CHAPTER IV.

SMALLPOX. The history of smallpox in Britain is that of a disease coming gradually into prominence and hardly attaining a leading place until the reign of James I. In this respect it is unlike plague and sweating sickness, both of which burst upon the country in their full strength, just as both made their last show in epidemics which were as severe as any in their history. In the former volume of this work I have shown that smallpox in the first Tudor reigns was usually coupled with measles, that in the Elizabethan period the Latin name _variolae_ was rendered by measles, and that smallpox, where distinguished from measles, was not reputed a very serious malady[808]. From the beginning of the Stuart period, smallpox is mentioned in letters, especially from London, in such a way as to give the impression of something which, if not new, was much more formidable than before; and that impression is deepened by all that is known of the disease later in the 17th century, including the rising figures in the London bills of mortality. An early notice of a particular outbreak of smallpox is found in the Kirk Session records of Aberdeen in 1610, under the date of 12 August: “There was at this time a great visitation of the young children with the plague of the pocks[809].” In 1612 there are various references to deaths from smallpox in London in rich houses. In 1613, the Lord Harrington, who is said in a letter of Dr Donne’s to be suffering from “the pox and measles mingled,” died of smallpox (probably haemorrhagic) on the Sunday before 3 March, at which date also the Lady Burghley and two of her daughters were sick of the same disease. Those two years were probably an epidemic period. Another epidemic is known from a letter of December, 1621: “The smallpox brake out again in divers places, for all the last hard winter and cool summer, and hitherto we have had no sultry summer nor warm winter that might invite them. The Lord Dudley’s eldest son is lately dead of them, and the young Lady Mordaunt is now sick.” On 28 January, 1623, “the speech that the smallpox be very rife there [Newmarket] will not hinder his [James I.’s] journey.” The years 1623 and 1624 were far more disastrous by the spotted fever all over England; but smallpox attended the typhus epidemic, as it often did in later experience, the two together having “taken away many of good sort as well as mean people.” The first epidemic of smallpox in London, from which some figures of the weekly mortalities have come down, was in 1628: this was the year before the Parish Clerks began to print their annual bills, but they had kept the returns regularly since 1604, and appear to have made known in one way or another the weekly mortality and the chief diseases contributing thereto. The smallpox deaths in London in the week ending 24 May, 1628, were forty-one, in the following week thirty-eight, and in the third week of June fifty-eight[810]. Such weekly mortalities in a population of about 300,000 belong to an epidemic of the first degree; and it is clear from letters of the time that the London smallpox of 1628 made a great impression. Lord Dorchester, in a letter of 30 August, calls it “the popular disease[811].” Several letters relating to a fatal case of smallpox in June in the house of Sir John Coke in the city (Garlick Hill) bear witness to the dread of contagion through all that circle of society[812]. One of the letters may be cited: “It pleased God to visit Mrs Ellweys [Coke’s stepdaughter] with such a disease that neither she nor any other of her nearest and dearest friends durst come near her, unless they would hazard their own health. The children and almost all our family were sent to Tottenham before she fell sick, and blessed be God are all in health. Mrs Ellweys was sick with us of the smallpox twelve days or thereabouts.” Before she was out of the smallpox, she was taken in labour on 15 June, and died the next morning at five o’clock, being buried the same night at ten, with only Sir Robert Lee and his lady of her kindred at the funeral. The letter proceeds: “God knows we have been sequestered from many of our friends’ company, who came not near us for fear of infection, and indeed we were very circumspect, careful, and unwilling that any should come to us to impair their health.” Lady Coke was fearful to go to Tottenham because of the children who had been removed thither. All the indications, whether from letters of the time, from poems and plays, or from statistics, point to the two first Stuart reigns as the period when smallpox became an alarming disease in London among adults and in the upper class. The reference to smallpox at Aberdeen in 1610 is to the disease among children; and so also is an unique entry, opposite the year 1636, on the margin of the register of Trinity parish, Chester: “For this two or three years, divers children died of smallpox in Chester[813].” In London, the disease had not yet settled down to that steady prevalence from year to year which characterized it after the Restoration. On the other hand, the periodic epidemics were very severe while they lasted. The epidemic of 1628 was followed by three years of very slight smallpox mortality in London; then came a moderate epidemic in 1632 and a severe one in 1634, with again two or more years of comparative immunity, as in the