The following speech appeared in a comic 18th-century booklet called The Harangues or Speeches of Several Famous Mountebanks in Town or Country, which makes fun of high-profile medical salesmen by attributing to them wild claims about their remedies. Later editions (under the title The Harangues, or Speeches, of Several Celebrated Quack Doctors in Town and Country) included extra content such as Dr Rock’s speech, some satirical recipes for common ailments, and quack-related songs.

Henry Morley’s Memoirs of Bartholomew Fair (1859) refers to this ‘little undated book‘ as having appeared in around 1690. The earliest edition on ECCO is stated to be 1725, though the digitised title page has the date 1746 handwritten on it. Whatever the original date, it was popular enough to be reprinted several times during the first half of the 18^th century, and for components of it to be published separately as broadsides.

The speech could have some basis in fact – it is always possible someone took notes when Mr Jones was speaking at York – but it’s unlikely they would have been able to get it verbatim in the midst of an entertained audience, and even less likely that it wouldn’t get embellished for the purposes of humour. In January 1859, however, The Lancet took it literally, quoting a large proportion of the speech (as printed in Morley’s book) to show the similarities between the mountebanks of old and the spiritualists and homeopaths of their own day.

In contrast to the ‘quasi-scientific jargon‘ of modern quackery, ‘It gives a mental refreshment to turn to the laughable orations of the more honest mountebanks of bygone days.‘ Unfortunately, The Lancet missed out on a laugh – Morley had left out the bit about ‘bum-peeping.’

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The Harangue, or Quack Speech of T. JONES, at York.

 

Gentlemen and Ladies,

YOU that have a Mind to preserve your own and your Families Health, may here, at the Expence of a Two-penny Piece, furnish yourselves with a Packet, which contains several Things of great Use, and wonderful Operation in human Bodies against all Distempers whatsoever.

Gentlemen, Because I present myself among you, I would not have you to think, I am any Upstart Glister-pipe Bum-peeping Apothecary; no, Gentlemen, I am no such person: I am a regular Physician, and have travelled most Kingdoms in the World, purely to do my Country good. I am not a Person, that takes Delight, as a great many do, to fill your Ears with hard Words, in telling you the Nature of Turpet Mineral,Mercurii Dulcis, Balsamum Capiviet, Astringents, Laxations, Harboundations, Circulations, Vibrations, Salivations, Excoriations, Scaldations, or Urinations. These Quacks may fitly be called Solimites, because they prescribe only one Sort of Physick for all Distempers, that is, a Vomit.

If a Man has bruized his Elbow, Take a Vomit, says the Doctor. If he has any Corns; Take a Vomit. If he has torn his Coat; Take a Vomit. For the Jaundice, Fevers, Flax, Gripes, Gout, Stone, Pox, nay, even the Distempers, that only my Friend, the famous Dr. Tuff, whom you all know, as the Hocognicles, Marthambles, the Moon-Paul, and the Strong-Fives, A Vomit tantum. Gentlemen, these Impostors value killing a Man, no more than I value drawing an old Stump of a Tooth, which has long troubled any of you; so that, I say, they are a Pack of Tag-Rag, Asifœtida, Glister-Pipe Doctors. Now, Gentlemen, having given you a short Account of this spurious Race, I shall present you with my Cordial Pills, being the Tincture of the Sun, having Dominion from the same Light, giving Relief and Comfort to all Mankind: They cause all Complexions to laugh or smile, in the very taking them; they presently cure all Dizziness, Swimming, Dulness in the Head, and Scurvy.

In the next Place, I recommend to you my incomparable Balsam, which heals all Sores, Cuts, Ulcers, new and old. ‘Tis good for Burns, Scalds, Swellings, Bruizes, Strains, Aches, Weakness in the Joints and Limbs, &c. it cures the King’s-Evil, sore Breasts, and scald Heads; and it is taken inwardly for a Cough, Consumption, short Breath, Weakness of the Back, or any inward Hurt.

The next unparalell’d Medicine contain’d in this my Packet, is an admirable Electuary, celebrated throughout all England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, Dominion of Wales, and Town of Berwick upon Tweed. It cures all curable Diseases, by very easy and gentle purging; it causes an Appetite, helps all Distempers in the Eyes, Face, swell’d Lips; and opens the Stoppage of the Liver and Spleen, &c.

