PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 1.
DECEMBER 18, 1841.
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF THE LONDON MEDICAL STUDENT.
12.—OF THE COLLEGE, AND THE CONCLUSION.
Our hero once more undergoes theprocess of grinding before he presents himself inLincoln’s-inn Fields for examination at the College ofSurgeons. Almost the last affair which our hero troubles himselfabout is the Examination at the College of Surgeons; and as hisanatomical knowledge requires a little polishing before he presentshimself in Lincoln’s-inn Fields, he once more undergoes theprocess of grinding.
The grinder for the College conducts his tuition in the samestyle as the grinder for the Hall—often they are united inthe same individual, who perpetually has a vacancy for a residentpupil, although his house is already quite full; somewhatresembling a carpet-bag, which was never yet known to be so crammedwith articles, but you might put something in besides. The class iscarried on similar to the one we have already quoted; but theknowledge required does not embrace the same multiformity ofsubjects; anatomy and surgery being the principal points.
Our old friends are assembled to prepare for their lastexamination, in a room fragrant with the amalgamated odours ofstale tobacco-smoke, varnished bones, leaky preparations, andgin-and-water. Large anatomical prints depend from the walls, and afew vertebræ, a lower jaw, and a sphenoid bone, are scatteredupon the table.
“To return to the eye, gentlemen,” says the grinder;“recollect the Petitian Canal surrounds the Cornea. Mr. Rapp,what am I talking about?”
Mr. Rapp, who is drawing a little man out of dots and lines uponthe margin of his “Quain’s Anatomy,” starts up,and observes—“Something about the Paddington Canalrunning round a corner, sir.”
“Now, Mr. Rapp, you must pay me a little moreattention,” expostulates the teacher. “What does theoperation for cataract resemble in a familiar point ofview?”
“Pushing a boat-hook through the wall of a house to pullback the drawing-room blinds,” answers Mr. Rapp.
“You are incorrigible,” says the teacher, smiling atthe simile, which altogether is an apt one. “Did you ever seea case of bad cataract?”
“Yes, sir, ever-so-long ago—the Cataract of theGanges at Astley’s. I went to the gallery, and had a millwith—”
“There, we don’t want particulars,” interruptsthe grinder; “but I would recommend you to mind your eyes,especially if you get under Guthrie. Mr. Muff, how do you define anulcer?”
“The establishment of a raw,” replies Mr. Muff.
“Tit! tit! tit!” continues the teacher, with anexpression of pity. “Mr. Simpson, perhaps you can tell Mr.Muff what an ulcer is?”
“An abrasion of the cuticle produced by its ownabsorption,” answers Mr. Simpson, all in a breath.
“Well. I maintain it’s easier to say a rawthan all that,” observes Mr. Muff.
“Pray, silence. Mr. Manhug, have you ever been sent for toa bad incised wound?”
“Yes, sir, when I was an apprentice: a man using a choppercut off his hand.”
“And what did you do?”
“Cut off myself for the governor, like a two-yearold.”
“But now you have no governor, what plan would you pursuein a similar case?”
“Send for the nearest doctor—call him in.”
“Yes, yes, but suppose he wouldn’t come?”
“Call him out, sir.”