brother-in-law’s trade, despaired of success in that path of life, and returned home. He soon became tired of remaining idle, and joining Dr. Hunter in London, threw all the ardor and energy of his great mind into surgery, and ultimately arrived at the highest honors of his profession. He had been three years in the English metropolis, and won considerable reputation at the time of Dr. Hunter’s visit to Scotland. As for the latter, he was now full of hope and courage; and his engagements were such that he could only stay for a few weeks. But he gave instructions for repairing and improving the house of Long Calderwood, and for purchasing any adjoining lands that might happen to be offered for sale. One day, while riding in a flat part of the country with his old comrade, Cullen, the young Glasgow professor, pointing out to his former colleague his birth-place, said, “How conspicuous Long Calderwood appears to-day!”

“By St. Andrew!” exclaimed Hunter with unwonted energy, emphasis, and enthusiasm, “if I live I shall make it still more conspicuous!”

There was, in this frank utterance, something of that glowing romance which generally animates and stimulates great men; and the future fully proved that this confidence in his own power and determination, however high, was not in any degree misplaced. When he was held in esteem by his sovereign, when his name and talents were known and respected in every part of Europe, when the scientific societies of foreign capitals were proudly conferring honors upon him, and when he was in possession of wealth and enviable reputation, he could reflect on this frank expression of sentiment without any of the regret experienced by those who indulge in such aspirations without having calculated the toil and labor necessary for their realization.

In 1756 Hunter became one of the physicians to the British Lying-in Hospital; in the two succeeding years, a Licentiate of the Royal College of Physicians, and a Member of the Medical Society. In 1762 he published his “Medical Commentaries,” written in a correct and spirited style. Having been consulted by Queen Charlotte in the latter year, he was subsequently nominated Physician Extraordinary to her Majesty. He now found it necessary to admit his pupil, Mr. Hewson, who had for some time assisted at his lectures, as his associate. On the institution of the Royal Academy, the king appointed Hunter to the Professorship of Anatomy. In fulfilling the duties thus devolving upon him, he exhibited boundless zeal and singular mental vigor, as also ingenious resource in adapting his science to purposes of painting and sculpture.

When Goldsmith was, on the same occasion, graciously honored with the Professorship of Ancient History, he complained to his familiar friends, with some show of reason, that honors bestowed upon one in his circumstances were too like ruffles given to a man who had not a shirt to his back. With Hunter the case was widely different. By this time he was a rich man; and――what was of more consequence――actuated by the laudable ambition of making his wealth minister to the progress of the profession, in whose ranks the greater part of it had been earned. Accordingly, having set apart a sum sufficient to insure independence to his declining years, he proposed to expend a large amount of his hoarded treasure in the erection of an anatomical theatre, and to found a perpetual professorship; provided the Government would grant a proper site for a building. His request in this respect, being made to George Grenville, then prime minister, was not, of course, complied with. He was not, however, to be baffled in his purpose; and on failing to obtain the co-operation of Government, though Lord Shelburne handsomely offered to head a subscription list with a thousand pounds, he purchased a piece of ground in Great Windmill Street, where, at his own expense, he built an amphitheatre and museum, as well as a large and commodious mansion, to which he removed in 1770. The museum was at first furnished with the numerous specimens of human and comparative anatomy collected by him during previous years; but his efforts and expenditure did not cease at this point. He gradually added to the stores by purchasing various collections of note, particularly that of Dr. Fothergill, who directed in his will that it should be offered to Hunter considerably below its estimated value. Besides, he procured a number of fossils, a splendid cabinet of rare coins and medals, and a magnificent library, well stocked with Greek and Latin volumes. By and by his medical friends felt honored in contributing presents; and the institution became known and valued throughout Europe.