The next I present you with, is my Specifick, which certainly cures all Agues in a Minute.

The next is my red Plaister, which radically cures the most inveterate Rheumatism and Gout in a few Days Time.

The last, and most useful Medicine prepared throughout the whole World, is this, my Pulvis Catharticus: Its Virtues are such, it will, equally with the Unicorn’s Horn, expel the rankest Poison; ’tis a perfect, safe, and speedy Cure, for all Venereal Maladies, of what Degree soever, and fortifies the Heart against all Fainting.

I do assure you, Country Folk, these Medicines are as good as any Physician can make, or Patient take; their Virtues are too well known, to say any more; so I shall leave you to experience them. And so I wish you Health and Happiness.

You may come to my Lodgings, at the Barber’s Pole and Stone Gate, at Home, from Seven to Eleven.

Source: The Liverpool Mercury, 30 December 1851

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Phlegm is generally white, greyish, or of a yellow colour, with streaks of black; its consistency varies from the limpidity of water to the thickness of jelly.

This vivid description is from Parisian chemist Paul Gage’s Treatise on the Effect and Disorders produced by Phlegm in the Human Frame – the pamphlet referred to in the advert above. The 16-page essay is elegantly written and, rather than trumpeting the medicine’s properties in the exaggerated fashion typical of quacks, Gage uses more sophisticated tactics to persuade the reader of its efficacy.

Phlegm, Gage believed, was implicated in virtually all diseases – the sheer amount of the stuff was evidence for this. He estimated that if all the phlegm in the human body were collected together, the quantity would ‘surpass the weight of all other evacuations.’ Medical men might argue over this, but they were too inclined to follow fashions in diagnosis and put their own opinions above the welfare of their patients. Gage uses the common quack ploy of discrediting the medical profession, politely accusing them of disagreeing amongst themselves, observing only what they wished to observe and ignoring ancient systems of medicine.

At the time of the Treatise’s publication in English (1851), disorders of the blood were the ‘in thing’ and according to Gage, doctors did not look much beyond blood-letting as a treatment. Drawing of bad blood, however, was useless as it would simply be replaced by more bad blood if the cause – that is, the phlegm – were not removed.

‘For heaven’s sake,’ appealed Gage, ‘overcome the principle before attempting to overcome the symptom.’

At the other end of the spectrum was the ‘enlightened medical man who has at heart the love of his suffering fellow creatures’ – i.e. Monsieur Gage himself. He pre-empts criticism by pointing out the medical establishment’s tendency to write off any new method as quackery in order to protect their own interests.

It was easy to tell if you were suffering from phlegm: the ‘abundant expectoration of clear and slimy mucus’ was a bit of a giveaway. Other symptoms, however, included dry skin, belching, pale lips, hoarseness and poor digestion. Women and children were the greatest sufferers but phlegm affected everybody – particularly those of weak constitution, sorrowful and melancholy temperament and a sedentary lifestyle.

The Antiphlegmatic Elixir was a laxative, which seems odd for a condition now associated with the respiratory tract, but to Gage phlegm was just as much of a problem in the digestive system. In children, for example, it could generate and nourish intestinal worms. When treated with the Elixir (in conjunction with a decoction of male fern – a standard vermifuge!), the creatures would come out surrounded by masses of the stuff.

As well as worms and the more likely coughs, colds and asthma, the Elixir would cure apoplexy, scrofula, gout, dropsy, palpitations, skin conditions and ‘diseases of women.’

The Treatise contains a list of successful cases, but in a departure from the common quack practice of printing testimonials in the patients’ own words, Gage sets his out in the third person, like the case histories in reputable medical books.

One featured patient was a 28-year-old lady with five children, who had numerous crevices in her right breast and a white swelling on her right elbow. Until the age of 25 she had thrown up large quantities of viscous matter every morning, and when her mother mentioned this to the attending physician, he prescribed the Antiphlegmatic Elixir. After five months the lady was cured.

By writing of a reputable doctor prescribing the Elixir, and giving a lengthy recovery period rather than a miraculous instant cure, Gage subtly dissociated himself from quackery and presented his ideas as equal in status with (but more enlightened than) medical orthodoxy. He appealed to the educated reader with a sense of responsibility for their own health, and in doing so trousered a similarly upmarket 4s. 6d. per bottle.

