“Oh! hang it all, Lennard!” cried Mahoney; “you are preaching like a teetotal orator. Confound it, we can’t stand the whole seven of ’em. That’s enough! Why, what could the old parson want more than to give a medical school like ours his ‘body of divinity’? He has preached a better sermon in the hands of Professor Sturge than he ever did at church, and his illustrations are much more telling, I dare say; and he makes no reservations now. I can imagine nothing more honourable than to devote one’s body to a dissecting-room out of mere gratitude to a science that has helped us in life. But this is a dismal strain we are in. Give us your song, Williams; dear old Albert Smith’s ‘Student’s Alphabet.’”
Williams laid aside his pipe, and took a pull at the tankard of ale on the mantel board, and began:—
THE STUDENT’S ALPHABET.
Oh, A was an Artery, filled with injection;
And B was a Brick, never caught at dissection.
C were some Chemicals—Lithium and Borax;
And D was the Diaphragm, flooring the thorax.
Chorus.
Fol de rol lol,
Fol de rol lay,