PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 1.
NOVEMBER 27, 1841.
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF THE LONDON MEDICAL STUDENT.
9.—OF THE SEQUEL TO THE HALL EXAMINATION.
Whilst Mr. Muff follows the beadlefrom the funking-room to the Council Chamber, he scarcely knowswhether he is walking upon his head or his heels; if anything, hebelieves that he is adopting the former mode of locomotion; nordoes he recover a sense of his true position until he finds himselfseated at one end of a square table, the other three sides whereofare occupied by the same number of gentlemen of grave and austerebearing, with all the candles in the room apparently endeavouringto imitate that species of eccentric dance which he has only seenthe gas-lamps attempt occasionally as he has returned home from hisharmonic society. The table before him is invitingly spread withpharmacopoeias, books of prescriptions, trays of drugs, andhalf-dead plants; and upon these subjects, for an hour and a half,he is compelled to answer questions.
We will not follow his examination: nobody was ever able to seethe least joke in it; and therefore it is unfitted for our columns.We can but state that after having been puzzled, bullied,“caught,” quibbled with, and abused, for the abovespace of time, his good genius prevails, and he is told he mayretire. Oh! the pleasure with which he re-enters thefunking-room—that nice, long, pleasant room, with itscheerful fireplace and good substantial book-cases, and valuablebooks, and excellent old-fashioned furniture; and the capital teawhich the worshipful company allows him—never was meal soexquisitely relished. He has passed the Hall! won’t he have aflare-up to-night!—that’s all.
As soon as all the candidates have passed, their certificatesare given them, upon payment of various sovereigns, and they arelet out. The first great rush takes place to the “retailestablishment” over the way, where all their friends areassembled—Messrs. Jones, Rapp, Manhug, &c. A pot of“Hospital Medoc” is consumed by each of the thirstycandidates, and off they go, jumping Jim Crow down Union-street,and swaggering along the pavement six abreast, as they sing severalextempore variations of their own upon a glee which details diverspeculiarities in the economy of certain small pigs, pleasantlyenlivened by grunts and whistles, and the occasional asseverationof the singers that their paternal parent was a man of less thanordinary stature. This insensibly changes into “Willy breweda Peck of Malt,” and finally settles down into “Nix myDolly,” appropriately danced and chorussed, until apoliceman, who has no music in his soul, stops their harmony, butthreatens to take them into charge if they do not bring theirpromenade concert to a close.
Arrived at their lodgings, the party throw off all restraint.The table is soon covered with beer, spirits, screws, hot water,and pipes; and the company take off their coats, unbutton theirstocks, and proceed to conviviality. Mr. Muff, who is in the chair,sings the first song, which informs his friends that the glassessparkle on the board and the wine is ruby bright, in allusion tothe pewter-pots and half-and half. Having finished, Mr. Muff callsupon Mr. Jones, who sings a ballad, not altogether perhaps of thesame class you would hear at an evening party in Belgrave-square,but still of in