Dr William Pulteney Alison, to whom the electors of King’s College applied for suggestions as to a suitable candidate, had curiously enough never mentioned the name of his cousin, and it was only owing to the intervention of Thomas Clark who held the Chair of Chemistry in Marischal College that Gregory came to apply. After giving him minute instructions as to the form which his application must take, he added, ‘Don’t mention me no more than the Devil.’ The name of this friend was therefore kept out of sight, and Gregory was in due course appointed to the vacant professorship. It was with great joy that his advent was announced to the professors of King’s College. Their difficulties in improving the medical course, when the very mediciner would not teach a class, had been insuperable, but now they felt a man of influence was coming amongst them, who would be the means of promoting the interests of their university, and who would give the benefit of a hereditary power of teaching to the students, whom they felt sure his great name would attract to their midst. While in Aberdeen William Gregory became intensely interested in the welfare of King’s College, and busied himself in trying to secure revenue from the government to found new chairs, but in this he was unsuccessful. He taught Materia Medica in a house fitted up for a Medical School in Kingsland Place, and he had a good class, but from the witticisms of the students as to the effect of their professor’s preparation of muriate of morphia it is evident that William Gregory’s physical weakness was growing upon him, and that it was only with the most strenuous effort that he could get to his class at ten o’clock. As his power of walking failed him, the professor found much solace in music, and sweet snatches of melody were carried across his old-fashioned garden to the ears of passers-by. He played beautifully, and his wife, who was a niece of Colonel Scott of Gala, added greatly to the charms of their musical parties. It is said that they were the first to shock the people of Aberdeen by playing secular music on Sunday. To the Aberdonians, however, he gave a more serious cause for complaint—William Gregory was of a singularly childlike and trustful disposition, and he was intensely interested in the occult science of Spiritualism; the result was that he became the patron of a most undesirable throng of quasi-scientific humbugs, whose presence in their midst they resented with extreme frankness. There is a continual atmosphere of table-turning, mesmerism and magnetic flames in the tales extant about him, and though the narrators are tender about his memory, they have perforce to take up the attitude of counsel for the defence.