following table from the earliest annual printed bills: _Smallpox deaths in London, 1629-36_[814]. Smallpox Deaths from Year deaths all causes 1629 72 8771 1630 40 10554 1631 58 8532 1632 531 9535 1633 72 8393 1634 1354 10400 1635 293 10651 1636 127 23359 For the next ten years, 1637-46, the London figures are lost[815], excepting the plague-deaths and the totals of deaths from all causes, but it is known from letters that there was a great epidemic of smallpox in one of them, the year 1641: the deaths were 118 in the week ending 26 August, and 101 in the week ending 9 September[816], totals seldom reached a century later, when the population had nearly doubled. In those weeks of 1641, it was second only to the plague as a cause of dread, and was, along with the latter, the reason that “both Houses grow thin,” for all the political excitement of the time. The next London epidemic was in 1649, when the annual bill gives 1190 deaths from smallpox. Willis says that the epidemic was also at Oxford that year, not so very extensive, “yet most died of it” owing to the severe type of the disease[817]. Five years after, in 1654, “at Oxford, about autumn, the smallpox spread abundantly, yet very many escaped with them.” The London deaths from smallpox for a series of years were as follows: Smallpox Year deaths 1647 139 1648 401 1649 1190 1650 184 1651 525 1652 1279 1653 139 1654 832 1655 1294 1656 823 1657 835 1658 409 1659 1523 1660 354 1661 1246 Smallpox after the Restoration. The period which must now concern us particularly, from the Restoration onwards, opens with two deaths from smallpox in the royal family within a few months of the return of the Stuarts. When Charles II. left the Hague on 23 May, 1660, to assume the English crown, his two brothers, the Duke of York and the Duke of Gloucester, accompanied him in the fleet. In the first days of September, the Duke of Gloucester was seized at Whitehall with an illness of which various accounts are given in letters of the time[818]. On 4 September, “the duke hath been very sick, and ’tis thought he will have the smallpox.” On the 8th “the doctors say it is a disease between the smallpox and the measles; he is now past danger of death for this bout, as the doctors say”; or, by another account, “the smallpox come out full and kindly, and ’tis thought the worst is past.” On the 11th the duke is “in good condition for one that has the smallpox.” But a day or two afterwards his symptoms took an unfavourable turn; the doctors left him, apparently with a good prognosis, one evening at six o’clock, but shortly after he bled at the nose three or four ounces, then fell asleep, and on awaking passed into an unconscious state, in which he died. When his body was opened, the lungs were full of blood, “besides three or four pints that lay about them, and much blood in his head, which took away his sense.” Pepys says his death was put down to the great negligence of the doctors; and if we can trust a news-letter of the time, their negligence was such as would have been now approved, for “the physicians never gave him anything from first to last, so well was he in appearance to everyone[819].” Three days after his funeral, the king and the Duke of York went to Margate to meet their sister, the princess Mary of Orange, on her arrival from the Hague. Her visit to the Court extended into the winter, and about the middle of December she also took smallpox, of which she died on the 21st. Pepys, dining with Lady Sandwich, heard that “much fault was laid upon Dr Frazer and the rest of the doctors for the death of the princess.” Her sister, the princess Henrietta, who had come on a visit to Whitehall with the Queen-mother in October, was removed to St James’s on 21st December, “for fear of the smallpox”; but she must have been already sickening, for on the 16th January it is reported that she “is recovered of the measles.” These deaths at Whitehall of a brother and sister of Charles II. happened in the autumn and winter of 1660; but it was not until next year that the smallpox rose to epidemic height in London, the deaths from it having been only 354 in 1660, rising to 1246 in 1661, and 768 in 1662. In 1661 it appears to have been epidemic in other parts of England: Willis, who was then at Oxford, says that smallpox began to rage severely before the summer solstice (adding that it was “a distemper rarely epidemical”), and there are letters from a squire’s wife in Rutlandshire to her husband in London, which speak of the disease raging in their village in May and June[820]. There was much fever of a fatal type in London in 1661, which is more noticed than smallpox itself in the diary of Pepys. The town was in a very unhealthy state; and it would have been in accordance with all later experience if the “pestilential constitution” of fevers, which continued more or less until the plague burst forth in 1665, had been accompanied by much fatal smallpox. The occasion was used by two medical writers to remark upon the fatality of smallpox as something new. The second of the two essays (1663), was anonymous, and bore the significant title of _Hactenus Inaudita_, the hitherto unheard of thing being that smallpox should prove so fatal as it had been lately. The author adopts the dictum of Mercurialis, with which, he says, most men agree: “Smallpox and measles are wont for