appropriated to the fortunate ones, which the curious stranger may see
lighted up every Friday evening as he passes through Lincoln's-inn Fields.
The inquisitors are altogether a gentlemanly set of men, who are willing
to help a student out of a scrape, rather than "catch question" him into
one: nay, more than once the candidate has attributed his success to a
whisper prompted by the kind heart of the venerable and highly-gifted
individual--now, alas! no more--who until last year assisted at the
examinations.

Of course, the same kind of scene takes place that was enacted after going
up to the Hall, and with the same results, except the police-office, which
they manage to avoid. The next day, as usual, they are again at the
school, standing innumerable pots, telling incalculable lies, and singing
uncounted choruses, until the Scotch pupil who is still grinding in the
museum, is forced to give over study, after having been squirted at
through the keyhole five distinct times, with a reversed stomach-pump full
of beer, and finally unkennelled. The lecturer upon chemistry, who has a
private pupil in his laboratory learning how to discover arsenic in
poisoned people's stomachs, where there is none, and make red, blue, and
green fires, finds himself locked in, and is obliged to get out at the
window; whilst the professor of medicine, who is holding forth, as usual,
to a select very few, has his lecture upon intermittent fever so strangely
interrupted by distant harmony and convivial hullaballoo, that he finishes
abruptly in a pet, to the great joy of his class. But Mr. Muff and his
friends care not. They have passed all their troubles--they are regular
medical men, and for aught they care the whole establishment may blow up,
tumble down, go to blazes, or anything else in a small way that may
completely obliterate it. In another twelve hours they have departed to
their homes, and are only spoken of in the reverence with which we regard
the ruins of a by-gone edifice, as bricks who were.