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STRENGTH, VITALITY, MANHOOD.
­A Valuable Treatise on Nervous Exhaustion, Loss of Strength, Mental Depression, Exhausted Vitality, and all special diseases and weaknesses of man; their causes, and means of cure.
This book not only contains valuable remarks on how to preserve strength and retain the powers to an advanced age, but points out the best means of restoring Exhausted Vitality, Poverty of Nerve Force, Mental Depression, and will especially interest those who wish to fit themselves for business, study or marriage. This brief work is the only one that contains any sensible advice to the inexperienced, and to all young and middle-aged men will not only prove instructive but a valuable safeguard.
Sent sealed on receipt of 4 penny stamps to any address, by
CHARLES GORDON, 288, Great Horton Road, Bradford, Yorks.—Advt. Copyright.

Source: The Illustrated Police News, 22 December 1900

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Other than the romantic-haired individual in the illustration, this advert doesn’t offer much to distinguish itself from the plethora of late 19th-century ads promising restored manhood or cures for nervous debility. Should you send off your 4 penny stamps, however, you would receive a 43-page booklet recommending a ‘concentrated herbal remedy’ with the brilliant name of Gordon’s Vital Sexualine Restorative.

The Restorative cost a rather steep 22s a bottle, and was a red-brown syrupy liquid that was to be taken at a dose of one teaspoonful in a glass of water three times a day. The pamphlet claimed it would cure a range of problems:

Onanism, Night Emissions, Seminal Losses, Waste of Vitality, Brain Fag, Depression, General Weakness, Loss of Energy, Nervous Debility, Spermatorrhoea and Variocele.

On the bottle label was a list of even more conditions, including Brain Wreckage and Nerve Tire.

Described as a ‘Brain Fertiliser’, the product was supposed to ‘create nervous fluid, brain matter and nerve force.’ It:

Brightens the intellect, improves the memory and mental faculties, restores strength, and promotes a renewal of life in the entire system.

The BMA analysed the mixture in 1911 and found it to consist of iron, calcium, sodium and potassium hypophosphites, quinine sulphate, citric acid, sugar, colouring and water. As they dryly pointed out:

Metallic hypophosphites are not generally considered to be “concentrated herbal remedies.”

Gordon (who used the meaningless letters P.M.B. after his name in an attempt to impress punters) sold a number of other medicines for the not-so-discerning gentleman. There were the Viro-Erectile Elixir, the Varixolene Liniment, the Bubo Compound, Gentiana Tonic, Gravolene, and anti-syphilitic and anti-gonorrhoeal mixtures. And, as I’m sure you will be delighted to know, the range was completed by the Gleet Compound.

Source: The General Advertiser, 6 March 1744. Click here for transcript.

I wonder if this advert looks familiar to regular readers. The writing style and capitalisation, and even the medicine’s name, are reminiscent of Mr. Burchell’s Famous Little Sugar Plums, and here again we see a proprietor tempting punters with freebies. Dr Russel of the Green Hatch, Holborn, sought to tap into Burchell’s success by adopting the same tactics, but over the years it isn’t a clear-cut case of him copying his contemporary – they used lots of similar ploys and it’s not always obvious who got there first.

Ads for The Montpellier Little Bolus and Burchell’s ads for his Anodyne Necklace appear in the same papers, sometimes right next to each other. As I mentioned in the Sugar Plums post, Burchell gave away free almanacks – so did Russel, whose publication was called the Thee and Thou Almanack. The adverts say it offered answers to common questions about Quakers:

Why we are called QUAKERS?
Why we’ve Silent Meetings? Why Women Preach as well as Men?
Why we use THEE and THOU? Why we never Put off our Hats?

Russel also resorted to poetry:

This ALMANACK has Nothing Writ twice o’er
What’s in’t, No ALMANACK e’er had Before :
It is quite NEW, Year Thirty-EIGHT its Date is,
‘Twill Nothing Cost, for Thee may’st have it GRATIS,
At the Green Hatch, ‘gainst Gray’s Inn Gate in Holborn,
If to ASK for’t, Thee will not be too Stubborn.

(both bits quoted from the London Daily Advertiser, Feb 4 1737)

My favourite aspect of the ad at the top is that it offers a free dose to anyone whose name appears in the Venereal and Gleet Patient’s Directory.

