Guy's hospital was the benevolent work of a London bookseller, who, by perseverance, economy, and lucky speculation, amassed a very large fortune. Thomas Guy began life with a stock of about £200, as a stationery and bookseller in a little corner house between Cornhill and Lombard-st., taking out his freedom of the Stationers' Company in 1668. He was a thrifty tradesman, but he won his wealth rather by stock-jobbing than by the sale of books, although he made important sums by his contract with the University of Oxford for their privilege of printing bibles. Maitland informs us, "England being engaged in an expensive war against France, the poor seamen on board the royal navy, for many years, instead of money received tickets for their pay, which those necessitous but very useful men were obliged to dispose of at thirty, forty, and sometimes fifty in the hundred discount. Mr. Guy, discovering the sweets of this traffick, became an early dealer therein, as well as in other government securities, by which, and his trade, he acquired a very great estate." In the South-sea stock he was not less lucky. He bought largely at the outset, held on till the bubble reached its full size, and ere the final burst sold out. It may be questioned whether Guy's or Rahere's money was earned the more honourably,—whether to fawn, flatter, and jest at the table of princes was a meaner course of exertion than to drive a usurious trade with poor sailors, and fatten on a stupendous national calamity. But however basely it may have been gathered together, Guy's wealth was well expended, in alleviating the miseries of the same classes from whose sufferings it had been principally extracted. In his old age Guy set about building his hospital, and ere his death, in 1724, saw it completed. On its erection and endowment he expended £238,292 16s. 5d. To his honour it must be stated that, notwithstanding this expenditure and his munificent contributions to other charities, he had a considerable residue of property, which he distributed amongst his poor relations.
Of the collegiate medical buildings of London, the one that belongs to the humblest department of the profession is the oldest, and for that reason—apart from its contents, which are comparatively of little value—the most interesting. Apothecaries' Hall, in Water Lane, Blackfriars, was built in 1670. Possibly the size and imposing aspect of their college stimulated the drug-vendors to new encroachments on the prescriptive and enacted rights of the physicians. The rancour of "The Dispensary" passes over the merits (graces it has none) of the structure, and designates it by mentioning its locality—
"Nigh where Fleet Ditch descends in sable streams,
To wash his sooty Naiads in the Thames,
There stands a structure on a rising hill,
Where tyros take their freedom out to kill."
Amongst the art-treasures of the hall are a portrait of James I. (who first established the apothecaries as a company distinct from the grocers), and a bust of Delaune, the lucky apothecary of that monarch's queen, who has already been mentioned in these pages.
The elegant college of the physicians, in Pall Mall east, was not taken into use till the 25th of June, 1825, the doctors migrating to it from Warwick Hall, which is now in the occupation of the butchers of Newgate Market. Had the predecessors of the present tenants been "the surgeons," instead of "the physicians," the change of masters would have given occasion for a joke. As it is, not even the consolation of a jest can be extracted from the desecration of an abode of learning that has many claims on our affection.
In "The Dispensary," the proximity of the college dome to the Old Bailey is playfully pointed at:—
"Not far from that most celebrated place,
Where angry justice shows her awful face,
Where little villains must submit to fate,
That great ones may enjoy the world in state,
There stands a dome, majestic to the sight,
And sumptuous arches bear its oval height;
A golden globe, placed high with artful skill,
Seems, to the distant sight, a gilded pill:
This pile was, by the pious patron's aim,
Raised for a use as noble as its frame.
Nor did the learn'd society decline
The propagation of that great design;
In all her mazes, Nature's face they view'd,
And, as she disappear'd, their search pursued.
Wrapt in the shade of night, the goddess lies,
Yet to the learn'd unveils her dark disguise,
But shuns the gross access of vulgar eyes."
The Warwick Lane college was erected on the college at Amen Corner (to which the physicians removed on quitting their original abode in Knight-Rider Street), being burnt to the ground in the great fire of 1666. Charles II. and Sir John Cutler were ambitious of having their names associated with the new edifice, the chief fault of which was that, like all the other restorations following the memorable conflagration, it was raised near the old site. Charles became its pious patron, and Sir John Cutler its munificent benefactor. The physicians duly thanked them, and honoured them with statues, Cutler's effigy having inscribed beneath it, "Omnis Cutleri cedat labor Amphitheatro."
So far, so good. The fun of the affair remains to be told. On Sir John's death, his executors, Lord Radnor and Mr. Boulter, demanded of the college £7000, which covered in amount a sum the college had borrowed of their deceased benefactor, and also the sum he pretended to have given. Eventually the executors lowered their claim to £2000 (which, it is reasonable to presume, had been lent by Sir John), and discontinued their demand for the £5000 given. Such being the stuff of which Sir John was made, well might Pope exclaim:—
"His Grace's fate sage Cutler could foresee,
And well (he thought) advised him, 'Live like me.'
As well his Grace replied, 'Like you, Sir John?
That I can do when all I have is gone.'"