express his vigorous thoughts, as well as in strengthening his knowledge of Latin and Greek. According to the record preserved on his class certificates he worked attentively and diligently; but the mere fact that he did not excel is sufficient proof that he did not make an attempt.

During his Arts course Simpson lodged at No. 1, Adam Street, along with the John Reid already mentioned, who was now a medical student, and with a Mr. MacArthur, who had been a junior master at the Bathgate school, but had now also commenced to study medicine. MacArthur was a man of dogged 21 determination; he urged Simpson to persist with his Arts course when his spirit seemed to rebel against it, and so long as they were together seems to have maintained some of the authority of the usher over both of the youths. The spirit of work was strong within him. Soon after Simpson joined him he related that he could then do with four hours’ sleep, John Reid with six, but he had not been able to break in James yet. What MacArthur and the Arts course could not do, however, the attraction of medicine accomplished without effort, and Simpson soon formed the habit of early rising.

It seems remarkable that so much study should have been required when, compared with to-day, the science of the healing art was in but a rudimentary condition. The teachers of the day had, in spite of Sydenham, a great regard for authority, and burdened their students with much that is utterly unknown to the present generation, and, if known, would be regarded as worthless. A very large part of the curriculum consisted of practical and bedside work, so that book study was necessarily left to the evening or early morning. All three students, moreover, were fired with ambition, and thirsted for something more than mere professional knowledge. MacArthur constantly urged on his two young friends, and foretold great things for them if only they would work. When he afterwards heard of their successes he used to say, “Yes, but how they worked.” Simpson became 22 the greatest living obstetrician, and Reid rose to be Professor of Physiology in St. Andrew’s University. MacArthur never became famous; his name is known only because of the initial impetus which his influence gave to the professional careers of his two young friends.

In his close association with two such men as MacArthur and Reid, Simpson was again fortunate in his environment. The art of medicine was also fortunate inasmuch as at the right moment the right influences were at work to direct his mind towards it. While occupied in mastering the laws of hexameter and iambic or in assimilating the prescribed portion of Virgil and Tacitus, he happily now and then, living with two such enthusiastic medical students, got a taste of the more stimulating study of things scientific—food which was more agreeable to his mental palate, more suited to his mental digestion. By peeps into anatomical books, by little demonstrations of specimens in their lodgings, and by occasional visits to some of the lecture rooms or the wards of the Infirmary, his appetite was whetted for that great study of nature which his youthful training at Bathgate had prepared him for, and for which his mental constitution was specially adapted. One can picture the eagerness with which he would cast aside the finished Greek or Latin essay and urge the not unwilling embryo professor to demonstrate a bone or lecture on an anatomical preparation.

Sometimes as a special favour he was taken by Reid to hear one of the lectures of the notorious Robert Knox, the extra-academical teacher of anatomy, whose strong personality and unrivalled powers as a lecturer were at that time attracting to Surgeon’s Square hundreds of students, while Munro (Tertius) was mechanically repeating his grandfather’s lectures from the University chair.

It was towards the end of 1828, when Simpson was just about commencing his medical studies that Edinburgh, and in fact the whole of civilised Europe, was horrified by the revelation of the doings of Burke and Hare, when they were at last brought to justice for the long series of crimes perpetrated for the purpose of selling the bodies of their victims to the anatomical schools. Knox having a class of some four hundred students had special difficulty in meeting the demand for “subjects,” and it was brought to light at the trial of Burke that the majority of the bodies were disposed of to Knox. As was only natural, a fierce indignation against Knox sprang up in the city. His residence was assailed and his effigy burnt. His life was in danger at the hands of the mob on more than one occasion.

Lord Cockburn in his “Memorials of His Time” says that all the Edinburgh anatomists incurred an unjust and very alarming though not an unnatural odium—Dr. Knox in particular, against whom not only the anger of the populace but the condemnation 24 of more intelligent persons was directed. “But,” he says, “tried in reference to the invariable and the necessary practice of the profession our anatomists were spotlessly correct and Knox the most correct of them all.”

These were stirring times in Edinburgh medical circles. The strong, cool demeanour of Knox under the persecutions to which he was subjected, must have made an indelible impression on Simpson’s mind, and the memory of it may have served to strengthen him in later years when himself subjected to the unjust accusations of thoughtless and ignorant people.

One night when Knox had attracted a large class to hear him on a favourite subject, the crowd in the street mustered in unusual force; the yells and howls from outside were heard distinctly in the class-room. The students got alarmed, and kept looking to the doors of egress. Knox perceiving the restlessness and alarm of his audience paused, and then addressed to them reassuring words, expressing his contempt for the cowardly mob, and reminding them of the great men who at different times had suffered persecution for the cause of their science. His statement was received with such cheers as resounded beyond the class-room walls and actually cowed the uproarious mob, so loudly did the students applaud the words of the man who, they knew, daily placed his life in danger in order to lecture to them, and whose last hour seemed to have come, so great 25 and threatening was the crowd on this particular evening.

If Simpson did not actually witness such a scene as the foregoing—he was not a member of Knox’s class until the session 1830-31—he must at least have known full well about it at the time, and shared with the whole body of students the worship of the man as a hero. His fellow lodger, Reid, was not only a distinguished pupil in Knox’s class, but became one of Knox’s demonstrators in 1833, and was always a prominent Knoxite. We know also that Knox went down to Bathgate to visit Reid’s relations there, so that it is justifiable to conclude that Simpson came closely in contact with this remarkable teacher. That the relationship between Reid and Simpson was most intimate we have the former’s own words for. At a public dinner given to him when appointed to his professorship in 1841, he said, “In the croupier (Simpson) I recognise my earliest friend, a native of the same village. We were rivals at school and at college. We stood to each other from boyhood upwards in every possible relation, whether of an educational, warlike, delicate, or social character, which the warm and fitful feelings peculiar to boyhood and youth can produce.”

In the end Knox and Reid quarrelled over a scientific matter. Knox never recovered from the effect of the Burke and Hare incident; in spite of the favourable report of an influential committee appointed to