the most part to terminate favourably”; and he makes it clear in the following passage that the blame of recent fatalities was laid, justly or unjustly, at the door of the doctors, as, indeed, we know that it was from the gossip of Pepys: “And I know not by what fate physicians of late have more lost their credit in these diseases than ever: witness the severe judgment of the world in the cases of the Duke of Gloucester and the Princess Royal: so that now they stick not to say, with your Agrippa, that at least in these a physician is more dangerous than the malady[821].” The other essay was by one of the king’s physicians, Dr Tobias Whitaker, who had attended the Court in its exile at St Germain and the Hague. He was by no means an empiric, as some were whom Charles II. delighted to honour; and, although he protests warmly against the modish injudicious treatment of smallpox by blooding and cooling, he has little of the recriminating manner of the time, which Sydenham used from the one side and Morton from the other. He is, indeed, all for moderation: “upon this hinge of moderation turneth the safety of every person affected with this disease.” His moderation is somewhat like that of Sir Thomas Browne (whose colleague he may have been for a few years at Norwich), and is apt to run into paradox. In 1634 he wrote in praise of water, including the waters of spas and of the sea, and in 1638 he wrote with even greater enthusiasm in praise of wine[822]. He says of his “most learned predecessor” at Court, Harvey, that his demonstration of the circular motion of the blood was a farther extension of what none were ignorant of “though not expert in dissection of living bodies.” On his return to London in 1660, he seemed to find as great a change in smallpox as in the disposition of the people towards the monarchy. His statement as to the change for the worse that had come over smallpox within his memory would be of the highest historical importance if we could be sure it was not illusory; it is difficult to reconcile with the London experiences of smallpox in 1628 and 1641, but, such as it is, we must take note of it: “It is not as yet a complete year since my landing with his Majesty in England, and in this short time have observed as strange a difference in this subject of my present discourse as in the variety of opinions and dispositions of this nation, with whom I have discoursed.” This disease of smallpox, he proceeds, “was antiently and generally in the common place of _petit_ and _puerile_, and the cure of no moment.... But from what present constitution of the ayre this childish disease hath received such pestilential tinctures I know not; yet I am sure that this disease, which for hundreds of yeares and before the practice of medicine was so exquisite, hath been as commonly cured as it hapned, therefore in this age not incurable, as upon my own practice I can testifie.... Riverius will not have one of one thousand of humane principles to escape it, yet in my conjecture there is not one of one thousand in the universe that hath any knowledge or sense of it, from their first ingress into the world to their last egress out of this world; which could not be, if it were so inherent or concomitant with maternal bloud and seed,” referring to the old Arabian doctrine, which Willis adhered to, that every child was tainted in the womb with the retained impure menstrual blood of the mother, and that smallpox (or measles) was the natural and regular purification therefrom. “But smallpox,” he continues, “is dedicated to infants more particularly which are moist, and some more than others abounding with vitious humours drawn from maternal extravagancy and corrupt dyet in the time of their gestation; and by this aptitude are well disposed to receive infection of the ayre upon the least infection[823].” When Whitaker calls smallpox a “childish disease,” a disease that was “antiently and generally in the common place of _petit_ and _puerile_, and the cure of no moment,” he says no more than Willis and others say of smallpox as it affected infants and children. Says Willis: “there is less danger if it should happen in the age of childhood or infancy”; and again: “the sooner that anyone hath this disease, the more secure they are, wherefore children most often escape”; and again: “the measles are so much akin to the smallpox that with most authors they have not deserved to be handled apart from them,” although he recognizes that measles is sooner ended and with less danger. Nor was Willis singular among seventeenth-century physicians in his view--“the sooner that anyone hath this disease the more secure they are.” Morton in two passages remarks upon the greater mildness of smallpox in “infants”: “For that they are less anxious about the result, infants feel its destructive force more rarely than others”; and again: “Hence doubtless infants, being of course ἀπαθεῖς, are afflicted more rarely than adults with the severe kinds of confluent and malignant smallpox[824].” In the very first treatise written by an English physician specially on the Acute Diseases of Infants, the work by Dr Walter Harris, there is a statement concerning the mildness of “smallpox and measles in infants” (who are defined as under four years of age), which goes even farther than Morton’s: “The smallpox and measles of infants, being