The grinder gives Mr. Manhug up as a hopeless case, and goes on to the next.  “Mr. Rapp, they will be very likely to ask you the composition of the compound gamboge pill:  what is it made of?”

Mr. Rapp hasn’t the least idea.

“Remember, then, it is composed of cambogia, aloes, ginger, and soap—­C, A, G, S,—­cags.  Recollect Cags, Mr. Rapp.  What would you do if you were sent for to a person poisoned by oxalic acid?”

“Give him some chalk,” returns Mr. Rapp.

“But suppose you had not got any chalk, what would you substitute?”

“Oh, anything; pipeclay and soapsuds.”

“Yes, that’s all very right; but we will presume you could not get any pipeclay and soapsuds; in fact, that there was nothing in the house.  What would you do then?”

Mr. Manhug cries out from the bottom of the table—­“Let him die and be ——!”

“Now, Mr. Manhug, I really must entreat of you to be more steady,” interrupts the professor.  “You would scrape the ceiling with the fire-shovel, would you not?  Plaster contains lime, and lime is an antidote.  Recollect that, if you please.  They like you to say you would scrape the ceiling, at the Hall:  they think it shows a ready invention in emergency.  Mr. Newcome, you have heard the last question and answer?”

“Yes sir,” says the fresh arrival, as he finishes making a note of it.

“Well; you are sent for, to a man who has hung himself.  What would be your first endeavour?”

“To scrape the ceiling with the fire-shovel,” mildly observes Mr. Newcome; whereupon the class indulges in a hearty laugh, and Mr. Newcome blushes as deep as the red bull’s-eye of a New-road doctor’s lamp.

“What would you do, Mr. Manhug? perhaps you can inform Mr. Newcome.”

“Cut him down, sir,” answers the indomitable farceur.

“Well, well,” continues the teacher; “but we will presume he has been cut down.  What would you strive to do next?”

“Cut him up, sir, if the coroner would give an order for a post mortem examination.”

“We have had no chemistry this morning,” observes one of the pupils.

“Very well, Mr. Rogers; we will go on with it if you wish.  How would you endeavour to detect the presence of gold in any body?”

“By begging the loan of a sovereign, sir,” interrupts Mr. Manhug.

“If he knew you as well as I do, Manhug,” observes Mr. Jones, “he’d be sure to lend it—­oh, yes!—­I should rayther think so, certainly,” whereupon Mr. Jones compresses his nostril with the thumb of his right hand, and moves his fingers as if he was performing a concerto on an imaginary one handed flageolet.

“Mr. Rapp, what is the difference between an element and a compound body?”

Mr. Rapp is again obliged to confess his ignorance.

“A compound body is composed of two or more elements,” says the grinder, “in various proportions.  Give me an example, Mr. Jones.”