‘Gleet’ (the word derives from the Middle English for slimy, and is related to the Latin gluten, meaning glue) refers in this context to a mucopurulent discharge from the urethra or vagina as a result of gonorrhoea. It lingered after the acute symptoms had subsided, and although clearly the result of the clap, was viewed as a condition in its own right. It is described as follows by William Buchan:

…when the quantity of running is considerably lessened, without any pain or swelling in the groin or testicle supervening; when the patient is free from involuntary erections; and lastly, when the running becomes pale, whitish, thick, void of ill smell, and tenacious or ropy ; when all or most of these symptoms appear, the gonorrhoea is arrived at its last stage, and we may gradually proceed to treat it as a gleet with astringent and agglutinating medicines.

Such astringent medicines included white vitriol (zinc sulphate) and preparations of lead injected up the affected parts. The great John Hunter wasn’t overly enthusiastic about astringents – he advised that introducing a simple, unmedicated bougie (a slender instrument) into the urethra would be enough to cure most gleets (in men, that is – he dismisses women’s gleets in a couple of paragraphs). The bougie ‘need only be five or six inches long‘ and required ‘a month or six weeks application.’ Hunter also mentions gleets cured by electricity, but does not specify how the cure was carried out.

For people putting up with this nagging condition, and faced with a variety of embarrassing and eye-watering cures, quack pills were worth a try, but the real genius of Russel’s modus operandi lies in the free pamphlet. The mid-18th-century sufferer was not expected to be loyal to a specific doctor and to blindly accept whatever he advised, so the average individual with a gleet might well have done the rounds of several practitioners and nostrum vendors. The idea that somewhere along the way you’d got on a published list of venereal patients was rather alarming.

Whether Russel’s directory contained real names or made-up ones, I don’t know, but once people arrived at the Green Hatch for a furtive shuffle through the pages, they were a captive audience for the Montpellier Little Bolus at 2s. a pop.

SWAIM’S PANACEA.—This Medicine has acquired a very
extensive and established celebrity in Europe and America,
and its virtues are known and acknowledged by many of the most
respectable physicians of both countries. As an alterative, and
in various diseases, particularly in cases of inveterate corruption
of the blood descending to the second generation, it stands unri-
valled. Its safety and innocence have been fully tested, so that
it may be administered to the most tender and helpless infant.
No one, however, is advised to take it without being first con-
vinced of its efficacy and of the rectitude of the proprietor’s in-
tention. He has been induced to establish agencies in England
in consequence of the repeated and large orders for the Medicine
from various parts of the kingdom. He respectfully informs the
public that they can be supplied wholesale by EVANS, SON, and
CO., 85, Lord-street, Liverpool; EVANS and LESCHER, 4 Cripple-
gate-buildings, London; and retail by most of the respectable
Druggists in England, Ireland, and Scotland.

Source: The Liverpool Mercury, Friday 7 August 1847

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If you’re Welsh, don’t be annoyed at being left out; count yourself lucky.

Although I’ve chosen a British ad here, the medicine’s home was Philadelphia, where William Swaim settled after a career as a bookbinder in New York. A probably apocryphal tale has him finding the panacea recipe scribbled on a blank leaf of a book he was binding; another story, related in James Harvey Young’s The Toadstool Millionaires, has Swaim finding out the ingredients from a reputable physician called Dr Quackinboss. Although this sounds made up, the name (but with the spelling Quackenboss), genuinely did belong to a New York doctor in the 1820s. (And for purposes of mild amusement, here is a modern example.)

Swaim’s advertising materials included booklets endorsing his nostrum, and the following unpleasant picture appeared in these and occasionally in his ads. You might recognise it if you saw the colour version recently displayed on the Ephemera Assemblyman blog. In this one, the bottle of Panacea is more prominent, and the facial expression more grotesque, but the depiction of the legs is thankfully less gruesome for the lack of colour.

Notice that the caption says ‘The representation and her actual appearance after having been Cured by the use of Swaims Panacea.’ I think they must mean ‘The representation of…’ but anyway, AFTER is the interesting word here. This image was supposed to encourage people to buy the medicine. Just think! Take this stuff and you too could spend the rest of your life hiding in a darkened room, tragically plastering your face with yet more mercurial preparations while the looking glass mocks you with the ghostly memory of the carefree beauty you were long, long ago.

The logic behind the use of this picture is difficult to grasp – any further theories welcome in the comments, but it could be:

1. In that state, Miss Linton should actually be dead, so the very fact that she’s sitting in a chair grinning is a testament to the miraculous power of the Panacea.

2. The horror of the image would exert a strange fascination on punters and compel them to read the promotional book. This is what happened to ‘Morleigh,’ the British writer of Life in the West, (1843):

‘…fronting the title page, we have a full-length portrait of a lady, or skeleton in a ball dress, grinning horribly. If this lady is cured, thought I, it would be very advisable for her to stay at home. Faugh! the very portrait has made me ill. I threw the book aside with scorn, little thinking that in a few days hence, when the book had mysteriously disappeared, I should earnestly seek a copy, and devour the contents with as much gusto as a starving sailor would munch an old shoe.’

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To be continued…

In the next post – what was actually in Swaim’s Panacea, the proprietor’s on-off relationship with the medical profession, and how the Panacea’s success spawned blatant imitations.

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Picture courtesy of the US National Library of Medicine

Although no proprietor is shown in the following advertisement, the Vegetable Life Drops were one of several cures touted under the name Dr Walter De Roos. De Roos was an enigmatic character and the name was purported to be an alias for one John (or George) Robinson, who might well have bought the business in 1858 from brothers Alfred and Samuel Barker. Whether or not De Roos was ever a real person, his Compound Renal Pills were still being sold under that name in the early 20th century.

     THE MOST WONDERFUL MEDICINE IN THE WORLD!!
          CURE IN FOUR WEEKS.— THE GUTTÆ VITÆ, or,
         VEGETABLE LIFE DROPS, Protected by Royal Let-
ters Patent;  Sanctioned  by  the  Faculte  de  France,  &c., have in
numberless   instances  proved  their  superiority  over  every  other
advertised  Remedy  for  langour,  lassitude,  depression  of  spirits,
irritability,  excitement,  fear,  distaste  and   incapacity   for   society,
study or  business,  indigestion,  pains  and  palpitation  in  the  side,
giddiness,  noise  in  the  head,  &c.  This  medicine  strengthens the
vitality of the  whole  system,  gives  energy to the muscles, speedily
removes nervousness, renovates  the  impaired  powers of life, and
invigorates  the  most  shattered  constitution.  For   skin   eruptions,
sore throat,  pains  in  the  bones, and those diseases in which mer-
cury, sarsaparilla, &c.,  are  too  often  employed,  to  the  utter  ruin
of health, its surprising efficacy has only to be tested.
   Before wasting valuable  time  in  seeking  aid  from  instruments,
electricity, galvanism,  with  similar  absurdities  professing  to  set
aside medicines, by American impostors and others, whose boas-
ted “distinguished qualifications”  consist  solely  of  their  consum-
mate  impudence,  sufferers  will  do  well   to  make  fair  trial  of  a
remedy, which concocted on scientific principles cannot fail.
Price 4s. 6d. And 11s., or four times  the  latter  at  33s.  per  bottle,
through all Chemists,  or  direct  from  25,  Bedford Place, WHERE
THOUSANDS OF TESTIMONIALS MAY BE SEEN.

Source: The North Wales Chronicle, October 24 1863

For all this advert’s outrage against impostors, Walter De Roos was summoned to Uxbridge Petty Sessions in 1864 by solicitor and anti-quackery campaigner William Talley under the New Medical Act , which provided for a fine of £20 for anyone falsely claiming medical qualifications.The doctor did not turn up, but was represented by his “learned counsel” – coincidentally also called Mr Robinson – whose entertaining exchanges with Talley are documented in Extraordinary Success of the New Mode of Treatment. The prosecution failed and De Roos – or whoever he was – went on to cause further damage.

He was implicated in a suicide in 1865, when 24-year-old James Miles was found drowned in the canal at Higham, Kent, having suffered a period of depression. Among the deceased’s belongings were 30 letters and pamphlets from Dr De Roos impressing upon him that he must continue to take the doctor’s medicine – and demanding immediate payment for it. Bearing in mind De Roos’s pamphlets had titles like Private Hints on the Causes, Symptoms, and Cure of All the Secret Disorders Incident to Both Sexes and The Medical Adviser: On Certain Infirmities and Disorders of the Generative and Urinary Systems : the Premature Failure of Sexual Power, with Plain Directions for Its Perfect Restoration : Practical Observations on Marriage : Its Disqualifications, and Their Removal it is hardly surprising that the newly married young man was troubled.