for the most part a mild and tranquil effervescence of the blood, are wont to have often no bad character, where neither the helping hands of physicians are called in nor the abounding skill of complacent nurses is put in requisition[825].” It has to be said, however, that Morton’s statement about infants is made to illustrate a favourite notion of his that apprehension as to the result, which infants were not subject to, made smallpox worse; and that Harris’s assertion of the natural mildness of the “smallpox and measles” of infants comes in to illustrate the evil done by the heating regimen of physicians and nurses, who are mentioned in obviously sarcastic terms. So also Sydenham says that “many thousands” of infants had perished in the smallpox through the ill-timed endeavours of imprudent women to check the diarrhoea which was a complication of the malady, but was in Sydenham’s view, although not in Morton’s, at the same time a wholesome relieving incident therein. If we may take it that infants and young children had smallpox in a mild form, or more rarely confluent than in adults, we may also conclude that many of them died, whether from the alexipharmac remedies which Morton advised and Sydenham (with his follower Harris) denounced, or from the attendant diarrhoea which Sydenham thought a natural relief to the disease and Morton thought a dangerous complication. Making every allowance for motive or recrimination in the statements, from their several points of view, by Willis, Sydenham, Morton, Harris (Martin Lister might have been added), as to the naturally mild course of smallpox in infants, or when not interfered with by erroneous treatment, it cannot but appear that infantile smallpox at that time was more like measles in its severity or fatality than the infantile smallpox of later times. It is perhaps of little moment that Jurin should have repeated in 1723 the statements of Willis and others (“the hazard of dying of smallpox increases after the birth, as the child advances in age”)[826], for he had little intimate knowledge of epidemics, being at that time mainly occupied with mathematics, and with smallpox from the arithmetical side only. But it is not so easy to understand why Heberden should have said the same a generation after[827]; or how much credit should attach to the remark of “an eminent physician from Ireland,” who wrote to Dr Andrew, of Exeter, in 1765: “Infants usually have the natural pock of as benign a kind as the artificial[828].” Whatever may have been its fatality or severity among infants and children, it was chiefly as a disease of the higher ages that smallpox in the Stuart period attracted so much notice and excited so much alarm. The cases mentioned in letters and diaries are nearly all of adults; and these were the cases, whatever proportion they may have made of the smallpox at all ages, that gave the disease its ill repute. About the middle of the 18th century we begin to have exact figures of the ages at which deaths from smallpox occurred: the deaths are then nearly all of infants, so much so that in a total of 1622, made up from exact returns, only 7 were above the age of ten, and only 92 between five and ten; while an age-incidence nearly the same continued to be the rule until after the great epidemic of 1837-39, when it began gradually to move higher[829]. But we should err in imagining that state of things the rule for the 17th century, just as we should err in carrying it forward into our own time. Not only are we told that smallpox of infants was like measles in that the cure was of no moment (which is strange), but we do know from references to smallpox in the familiar writings of the Stuart period that many of its attacks, with a high ratio of fatalities, must have happened to adults. Thus, to take the diary of John Evelyn, he himself had smallpox abroad when he was a young man, his two daughters died of it in early womanhood within a few months of each other, and a suitor for the hand of one of them died of it about the same time. Medical writings leave the same impression of smallpox attacking many after the age of childhood. Willis gives four cases, all of adults. Morton gives sixty-six clinical cases of smallpox, the earliest record of the kind, and one that might pass as modern: twelve of the cases are under six years of age, nine are at ages from seven to twelve, eleven from thirteen years to twenty, seven from twenty-two to forty, and all but two of the remaining twenty-four clearly indicated in the text, in one way or another, as adolescents or adults, the result being that 23 cases are under twelve and 43 cases over twelve[830]. That ratio of adults to children may have been exceptional. Morton was less likely to be called to infants than to older persons, even among the middle class; and no physician in London at that time knew what was passing among the poorer classes, except from the bills of mortality. But if Morton had practised in London two or three generations later, say in the time of Lettsom, when “most born in London have smallpox before they are seven,” his casebook would not have shown a proportion of forty-three cases over twelve years to twenty-three under that age. Whatever things contributed to the growing evil repute of smallpox among epidemic maladies, there is so much concurrent testimony to the fact