Sir Hugh would have been unwise not to have taken this broad hint, and he did what none of the heiress’s suitors, even of high rank, had yet aspired to,—proposed, and was accepted. Sixteen years later he was created Duke of Northumberland, and could well afford to laugh in his sleeve at the proposition that “his coronet should be surrounded with senna leaves, instead of strawberry,” since he had reached a rank that no other M. D. had previously done, and possessed the “loveliest woman in England,” and a great fortune, to boot.
Lord Glenbervie, who from the druggist’s counter reached the peerage, was taunted by Sheridan with his plebeian origin, from which a patrician wife had redeemed him, in the following amusing verse:—
“Glenbervie, Glenbervie!
What’s good for the scurvy?
But why is the doctor forgot?
In his arms he should quarter
A pestle and mortar,
For his crest an immense gallipot.”
Sir John Elliot was another handsome doctor of that period, who, notwithstanding his being disliked by King George, could, with small effort and large impudence, “capture the hearts of half the prettiest women amongst the king’s subjects, and then shrug his shoulders with chagrin at his success.” “One lady, the daughter of a nobleman, ignorant that he was otherwise occupied, made him an offer, and on learning, to her surprise and mortification, that he was already married, vowed she would not rest till she had assassinated his wife.”
Dr. Arbuthnot, whose courtly address, sparkling wit, ready flow of language, innate cordiality, and polished manners made him a great favorite about London, was one of the finest looking gentlemen of his time. The doctor was contemporary with Dean Swift, with whom he used to enjoy flirtations with the queen’s maids of honor about St. James.
“Arm in arm with the dean, he used to peer about St. James, jesting, laughing, causing matronly dowagers to smile at ‘that dear Mr. Dean,’ and young girls, out for their first season at court, green and unsophisticated, to blush with annoyance at his coarse, shameless badinage,—bowing to this great man, from whom he hoped for countenance; staring insolently at that one, from whom he expected nothing; quoting Martial to the prelate, who could not understand Latin; whispering French to a youthful diplomatist, who knew no tongue but English; and continually angling for the bishopric, which he never got.”
From flattering court beauties, Arbuthnot became flatterer to the gouty, hypochondriacal old queen. But wine and women made sad havoc with poor Arbuthnot, who died in very straitened circumstances.
Dr. Mead, before mentioned, was twice married. He was fifty-one years old when married the second time, to a baronet’s daughter. Fortunate beyond fortunate men, he had the great mis-fortune of outliving his usefulness. His sight failed, and his powers underwent that gradual decay which is the saddest of all possible conclusions to a vigorous and dignified existence. Even his valets domineered over him. Long before this his second childhood, he excited the ridicule of the town by his vanity and absurd pretensions as a “lady-killer.”
“The extravagances of his amorous senility were not only whispered about, but some contemptible fellow seized upon the unpleasant rumors, and published them in a scandalous novelette, wherein the doctor was represented as a ‘Cornuter of seventy-five,’ when, to please the damsel who ‘warmed his aged heart,’—she was a blacksmith’s daughter,—the doctor, long past threescore and ten, went to Paris, and learned to dance.”
