In the boat they found a charming companion in Violetti, who was on her way to fulfil an engagement at the Haymarket Theatre, and to fame. She became Mrs Garrick, and lived happily in her villa, near London, till 1822, but except on the stage, Gregory never saw her again. Now there happened to John Gregory, what so seldom befalls anyone, that he was put into the right place for him without any effort on his part. When he returned to Aberdeen he was offered the Chair of Philosophy, which meant in those days that he should teach mathematics, natural philosophy and moral philosophy, and be a regent. His former study did not exactly lead to this, and people must sometimes have asked of what use had his apprenticeship to his doctor brother been to him if he were to turn into a philosopher. But there was plenty of time to be several things in the leisurely eighteenth century. That was what John Gregory thought, so from 1747 to 1749 he was a Regent of Philosophy. Although regents had been abolished both in Edinburgh and Glasgow Universities before 1746, in Aberdeen they were still retained, and from the statement quoted in Mr Rait’s book on the Universities of Aberdeen, I take the following paragraph, descriptive of the attitude of King’s College in regard to this subject. ‘Every Professor of Philosophy in this University is also tutor to those who study under him, has the whole direction of their studies, the training of their minds, and the oversight of their manners; and it seems to be generally agreed that it must be detrimental to a student to change his tutor every session ... and though it be allowed that a professor who has only one branch of philosophy for his province, may have more leisure to make improvements in it for the benefit of the learned world, yet it does not seem at all extravagant to suppose that a professor ought to be sufficiently qualified to teach all that his pupils can learn in philosophy in the course of three sessions.’ So it was not only to teach, but to train the minds, and ‘overlook’ the manners of his students, that John Gregory was called. He was the only Gregory who ever was a regent, and he came to his work with a clear insight into students’ ways, being indeed hardly more than a student himself. But the life must have been unattractive. To quote from a letter dated September 4th, 1765, from Thomas Reid, who held the Chair of Philosophy shortly after his cousin, which is full of much interesting information as to what the work of a regent was like:—‘The students here,’ he says, ‘have lately been compelled to live within the College. We need but look out at our windows to see when they rise and when they go to bed. They are seen nine or ten times throughout the day statedly, by one or other of the masters—at public prayers, school hours, meals, in their rooms, besides occasional visits which we can make with little trouble to ourselves.’