itself that we can hardly take it to have been wholly illusion. In some parts the mildness of smallpox was still asserted as if due to local advantages. Thus Dr Plot, who succeeded Willis in his chair of physics at Oxford, wrote in 1677: “Generally here they are so favourable and kind that, be the nurse but tolerably good, the patient seldom miscarries[831].” The reason commonly assigned for the large number of fatalities in smallpox after the Restoration was erroneous treatment. That is the charge made, not only in the gossip of the town, as Pepys reported it, but in Sydenham’s animadversions on the heating regimen, in Morton’s on the cooling regimen, and in the sarcasms of both physicians upon the practice of “mulierculae” or nurses. One may easily make too much of this view of the matter; it is certain that the incidence of smallpox, its fatality and its frequency in general, were determined in the Stuart period, as at other times, by many things besides. Still, the treatment of smallpox has always had the first place in its epidemiological history. The fashion of it that concerns us at this stage was the famous cooling regimen, commonly joined with the name of Sydenham. Sydenham’s Practice in Smallpox. Sydenham occupied his pen largely with smallpox, and gained much of his reputation by his treatment of it. At the root of his practice lay the distinction that he made between discrete smallpox and confluent. His practice in the discrete form was to do little or nothing, leaving the disease to get well of itself. Whether the eventual eruption were to be discrete or confluent, he could not of course tell for certain until two or three days after the patient sickened; but in no case was the sick person to be confined to bed until the eruption came out. If the latter were sparse or discrete, the patient was to get up for several hours every day while the disease ran its course, the physician having small occasion to interfere with its progress: “whoever labours under the distinct kind hardly needs the aid of a physician, but gets well of himself and by the strength of nature.” One may see how salutary a piece of good sense this was at the time, by taking such a case as that of John Evelyn, narrated by himself[832]. He fell ill at Geneva in 1646, and was bled, leeched and purged before the diagnosis of smallpox was made. “God knows,” he says, “what this would have produced if the spots had not appeared.” When the eruption did appear, it was only the discrete smallpox; the pimples, he says, were not many. But he was kept warm in bed for sixteen days, during which he was infinitely afflicted with heat and noisomeness, although the appearance of the eruption had eased him of his pains. For five whole weeks did he keep his chamber in this comparatively slight ailment. When he suggested to the physician that the letting of blood had been uncalled for, the latter excused the depletion on the ground that the blood was so burnt and vicious that the disease would have turned to plague or spotted fever had he proceeded by any other method[833]. As there were many such cases, Sydenham’s radical distinction between discrete and confluent smallpox, with his advice to leave the former to itself, was of great value, and is justly reckoned to his credit. But in the management of confluent smallpox he advised active interference. If there were the slightest indication that the disease was to be confluent (that is to say, the eruption copious and the pocks tending to run together), he at once ordered the patient to receive a vomit and a purge, and then to be bled, with a view to check the ebullition of the blood and mitigate the violence of the disease. Even infants and young children were to have their blood drawn in such an event. This heroic treatment at the outset was according to the rule of _obsta principiis_; by means of it he thought to divert the attack into a milder course. The initial depletion once over, Sydenham had resort to what is known as the cooling regimen. He set his face against the “sixteen days warm in bed,” which Evelyn had to endure even in a discrete smallpox. It was usually a mistake for the patient to take to bed continually before the sixth day from his sickening or the fourth day from the appearance of the eruption; after that stage, when all the pustules would be out, the regimen would differ in different confluent cases, and, of course, in some a continuance in bed would be inevitable as well as prudent. In like manner cardiac or cordial remedies, which were of a heating character, were indicated only by the patient’s lowness. The more powerful diaphoretic treacles, such as mithridate, were always a mistake. The tenth day was a critical time, and then paregoric was almost a specific. In the stage of recovery it was not rarely prudent to prescribe cordial medicines and canary wine. Thus, on a fair review of Sydenham’s ordinances for smallpox in a variety of circumstances, it will appear that he did not carry the cooling regimen to fanatical lengths and that he was sufficiently aware of the risks attending a chill in the course of the disease[834]. Apart from his rule of leaving cases of discrete smallpox to recover of themselves, Sydenham’s management of the disease was neither approved generally at the time, nor endorsed by posterity. His phlebotomies in confluent