Dimsdale’s practice lay chiefly among the upper classes, to whom he made matters very comfortable. As he wrote--
I do not enjoin any restriction in respect to diet, nor direct any medicines to be taken before the time of operation by such as appear to be in a proper state of health.[61]
He was satisfied with administering a powder on the evening of the day on which a patient was inoculated, consisting of calomel, tartar emetic, and crabs’ claws.
Whilst labouring to popularise inoculation, Dimsdale was strongly opposed to the trade therein passing to unauthorised hands--simple, safe, and salutary though he asserted it to be. Thus he averred--
The mischiefs arising from the practice of inoculation by the illiterate and ignorant are beyond conception.[62]
How illiteracy should affect inoculation, he left to conjecture. He apparently forgot that the practice was derived from people who made no pretence to literature, and whose efficiency and success were, moreover, set forth as warrant and encouragement for English imitation.
In 1775 a Society was formed for General Inoculation, and an hospital was opened for the purpose at Battle Bridge, on the site of what is now the Great Northern Railway station, King’s Cross. Dr. Lettsom, a popular Quaker physician, issued an appeal on behalf of the enterprise, and having invoked Dr. Dimsdale’s approval, a lively controversy ensued between the brethren--personal rather than profitable. Dimsdale disapproved of indiscriminate inoculation: he was ready to inoculate the whole world, but systematically, and under strict safe-guards. He pointed out that whatever might be the advantage to the individual, unless the inoculated patient was rigorously secluded, he would diffuse the disease from which he sought to be delivered, and that the price of his life might be the destruction of many. Dimsdale’s warnings were, however, slightly regarded, and inoculation was pursued with criminal recklessness. As Pascal observes, of all the faculties given to man, the most awful in its consequences is the power of standing amid a number of facts, and seeing such as we please to see, and being blind to the rest.
Specially remarkable in connection with the smallpox of last century was the exaggerated terror expressed for it by professional inoculators, and the little real terror manifested by the multitude. It was by no means the most fatal of diseases, nor was it a large factor in the common mortality. Wherever we test the matter by unbiased contemporary evidence, we find the outcry factitious: the dreadful and desolating malady from which Jenner delivered his country is merely a fiction continued by the vaccinators from the inoculators. For proof let us turn to the evidence of Dr. Alexander Monro, Professor of Medicine and Anatomy in the University of Edinburgh. The Faculty of Medicine in Paris had appointed a commission to inquire into the advantages of inoculation, which in the course of duty applied to Monro, who in response produced and published in 1765 _An Account of the Inoculation of Smallpox in Scotland_. He reported that from the introduction of the practice by Maitland in 1726, there had been 5554 inoculations effected in Scotland with 72 fatalities; that is to say about 140 annually with deaths 1 in 78, according to the confession of the inoculators themselves. Monro further stated that the practice was disliked in Scotland as “a tempting of Providence,” an unwarrantable risk of life for an uncertain advantage. Our present interest, however, is in the statistics of deaths from smallpox in Edinburgh for a series of twenty years thus adduced by Monro.