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Updated: June 10, 2025
A YOUNG viscount with income and person cannot lie perdu three miles from Edinburgh. First one discovers him, then another, then twenty, then all the world, as the whole clique is modestly called. Before, however, Lord Ipsden was caught, he had acquired a browner tint, a more elastic step, and a stouter heart. The Aberford prescription had done wonders for him.
The Aberford was wrong when he called love a cutaneous disorder. There are cutaneous disorders that take that name, but they are no more love than verse is poetry; Than patriotism is love of country; Than theology is religion; Than science is philosophy; Than paintings are pictures; Than reciting on the boards is acting; Than physic is medicine Than bread is bread, or gold gold in shops.
As he was, he had the eye of a hawk for Nature's beauties, and the sea always came back to him like a friend after an absence. This scene, then, curled round his heart a little, and he felt the good physician was wiser than the tribe that go by that name, and strive to build health on the sandy foundation of drugs. "Saunders! do you know what Dr. Aberford means by the lower classes?"
I couldn't help it; I've outstepped my duty, my lord, but I could not stand quiet and see your lordship dying by inches." Here Mr. S. put a cambric handkerchief artistically to his eyes, and glided out, having disarmed censure. Lord Ipsden fell into a reverie. "Is my mind or my body disordered? Dr. Aberford! absurd! Saunders is getting too pragmatical.
He was one of those globules of human quicksilver one sees now and then for two seconds; they are, in fact, two globules; their head is one, invariably bald, round, and glittering; the body is another in activity and shape, totus teres atque rotundus; and in fifty years they live five centuries. Horum Rex Aberford of these our doctor was the chief.
They were both very grateful to Newhaven; when they married they vowed to visit it twice a year, and mingle a fortnight's simple life with its simple scenes; but four years have passed, and they have never been there again, and I dare say never will; but when Viscount Ipsden falls in with a brother aristocrat who is crushed by the fiend ennui, he remembers Aberford, and condenses his famous recipe into a two-edged hexameter, which will make my learned reader laugh, for it is full of wisdom: "Diluculo surgas! miseris succurrere discas!!"
"M'lord, lordship hasn't any vices," replied Saunders, with dull, matter-of-fact solemnity. "Lady Barbara makes the same complaint," thought Lord Ipsden. "It seems I have not any vices, Dr. Aberford," said he, demurely. "That is bad; nothing to get hold of. What interests you, then?" "I don't remember." "What amuses you?" "I forget." "What! no winning horse to gallop away your rents?" "No, sir!"
"My lord," said he, in soft, melancholy tones, "your lordship's melancholy state of health gives me great anxiety; and, with many apologies to your lordship, the doctor is sent for, my lord." "Why, Saunders, you are mad; there is nothing the matter with me." "I beg your lordship's pardon, your lordship is very ill, and Dr. Aberford sent for." "You may go, Saunders." "Yes, my lord.
Hum! no horses, no vices, no dancers, no yacht; you confound one's notions of nobility, and I ought to know them, for I have to patch them all up a bit just before they go to the deuce." "But I have, Doctor Aberford." "What!" "A yacht! and a clipper she is, too." "Ah! "In the Bay of Biscay she lay half a point nearer the wind than Lord Heavyjib." "Oh! bother Lord Heavyjib, and his Bay of Biscay."
For the next few days the Count and his friends enjoyed the hospitality of Ingham at Aberford; and a few months later Ingham heard that the land and houses at Falneck were on the market. He showed himself a true friend of the Brethren.
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