cases, usually at the outset, but sometimes even after the eruption was out if the patient had been under the heating regimen before, were an innovation borrowed from the French Galenists. The earlier writers had, for the most part, excepted smallpox among the acute maladies in which blood was to be drawn. But the Galenic rules of treatment were made more rigorous in proportion as they were challenged by the Paracelsist or chemical physicians, and it was among the upholders of tradition that blood-letting was extended to smallpox. Whitaker says that, when he was at St Germain with the exiled Stuarts, the French king was blooded in smallpox ten or eleven times, and recovered; “and upon this example they will ground a precept for universal practice.” The ambiguity of the diagnosis at the outset, and the desire to lose no time, may have been the original grounds of this indiscriminate fashion of bleeding. Evelyn’s doctor at Geneva in 1646, “afterwards acknowledged that he should not have bled me had he suspected the smallpox, which brake out a day after,” but eventually he defended his practice as having made the attack milder. In like manner Sir Robert Sibbald, of Edinburgh, (1684) took four ounces of blood from a child of five, who was sickening for some malady; when it turned out to be smallpox, the mother expressed her alarm that blood should have been drawn; but Sibbald pointed to the favourable character of the eruption as justifying what he had done: “Optime enim eruperunt variolae, et ab earum eruptione febris remissit[835].” The ill effects of blood-letting, says Whitaker, may be observed in French children, which by this frequent phlebotomizing are “withered in _juvenile_ age.” Therefore, he concludes, blooding in smallpox should not be a common remedy, “but in such extremity as the person must lose some part of his substance to save the whole.” He calls it the rash and inconsiderate practice of modish persons; “and if the disease be conjunct [confluent], with an undeniable plethory of blood, which is the proper indication of phlebotomy, yet such bleeding ought to be by scarification [upon the arms, thighs or back] and cupping-glasses, without the cutting of any major vessel.” Another English physician of the time, Dr Slatholm, of Buntingford in Hertfordshire, who wrote in 1657[836], says that he had known physicians in Paris not to abstain from venesection in children of tender age, even in sucklings. He had never approved the letting of blood in such cases, lest nature be so weakened as to be unable to drive the peccant matter to the skin. For the most part, he says, an ill result follows venesection in smallpox; and although it sometimes succeeds, yet that is more by chance than by good management. As to exposing the sick in smallpox to cold air, he declares that he had known many in benign smallpox carried off thereby, instancing the case of his brother-in-law, the squire of Great Hornham, near Buntingford, whose death from smallpox in November, 1656, in the flower of his age, he set down to a chill brought on “ejus inobedientia et mulierum contumacia[837].” The cooling regimen, as well as the danger of it, was familiar long before Sydenham’s time. There could be no better proof of this than a bit of dialogue in Beaumont and Fletcher’s ‘Fair Maid of the Inn’ (Act II. scene 2), a comedy which was licensed in January, 1626: _Host._ And you have been in England? But they say ladies in England take a great deal of physic.... They say ladies there take physic for fashion. _Clown._ Yes, sir, and many times die to keep fashion. _Host._ How! Die to keep fashion? _Clown._ Yes: I have known a lady sick of the smallpox, only to keep her face from pit-holes, take cold, strike them in again, kick up the heels, and vanish. Sydenham says that the heating regimen was the practice of empirics and sciolists. Per contra his distinguished colleague Morton says that every old woman and apothecary practised the cooling regimen, and he points the moral of its evil consequences in a good many of his sixty-six clinical cases[838]. He pronounces the results of the cooling regimen to have been disastrous; he had been told that Sydenham himself relaxed the rigour of his treatment in his later years. There was so little smallpox for some fifteen years after the date of Morton’s book (1694) that the controversies on its treatment appear to have dropped. But, on the revival of epidemics in 1710 and 1714, essays were written against blooding, vomits and purges in smallpox[839]. In 1718, Dr Woodward, the Gresham professor of physic and an eminent geologist, published some remarks on “the new practice of purging” in smallpox, which were directed against Mead and Freind. In 1719 Freind addressed a Latin letter to Mead on the subject (the purging was in the secondary fever of confluent smallpox), and a lively controversy arose in which Freind referred to Woodward anonymously as a well-known empiric. On the 10th of June, 1719, about eight in the evening, Woodward was entering the quadrangle of Gresham College when he was set upon by Mead. Woodward drew his sword and rested the point of it until Mead drew his, which he was long in doing. The passes then began and the combatants advanced step by step until they were in the middle of the quadrangle. Woodward declared (in a letter to the _Weekly Journal_) that he was