thers requiring
reconstruction. This day also passed, and another morning came; and now
sixteen dogs, eight of them newly crippled, occupied the sidewalk, and
the people were going around. By noon the broken legs were all set, but
the pious wonder in the good physician's breast was beginning to get
mixed with involuntary profanity. The sun rose once more, and exhibited
thirty-two dogs, sixteen of them with broken legs, occupying the sidewalk
and half of the street; the human spectators took up the rest of the
room. The cries of the wounded, the songs of the healed brutes, and the
comments of the onlooking citizens made great and inspiring cheer, but
traffic was interrupted in that street. The good physician hired a
couple of assistant surgeons and got through his benevolent work before
dark, first taking the precaution to cancel his church-membership, so
that he might express himself with the latitude which the case required.

But some things have their limits. When once more the morning dawned,
and the good physician looked out upon a massed and far-reaching
multitude of clamorous and beseeching dogs, he said, "I might as well
acknowledge it, I have been fooled by the books; they only tell the
pretty part of the story, and then stop. Fetch me the shotgun; this
thing has gone along far enough."

He issued forth with his weapon, and chanced to step upon the tail of the
original poodle, who promptly bit him in the leg. Now the great and good
work which this poodle had been engaged in had engendered in him such a
mighty and augmenting enthusiasm as to turn his weak head at last and
drive him mad. A month later, when the benevolent physician lay in the
death-throes of hydrophobia, he called his weeping friends about him, and
said:

"Beware of the books. They tell but half of the story. Whenever a poor
wretch asks you for help, and you feel a doubt as to what result may flow
from your benevolence, give yourself the benefit of the doubt and kill
the applicant."

And so saying he turned his face to the wall and gave up the ghost.

THE BENEVOLENT AUTHOR

A poor and young literary beginner had tried in vain to get his
manuscripts accepted. At last, when the horrors of starvation were
staring him in the face, he laid his sad case before a celebrated author,
beseeching his counsel and assistance. This generous man immediately put
aside his own matters and proceeded to peruse one of