There is in his writing a limpid truthfulness and simplicity, unconsciously decorated with pretty 18th century words and half-rusticities which give it a perennial charm. And inasmuch as I desire to represent Hales, not only as a man to be respected but also to be loved, it will be as well to give what is known of the personal side of his character before going on to a detailed account of his work.
He was, as we have seen, entered at Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, in June 1696. In February 1702–3 he was admitted a fellow of the College. It was during his life as a fellow that he began to work at chemistry in what he calls “the elaboratory in Trinity College.” The room is now occupied by the Senior Bursar, and forms part of the beautiful range of buildings in the bowling green, which, freed from stucco and other desecration, are made visible in their ancient guise by the piety of a son of Trinity and the wisdom of the College authorities. It was here, according to Dr. Bentley, that “the thieving Bursars of the old set embezzled the College timber,” [121] and it was this room that was fitted up as “an elegant laboratory” in 1706 for John Francis Vigani, an Italian chemist, who had taught unofficially in the
University for some years, and became, in 1703, the first Professor of Chemistry at Cambridge.
Judging from his book, Medulla Chymiae, 1682, Vigani was an eminently practical person, who cared greatly about the proper make of a furnace and the form of a retort but was not cumbered with theories.
Hales vacated his fellowship and became minister or perpetual curate of Teddington [122] in 1708–9, and there he lived until his death, fifty-two years afterwards. He was married (? 1719) and his wife died without issue in 1721.
He attracted the attention of Royalty, and received plants from the King’s garden at Hampton Court. Frederick Prince of Wales, the father of George III., is said to have been fond of surprising him in his laboratory at Teddington. This must surely be a unique habit in a prince, but we may remember that, in the words of the Prince’s mock epitaph, “Since it is only Fred there’s no more to be said.” He became Clerk of the Closet to the Dowager Princess, and this “mother of the best of Kings,” as she calls herself, put up his monument in Westminster Abbey. Hales had the honour of receiving the Copley Medal from the Royal Society in 1739, and Oxford made him a D.D. in 1733.
Some years ago I made a pilgrimage to Teddington, and found in the parish registers many interesting entries by his hand; the last, in a tremulous writing, is on November 4th, 1760, two months before he died. He was clearly an active parish
priest. He made his female parishioners do public penance when he thought they deserved it. He did much for the fabric of the church. “In 1754 [123a] he helped the parish to a decent water supply and characteristically records in the parish register that the outflow was such as to fill a two-quart vessel in ‘three swings of a pendulum beating seconds, which pendulum was 39+2/10 inches long from the suspending nail to the middle of the plumbet or bob.’” Under the tower he helped to build (which now serves as a porch) Stephen Hales is buried, and the stone which covers his body is being worn away by the feet of the faithful. By the piety of a few botanists a mural tablet, on which the epitaph is restored, has been placed near the grave.
Horace Walpole called Hales “a poor, good, primitive creature” and Pope [123b] (who was his neighbour) said, “I shall be very glad to see Dr. Hales, and always love to see him, he is so worthy and good a man.” Peter Collinson writes of “his constant serenity and cheerfulness of mind”; it is also recorded that “he could look even upon wicked men, and those who did him unkind offices, without any emotion of particular indignation; not from want of discernment or sensibility, but he used to consider them only like those experiments which, upon trial, he found could never be applied to any useful purpose, and which he therefore calmly and dispassionately laid aside.”