getting the best of it, when his foot slipped and he fell. He found Mead quickly standing over him demanding that he should beg his life. This Woodward declined to do, and the combat degenerated to a strife of tongues[840]. Next year the controversy over the treatment of smallpox assumed a triangular form. The third side was represented by Dr Dover, who had been something of a buccaneer on the Spanish main and was now in practice as a physician. An old pupil of Sydenham’s, he still adhered to blood-letting in smallpox; and in the spring of 1720, when the disease was exceedingly prevalent among persons of quality in London, he claimed to have rescued from death a lady whom Mead had given over, by pulling off the latter’s blisters and ordering a pint of blood to be drawn. “He hath observed the same method with like success with several persons of quality this week, and is as yet in very great vogue.... He declaims against his brethren of the faculty [especially Mead and Freind], with public and great vehemence, and particularly against purging and blistering in the distemper, which he affirms to be the death of thousands[841].” Huxham, another Sydenhamian, appears to have practised not only blooding in smallpox, but also blistering, purging and salivating[842]. But in that generation the practice was exceptional; so much so that when it revived in some hands about 1752 (including Fothergill’s), it was thus referred to in a letter upon the general epidemic of smallpox in that year: “I have heard that bleeding is more commonly practised by some of the best physicians nowadays than it was formerly, even after the smallpox is come out[843].” In smallpox the lancet, like other methods, has been in fashion for a time, and then out of fashion; but the old teaching that smallpox did not call for blood-letting was ultimately restored. When Barker, in 1747, gave a discourse before the College of Physicians on the “Agreement betwixt Ancient and Modern Physicians,” he did not venture to defend Sydenham’s blooding in smallpox, although he would not admit that he was “a bloodthirsty man[844].” Causes of Mild or Severe Smallpox. Besides the errors of the heating or the cooling regimen respectively, there is another thing that may have had something to do with the greater fatality of smallpox, as remarked by many, about the middle of the 17th century. “How is it,” asks Sydenham, “that so few of the common people die of this disease compared with the numbers that perish by it among the rich[845]?” Sydenham may not have known how much smallpox mortality there was in the poorer quarters of London. But the Restoration was certainly a great time of free living in the upper classes of society, and it is equally certain that smallpox was apt to prove a deadly disease to a broken constitution. Willis believed that excesses even predisposed people to take the infection: “I have known some to have fallen into this disease from a surfeit or immoderate exercise, when none besides in the whole country about hath been sick of it.” There were, of course, families in which smallpox was for some unknown reason peculiarly fatal. Again, the origins of constitutional weakness are lost in ancestry, the poor stamina of children being often determined by the lives of their grandfathers or great-grandfathers. In the royal family of Stuart smallpox proved more than ordinarily fatal, but it was among the grand-children and great grand-children of James I. that those fatalities happened. Of the children of Charles I., the Duke of Gloucester and the Princess of Orange died of smallpox within a few months of each other in the year of the Restoration. The disease was not less fatal a generation after in the family of the Duke of York (James II.). Dr Willis fell into disgrace with that prince because he bluntly told him that the ailment of one of his sons was “mala stamina vitae.” All his sons, says Burnet, died young and unhealthy, one of them by smallpox. Of his two daughters, Queen Mary died of haemorrhagic smallpox in 1694, and the Duke of Gloucester, only child of the other, Princess Anne of Denmark (afterwards Queen Anne), died at the age of eleven, of a malady which was called smallpox by some, and malignant sore-throat by others[846]. Among the medical writers of this period, who gave reasons why smallpox should be so severe or deadly in some while it was so slight in others, Morton was the most systematic. He made three degrees of smallpox--benign, medium and malignant: these did not answer quite to the discrete, confluent and haemorrhagic of other classifiers, for his malignant class included so many confluent cases that in one place he uses _malignae_ as the equivalent of _confluentes seu cohaerentes_, while his middle class was made up of some confluent cases,--perhaps such medium cases as had confluent pocks on the face but not elsewhere,--and a certain proportion of discrete. The medium kind were the most common (_frequentissimae sunt et maxime vulgares variolae mediae_). Still, it was the benign type that he made the _norma_ or standard of smallpox, from which the disease was “deflected” towards the medium type, or still farther deflected towards the malignant. He gives a list of fourteen things that may serve to deflect an attack of smallpox from the _norma_ of mildness to the degrees of mean severity or malignity: