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,

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:

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.

In 1775 Dr. Hunter published his most famous work, “The History of the Human Gravid Uterus,” illustrated by large and splendid plates, and dedicated to his majesty. Several additions in matters of detail were made to the book from his papers, after the author had gone to his long rest. In 1780 he was elected an Associate of the Royal Medical Society of Paris. On the death of Dr. Fothergill he was chosen President of the Society of Physicians, and soon after a Foreign Associate of the French Academy of Sciences, as well as of the Royal Medical Society of Paris.

As a lecturer his powers remained unimpaired; and though in stature rather under the middle size, he was well formed, and engaging enough in person and deportment to set off to advantage discourses composed with clearness and illustrated to admiration. He continued to deliver them till within a few months of his death. In his last years he was attended by his nephew. This was Mr. Baillie, son of a Scotch clergyman, brother of the celebrated poetess of that name, and afterward a distinguished physician. The youth had studied at Glasgow and Oxford, and he now came to be drilled into excellence by his experienced kinsman. He was to this end employed in arranging preparations for the lectures, conducting the demonstrations, and superintending the operations of the pupils. He subsequently undertook the continuance of his uncle’s lectures, in conjunction with Mr. Cruickshank; but, ere long, his extensive practice compelled him to relinquish the duty. Dr. Hunter having, contrary to the advice and solicitation of his friends, risen from bed during an attack of the gout to give a lecture, was seized with paralysis, and felt that his end was approaching; nor did he shrink from the presence of the great despoiler, whose ravages he had so often checked. His resignation was singular. “If I had strength to hold a pen, I would write how easy and pleasant a thing it is to die,” he said, turning to Dr. Combe, shortly before breathing his last, which he did on the 30th of March, 1783. Within a week he was interred in the vault of St. James’s Church, Westminster.

The museum, on which he had expended so large an amount, was bequeathed to the University of Glasgow, its use for thirty years being reserved in favor of Dr. Baillie.

To his young and rising relative he left by will his patrimonial estate; but as it was evident that, in this settlement, he had been actuated by the annoyance consequent on an irritating dispute between himself and his illustrious brother, in regard to the merit of a discovery which both claimed, Baillie declined availing himself of the circumstance. He therefore, with a touching and becoming generosity, abandoned the property to his uncle, in whose mind it was associated with a hundred endearing recollections—kith, and kin, and home—the freaks of boyhood, and the vague aspirations of a clouded and cheerless youth, destined to be so nobly redeemed by the exertion and industry of a useful manhood.