thumb. Ward gave it a sharp wrench which incited some strong German from the monarch, but which put the thumb right. Subsequently George provided the quack with a room in his almonry at Whitehall, and paid him to treat poor people there. Ward bought besides three houses at Pimlico and converted them into a hospital where his remedies were administered, high-born ladies assisting in the conduct of this charity. His patients included Lord Chesterfield, Gibbon the historian, and Fielding the novelist, as well as a large number of titled persons of less permanent fame, and when he brought an action for libel against the Grub Street Journal (which, however, he failed in) Reynolds, the Lord Chief Baron, and Horace Walpole were among his witnesses. In 1748 a Bill was introduced into Parliament to restrict the practice of medicine, and it contained a clause specially exempting Ward by name from its penalties.
Naturally the qualified members of the medical profession were irritated at the amazing prosperity of this charlatan. Queen Caroline, it was said, once asked General Churchill if it was true that Ward's medicines had made a man mad. "Yes, Madam," Churchill replied, "Mead." Dr. Richard Mead was the King's physician.
Ward retained his fame to the end of his life, and the King's liberality made it possible to publish a collection of his recipes which his old friend John Page compiled after his death. But George's tenderness to the memory of the great physic-monger did not go to the extent of fulfilling the desire expressed in his will, that he should be buried in Westminster Abbey, in front of the altar, or as near thereto as possible.
The story of Ward's treatment of George II's thumb
