The great name among modern Edinburgh doctors is clearly that of Sir James Young Simpson (1811-1870), an accomplished scholar and antiquarian, as well as the discoverer of chloroform. His activity was incessant. An apology was made to him because he had been kept waiting for a ferry-boat. “Oh dear, no,” said he, “I was all the time busy chloroforming the eels in the pool.” His pietistic tendencies by no means quenched his sense of humour. Parting from a young doctor who had started a carriage, “I have just been telling him I will pray for his humility.” Some one propounded the not original view that the Bible and Shakespeare were the greatest books in the world. “Ah,” said he, “the Bible and Shakespeare—and Oliver and Boyd’s Edinburgh Almanac,” this last huge collection of facts he no doubt judged indispensable for the citizen. The final and solemn trial of chloroform was made on the 28th November 1837. Simpson, Keith, and Duncan experimented on themselves. Simpson went off, and was roused by the snores of Dr. Duncan and the convulsive movements of Dr. Keith. “He saw that the great discovery had been made, and that his long labours had come to a successful end.” Some extreme clergymen protested. “It enabled women,” one urged, “to escape part of the primeval curse; it was a scandalous interference with the laws of Providence.” Simpson went on with his experiments. Once he became insensible under the influence of some drug. As he came to himself, he heard his butler, Clarke, shouting in anger and concern: “He’ll kill himself yet wi’ thae experiments, an’ he’s a big fule, for they’ll never find onything better than clory.” On another occasion, Simpson and some friends were taking chloral ether in aerated water. Clarke was much interested in the “new champagne chlory”; he took what was left downstairs and administered it to the cook, who presently became insensible. The butler in great alarm burst in upon the assembled men of science: “For God’s sake, sir, come doun, I’ve pushioned the cook.” Those personal experiments were indeed tricky things. Sir Robert Christison (1797-1882) once nearly killed himself with Calabar bean. He swallowed his shaving water, which acted promptly as an emetic, but he was very ill for some time. One of the most beautiful things in Simpson’s story was the devotion of his own family to him, specially the care of his elder brother Alexander. “Oh, Sandie, Sandie,” said Simpson again and again to the faithful brother, who stood by him even on his death-bed. To the outside world he seemed the one Edinburgh figure of first importance. A citizen was presented at the Court of Denmark to the King of that country. “You come from Edinburgh,” said His Majesty. “Ah! Sir Simpson was of Edinburgh.” CHAPTER FIVE ROYALTY