That wrapt her breathless clay.
And thrice he called on Margaret’s name
And thrice he wept full sore,
Then laid his cheek to her cold grave
And word spake never more.’
The author of this poem was not only a M’Gregor, but like the Gregories, a M’Gregor of Roro, and though he had changed his name, as did so many members of that unfortunate clan, the tradition was always kept up in his family.
Charles Gregorie, a half brother of Professor James, who was for a time Snell Exhibitioner at Balliol, was created by Queen Anne in 1707 Professor of Mathematics at St Andrews, which chair he held for thirty-two years until such time as his son could be appointed in his stead. He was quiet, studious, and able, but little is known of him.
David Gregorie, who succeeded him, does not bear quite so gentle a character, but he was a much abler man and one who could make his personality felt wherever he went.
After his own schooldays were over, he became tutor to the sons of the Duke of Gordon with whom he was connected through his grandmother. In this way he passed several years of his life before he was appointed to the Mathematical Chair. As a professor he was very popular, and if he tried to extend his influence beyond his class-room, he meant nothing but kindness. This was not always understood. One of his students wrote an autobiography, in which he described the ardour with which Mr Gregorie insisted that he should attend the services at the church—ardour for which Mr. Stockdale was not grateful and to requite which he put the professor’s name into his ‘immortal’ autobiography as that of a bigot, who had compelled him to attend the kirk. Thomas Reid, when studying his cousin’s character and especially his whiggery and Presbyterianism, so curiously unlike the rest of his family, remembered that he, like himself, was descended from the second wife of David Gregorie of Kinairdy, and had inherited her principles both in religion and politics.
There is another incident in his life more likely to recall those of his connections who bore the name of M’Gregor, and the record of it seems odd enough and old-world enough in our eyes. The report is that of a lawsuit which the professor had against Mr Wemyss of Lathockar. Gregorie, it seems, who loved sport, was ‘hunting for partridges’ over the broad meadowlands of Leuchars. He was accompanied by a man called Baird, who carried a second gun for Professor Gregorie. Suddenly Mr Wemyss sprang upon this man and seizing his gun refused to return it. The professor was furious—Baird was carrying a second gun for him, he was no common fowler, no higgler from whom a gun could rightly be taken; but Mr Wemyss was obdurate and went away with the gun, and nine-tenths of the law in his favour. And now there was no possible remedy but the courts, and in due course, the matter came up before the Sheriff. Gregorie claimed the restitution of his gun, and damages for the way in which he had been treated. As regards his first request, his claim was granted, but on the second point the judgment was not so favourable for—is it possible?—there was a doubt in the Sheriffs mind as to whether Gregorie himself had a right to be shooting over the grounds of Leuchars. It had ceased to be a question only concerning Baird, and in the end, the Professor of Mathematics in St Andrew’s University was refused damages on the ground that he himself was poaching![[4]] The owner of Leuchars was a minor, and as one of his tutors Professor Gregorie had never doubted his right to shoot over the estate, but he went back to St Andrew’s with new ideas on the limitations of his privilege.