Local surgeon Mr J.J. Ely said of the pamphlets: “I have no doubt whatever they would cause a great depression of spirits.”

This is an interesting advert because there is nothing blatant about it. It doesn’t appear to be selling anything and it’s difficult to see what Mr. F. Russell has to gain. To the average reader, this could simply be a kind-hearted gentleman so excited about having lost weight that he wants to share the secret with everyone.

So why did he go to the trouble and expense of placing advertisements in regional papers all over the UK and Ireland?

Image: Dr. E. Brown, the Largest Man in America by J. R. Dix. 19th century, date unknown. Courtesy of the US National Library of Medicine.

TO FAT PERSONS.—A Gentleman who can personally
vouch for the efficacy of a REMEDY (doctor’s prescrip-
tion) which will effectually and rapidly REDUCE CORPU-
LENCY in either sex without semi-starvation dietary, exer-
cise, &c., quite harmless, will send Recipe on receipt of
stamped address.—Mr. F. Russell, 15, Gower-street, Lon-
don, W.C.

Source: The Ipswich Journal, Saturday 16th February 1884

 In the 1890s, some of Mr Russell’s adverts took  on a more “advertorial” look, purporting to be news items about an effective cure for corpulency. This cure happened to be detailed in his book, Corpulency and the Cure. 256 pages, and an incredible bargain at 5d.

The pressure on women to be thin might often be condemned as a malaise of modern society, but here is an excerpt from one of Mr Russell’s advertisements of November 1894:

The “poetry in motion,” which is the acme of every woman’s desire, is incompatible with anything approaching obesity, yet how many pretty girls develop into stout and dowdy matrons. You fall in love with a sylph, and find yourself a happy possessor of a wife whose elephantine proportions are a burden to herself and those around her; for a young woman who has “fallen into flesh” loses her activity, her beauty, and, as a natural consequence, her smartness in dress. What is the remedy?

The remedy was a simple vegetable beverage taken at your meals – wholesome, tasteless, even palatable … What more can those who sigh for their ‘too, too solid flesh’ to melt desire?

This is not a remedy as such, but one of the many self-help publications advertised in 18th- and 19th-century newspapers.

The advert gives no indication of the author’s name, but it is undoubtedly Dr. Solomon of Liverpool, whose Anti-Impetigines we featured the other day and whose Cordial Balm of Gilead was one of the most widely advertised (and expensive) remedies for ailments brought on by “dissipation in youth.” The Guide to Health was not highly thought of by the medical establishment.

“We have had patience to read part,” said the quack-busting journal The Medical Observer in 1806, “and we candidly say that we cannot discover anything to commend, but much to censure…

…The work is swelled out with attestations of the efficacy of his balsam, which the intention of the author in its publication is to recommend.”

Look out for more about Dr. Solomon in due course, but for now here’s the advert (which, incidentally, could quite easily be talking about the internet.)

 NOTHING, perhaps, weakens the mind so much
as a pernicious practice, which takes possession
of the whole mind and attention, and prevents its vo-
taries from following their respective avocations, by
engrossing their ideas, even when they should be em-
ployed in devotion or business; it renders them stupid,
dull, and thoughtful, and destroys all their vivacity,
cheerfulness and health; by bringing on consumpti-
ons, weaknesses, barrenness, and all that dreadful
train of nervous complaint, which makes them timid,
whimsical and ridiculous. It agitates the mind, causes
frightful ideas and horrid dreams, and ultimately
renders them fearful of even being left alone for a
few minutes!
Surely such a train of miseries proceeding from this
cause, might be sufficient to deter young people from
entering into such a course! doubtless it would, if
they were sufficiently aware of it. But these are not
all the baneful effects of this habit, as will be found in
that excellent publication, entitled “A Guide to
Health,” fiftieth edition, which is considerably im-
proved from the former ones, illustrated with a num-
ber of remarkable cases and many letters from per-
sons restored to health, strength and happiness, after
innumerable remedies had been tried in vain.

Source:  The Ipswich Journal, Saturday 3rd January, 1801.
Note: Lack of capitalisation for “doubtless” is as shown.