D. P. was the eldest son of Major P. and was brought up in the High School, at Edinburgh, whither his mother removed after the death of her husband. He there got great credit; and Mr. French, the master under whose instruction he went through the first four classes, ever retained the sincerest attachment to him. When he left school, he removed to the University of Glasgow, where he continued for a number of years. From Glasgow he again revisited Edinburgh, where, for some time, he attended lectures. From Edinburgh he proceeded to Cambridge, and was a member of Benet College. On taking his degree, he went to London, and became an inmate in the house of his uncle, Dr. W. P. After the death of his protector, he progressively rose to the eminence and fortune which his abilities deserved, and which, from a very early period, they promised. Unfortunately, and at the very period when his practice was almost as extensive as it well could be, he ruptured a blood vessel in the lungs, and, for the benefit of a milder climate, proceeded to Lisbon. Here he continued for two years, but, though he returned convalescent, he deemed it expedient and necessary to circumscribe his practice, and, indeed, almost altogether to limit it to the families of his older friends and connections, which alone were sufficiently numerous. The reputation, however, which he universally obtained for sagacity and sound judgment, compelled him, in a manner, gradually to extend his circle, when, alas! his career was lamentably shortened. He was constitutionally subject to sore throat, and generally slept with leeches by his side, to be ready to apply in case of any unfavourable symptoms. But, at a moment when his friends and he himself thought his health effectually restored, and he was again rising fast to the very head of his profession, he complained of a soreness in his throat. He thought very slightly of it at first, but, though attended by Dr. Baillie and Sir Everard Home, both of whom were attached to him by the strongest possible ties of esteem and friendship, in three days he was a corpse. There seems to have been some misapprehension of his case; and perhaps his own suggestion on the subject of his malady, written by himself with a pencil, when he was unable to speak, might not receive the attention it deserved. Be this as it may, nothing could exceed the grief of those who attended him, at the loss of one who, for a long series of years, had been their counsellor, their companion, and their friend. What opinion his medical friends entertained of his professional skill, may best be seen by the tribute of esteem and respect paid to his memory by Dr. William Heberden, in one of the best Harveian orations ever delivered at the College. In one year the world was deprived of the skill and sagacity of Dr. John Hunter and Dr. David Pitcairn, which Dr. Heberden thus emphatically deplores: