Lettsom, loose-living man though he was for a member of the Society of Friends, had enough of the Quaker element in him to be very fond of controversy. He dearly loved to expose quackery, and in some cases did good service in that way. In the _Medical Journal_ he attacked, A. D.

1806, no less a man than Brodum, the proprietor of the Nervous Cordial, avowing that that precious compound had killed thousands; and also stating that Brodum had added to the crime of wholesale murder the atrocities of having been born a Jew, of having been a shoe-black in Copenhagen, and of having at some period of his chequered career carried on an ign.o.ble trade in oranges. Of course Brodum saw his advantage. He immediately brought an action against Phillips, the proprietor of the _Medical Journal_, laying his damages at ?5000. The lawyers antic.i.p.ated a harvest from the case, and were proceeding not only against Phillips, but various newsvendors also, when a newspaper editor stept in between Phillips and Brodum, and contrived to settle the dispute. Brodum's terms were not modest ones. He consented to withdraw his actions, if the name of the author was given up, and if the author would whitewash him in the next number of the Journal, under the same signature. Lettsom consented, paid the two attorneys'

bills, amounting to ?390, and wrote the required puff of Brodum and his Nervous Cordial.

One of the singular characters of Dublin, a generation ago, was John Brenan, M.D., a physician who edited the _Milesian Magazine_, a scurrilous publication of the satirist cla.s.s, that flung dirt on every one dignified enough for the mob to take pleasure in seeing him bespattered with filth. The man certainly was a great blackguard, but was not dest.i.tute of wit. How he carried on the war with the members of his own profession the following song will show:--

"THE DUBLIN DOCTORS.

"My gentle muse, do not refuse To sing the Dublin Doctors, O; For they're the boys Who make the joys Of grave-diggers and proctors, O.

We'll take 'em in procession, O, We'll take 'em in succession, O; But how shall we Say who is he Shall lead the grand procession, O?

Least wit and greatest malice, O, Least wit and greatest malice, O, Shall mark the man Who leads the van, As they march to the gallows, O.

First come then, Doctor Big Paw, O, Come first then, Doctor Big Paw, O; Mrs Kilfoyle Says you would spoil Its shape, did you her wig paw, O.

Come next, dull Dr Labat, O, Come next, dull Dr Labat, O; Why is it so, You kill the doe, Whene'er you catch the rabbit, O?

Come, Harvey, drunken dandy, O, Come, Harvey, drunken dandy, O; Thee I could paint A walking saint, If you lov'd G.o.d like brandy, O.

Come next, Doctor Drumsnuffle, O, Come next, Doctor Drumsnuffle, O; Well stuffed with lead, Your leather head Is thick as hide of Buffaloe.

Come next, Colossus Jackson, O, Come next, Colossus Jackson, O; As jack-a.s.s mute, A burthen brute, Just fit to trot with packs on, O.

Come next, sweet Paddy Rooney, O, Come next, sweet Paddy Rooney, O; Tho' if you stay Till judgment's day, You'll come a month too soon-y, O.

Come next, sweet Breeny Creepmouse, O, Come next, sweet Breeny Creepmouse, O; Thee heaven gave Just sense to shave A corpse, or an asleep mouse, O.

For I say, creep-mouse Breeny, O, For I say, creep-mouse Breeny, O; Thee I can't sing The fairy's king, But I'll sing you their Queen-y O;

For I say, Dr Breeny, O, For I say, Dr Breeny, O; If I for once Called you a dunce, I'd shew a judgment weeny, O.

Come, Richards dull and brazen, O, Come, Richards dull and brazen, O; A prosperous drone, You stand alone, For wondering sense to gaze on, O.

Then come, you greasy blockhead, O, Then come, you greasy blockhead, O; Balked by your face, We quickly trace, Your genius to your pocket, O.

Come, Crampton, man of capers, O, Come, Crampton, man of capers, O; . . . . .

And come, long Doctor Renney, O, And come, long Doctor Renney, O; If sick I'd fee As soon as thee, Old Arabella Denny, O.

Come, Tandragee Ferguson, O, Come, Tandragee Ferguson, O; Fool, don't recoil, But as your foil Bring Ireland or Puke Hewson, O.

Come, ugly Dr Alman, O, Come, ugly Dr Alman, O; But bring a mask, Or do not ask, When come, that we you call man, O.

Come, Boyton, king of dunces, O, Come, Boyton, king of dunces, O; Who call you knave No lies receive, Nay, that your name each one says, O.

Come, Colles, do come, Aby, O, Come, Colles, do come, Aby, O; Tho' all you tell, You'll make them well, You always 'hould say may be, O.

Come, beastly Dr Toomy, O, Come, beastly Dr Toomy, O; If impudence Was common sense As you no sage ere knew me, O.

Come, smirking, smiling Beattie, O, Come, smirking, smiling Beattie, O; In thee I spy An apple eye Of cabbage and potaty, O.

Come, louse-bit Nasom Adams, O, Come, louse-bit Nasom Adams, O; In jail or dock Your face would shock It thee as base and bad damus, O.

Come next, Frank Smyth on c.o.c.kney, O, Come next, Frank Smyth on c.o.c.kney, O; Sweet London's pride, I see you ride, Despising all who flock nigh, O.

And bring your partner Bruen, O, And bring your partner Bruen, O; And with him ride All by your side, Like two fond turtles cooing, O.

Come next, Spilsberry Deegan, O, Come next, Spilsberry Deegan, O; With grace and air Come kill the fair, Your like we'll never, see 'gain, O.

Come, Harry Grattan Dougla.s.s, O, Come, Harry Grattan Dougla.s.s, O; A doctor's name I think you claim, With right than my dog pug less, O.

Come, Oronoko Harkan, O, Come, Oronoko Harkan, O; I think your face Is just the place G.o.d fix'd the blockhead's mark on, O.

Come, Christ-denying Taylor, O, Come, Christ-denying Taylor, O; h.e.l.l made your phiz On man's a quiz, But made it for a jailor, O.

Come, Packwood, come, Carmichael, O, Come, Packwood, come, Carmichael, O; Your cancer-paste, The fools who taste, Whom it kills not does nigh kill, O.

Come next, Adonis Harty, O, Come next, Adonis Harty, O; Your face and frame Shew equal claim, Tam Veneri quam Marti, O.

Here ends my song on Doctors, O, Here ends my song on Doctors, O; Who, when all d.a.m.n'd In h.e.l.l are cramm'd, Will beggar all the Proctors, O."

Brenan (to do him justice) was as ready to fell a professional antagonist and brother with a bludgeon, hunting-whip, or pistol, as he was to scarify him with doggerel. He was as bold a fellow as Dr.

Walsh, the Hibernian ?sculapius, who did his best to lay Dr. Andrew Marshall down amongst the daisies and the dead men. Andrew Marshall, when a divinity-student at Edinburgh, was insulted (whilst officiating for Stewart, the humanity professor) by a youngster named Macqueen.

The insolence of the lad was punished by the professor (_pro tem._) giving him a caning. Smarting with the indignity offered him, Macqueen ran home to his father, imploring vengeance; whereupon the irate sire promptly sallied forth, and entering Marshall's lodgings, exclaimed:--

"Are you the scoundrel that dared to attack my son?"

"Draw and defend yourself!" screamed the divinity student, springing from his chair, and presenting a sword-point at the intruder's breast.

Old Macqueen, who had expected to have to deal only with a timid half-starved usher ready to crouch whiningly under personal castigation, was so astonished at this reception that he turned and fled precipitately. This little affair happened in 1775. As a physician Andrew Marshall was not less valiant than he had been when a student of theology. On Walsh challenging him, he went out and stood up at ten paces like a gentleman. Walsh, a little short fellow, invisible when looked at side-ways, put himself in the regular att.i.tude, shoulder to the front. Marshall disdained such mean prudence, and faced his would-be murdered with his cheeks and chest inflated to the utmost. Shots were exchanged, Dr. Andrew Marshall receiving a ball in his right arm, and Dr. Walsh, losing a lock of hair--snipped off by his opponent's bullet, and scattered by the amorous breeze. Being thus the _gainer_ in the affair, Dr. Andrew Marshall made it up with his adversary, and they lived on friendly terms ever afterwards. Why don't some of our living _medici_ bury the hatchet with a like effective ceremony?

An affair that ended not less agreeably was that in which Dr.

Brocklesby was concerned as princ.i.p.al, where the would-be belligerents left the ground without exchanging shots, because their seconds could not agree on the right number of paces at which to stick up their man.

When Akenside was fool enough to challenge Ballow, a wicked story went about that the fight didn't come off because one had determined never to fight in the morning, and the other that he would never fight in the afternoon. But the fact was--Ballow was a paltry mean fellow, and shirked the peril into which his ill-manners had brought him. The lively and pleasant author of "Physic and Physicians," countenancing this unfair story, reminds us of the off-hand style of John Wilkes in such little affairs. When asked by Lord Talbot "How many times they were to fire?" the brilliant demagogue responded--

"Just as often as your Lordship pleases--I have brought _a bag of bullets and a flask of gunpowder_ with me."

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE LOVES OF PHYSICIANS.

Honour has flowed to physicians by the regular channels of professional duty in but scant allowance. Their children have been frequently enn.o.bled by marriage or for political services. Sir Hans Sloane's daughter Elizabeth, and manor of Chelsea, pa.s.sed into the Cadogan family, the lady marrying the second Baron Cadogan. Like Sir Hans, Dr. Huck Sanders left behind him two daughters, co-heiresses of his wealth, of whom one (Jane) was enn.o.bled through wedlock, the tenth Earl of Westmoreland raising her to be his second wife. Lord Combermere married the heiress of Dr. Gibbings, of Cork. In the same way Dr. Marwood's property came to the present Sir Marwood Elton by the marriage of his grandfather with Frances, the daughter and heiress of the Devonshire doctor. On the other hand, as instances of the offspring of physicians exalted to the ranks of the aristocracy for their political services, the Lords Sidmouth, Denman, and Kingsdown may be mentioned. Henry Addington, created Viscount Sidmouth, of the county of Devon, was the eldest son of Anthony Addington, M.D., of Reading--the physician who objected to fighting any brother physician who had not graduated at either Oxford or Cambridge. Dr. Anthony was the enthusiastic toady of the great Earl of Chatham. Devoted to his own interests and the Pitt family, he rose from the humble position of keeper of a provincial lunatic asylum to eminence in the medical profession. Coming up to town in 1754, under the patronage of Pitt, he succeeded in gaining the confidence of the Court, and was, with Dr.

Richard Warren, Dr. Francis Willis, Dr. Thomas Gisborne, Sir Lucas Pepys, and Dr. Henry Revell Reynolds, examined, in 1782, by the committee appointed to examine "the physicians who attended his illness, touching the state of his Majesty's health." He took a very hopeful view of the king's case; and on being asked the foundation of his hopes, alluded to his experience in the treatment of the insane at Reading. The doctor had himself a pa.s.sion for political intrigue, which descended to his son. The career of this son, who raised himself to the Speaker's chair in the House of Commons, to the dignity of First Minister of the Crown, and to the peerage of the realm, is matter of history.