LETTER XUI. 137 



fish don't swim in fresh water, I guess, either.' * No,' I 

 said, * they come from the sea.' * Well, then,' replied 

 John, ** 'tis a tolerable trip from this to Southampton 

 Water, and further than I would go for the best dish of 

 fish that ever came out of water.' * Very likely, John, 

 but you don't know that a turbot is considered a first- 

 rate fish, and seldom seen but at great tables. Many of 

 them are worth a guinea a piece.' * Ah, indeed,' says 

 John, * that alters the case ; but how on earth could the 

 ould vixen come at it?' My answer to John and to you is, 

 the old vixen became possessed of the fawn's foot, as well 

 as the fish bones, by picking them up, one in the park, 

 and the other on the ash-heap, behind the big house. 

 I dare say you have heard, gentlemen, of the story of 

 the medical student and symptoms. A learned doctor 

 took his pupil with him, to visit a patient, whom he 

 accused of eating oysters, and severely reprimanded him 

 for it. Upon their return, the pupil asked the doctor 

 how he could tell his patient had been eating oysters. 

 * Simply enough,' replied the doctor, ' from the symp- 

 toms — I saw the shells under the bed.' This hint was 

 improved upon considerably by the student, and had 

 nearly cost him a broken neck, as you will hear. The 

 doctor being otherwise engaged, sent his pupil a day or 

 two afterwards, to visit the same patient, who was a 

 farmer, well to do in the world, and none of the mildest 

 of tempers. Our young practitioner (remembering all 

 about the symptoms) looked about, and under the bed, 

 seeing a bridle and saddle, accused the sick man of eating 

 a horse ! * What, Sir,' exclaimed the sick man, starting 

 up in his bed, * eat a horse !' ' Yes, Sir, I repeat it,' 

 replied the student. ' The deuce you do ; then here 



