‘It will be unreasonable for Dr. Graham’s Patients to expect a complete and a lasting cure, or even great alleviation of their peculiar maladies, unless they keep the body and limbs most perfectly clean with very frequent washings,--breathe fresh, open air day and night,--be simple in the quality and moderate in the quantity of their food and drink,--and totally give up using the deadly poisons and weakeners of both body and soul, and the cankerworm of estates called foreign Tea and Coffee, Red Port Wine, Spirituous Liquors, Tobacco and Snuff, gaming and late hours, and all sinful, unnatural, and excessive indulgence of the animal appetites, and of the diabolical and degrading mental passions. On practising the above rules--on a widely open window day and night--and on washing with cold water, and going to bed every night by eight or nine, and rising by four or five, depends the very perfection of bodily and mental health, strength and happiness.’ He wrote many pamphlets, some of them on religious matters, and the fools who patronised him paid him large fees; yet his expenses were very heavy, and his manner of living luxurious, so that we experience but little wonder when we find the ‘Temple of Health’ sold up, and that Graham himself died poor--either in, or near, Glasgow. Early in the century there were (in surgery) two noted quacks, namely, Dr. (afterwards Sir William) Read, and Roger, or, as he called himself, Doctor, Grant--both oculists. Read originally was a tailor, and Grant had been a tinker and Anabaptist preacher. The list of cures of both are marvellous--Grant even advertising in the _Daily Courant_, of July 20, 1709, that he had cured, in five minutes, a young man that had been born blind. But at that time, when people believed in their sovereign being able to cure scrofula by touching the patient with a gold coin, a little faith went a long way. But quackery was not confined to the masculine gender--the ladies competed with them in the field. Notably Mrs. Map, the bone-setter of Epsom, of whom Mr. Pulteney writes so amusingly to Swift on December 21, 1736: ‘I must tell you a ridiculous incident; perhaps you have not heard it. One Mrs. Mapp, a famous she bone-setter and mountebank, coming to town with a coach and six horses, on the Kentish road, was met by a rabble of people, who, seeing her very oddly and tawdrily dressed, took her for a foreigner, and concluded she must be a certain great person’s mistress. Upon this they followed the coach, bawling out, “No Hanover w----! No Hanover w----!” The lady within the coach was much offended, let down the glass, and screamed louder than any of them, “She was no Hanover w----! she was an English one!” Upon which they cried out, “God bless your ladyship!” quitted the pursuit, and wished her a good journey.’