and
whose fame perhaps extends over the habitable globe. And so we pass on
from bed to bed. Occasionally the professor extracts a moral. This man
is dying of gin. "How much did you take a day?"--"Only a
quartern."--"And for how many years?"--"Seven." The professor shakes his
head--the students know that the man is past cure, that death is only a
question of time. A similar process is gone through on the women's ride,
and anxiously do sad eyes follow the little group as the professor and
students pass on, in their best way mitigating human agony, and bidding
the downcast hope. What tales might be told! Here lies down the
prodigal to die; here the village maid hides her shame beneath the dark
wings of death. Under these hospital walls--reared and maintained by
Christian charity, what men once proud, and rich, and great--what women
once tenderly nursed and slavishly obeyed--what beauties once fondly
caressed, old, withered, wan, without money and without friends, alone in
the bleak, bitter world--linger and pass away for ever.

Let us go down stairs, along that long passage through which eager
students are hurrying. The door opens, and we find ourselves in a
theatre, as full as it can possibly be of the future surgeons of England,
now very rough and noisy. At the bottom, far beneath us, is a small
space with a long narrow table, covered with oilskin; behind the table is
a door. That door opens, and one or two of the _elite_ of the students
known as dressers enter. A matronly female, dressed in the hospital
garb, follows; some stout porters bring in a poor creature gently, and
place him on the table, and a few professors and professional assistants
fill up the group; the noisy students are still and eager. The professor
advances to the table, in a few words explains the nature of the malady,
and the patient, more dead than alive, endeavours to nerve himself for
his impending fate. It is our old friend; his leg is smashed and
requires amputation. An assistant administers chloroform, while the
operator looks on, watch in hand. In a few seconds it is clear the
patient is insensible, and the knife is handed to the operator, who, with
his arm bare, and his sleeves tucked up, commences his painful task. Up
squirts the red blood, and many a pale face and averted eye around
testify how painful the exhibition is to those who are not accustomed to
it. Happily, the medical men near have the calm composure and readine