nswers to a few questions were all I
needed to make a diagnosis."

One day, his master being away when a call came, he determined to answer
it, and see if he could diagnose the case. He returned shortly after,
and triumphantly told the doctor that the man was sick from eating too
much horse.

"A horse, you stupid fool!" cried the irate doctor. "What do you mean?"

"Why, master, it couldn't be anything else, because I saw a saddle and
stirrups under the bed."

A PLEASANT DISAPPOINTMENT.

BY J. SANFORD BARNES, JUN.

I don't believe that Mr. Henry ever thought what a queer combination of
nicknames his son would have when he named him Thomas Richard. Some
called him "Tom," some "Dick," and others, instead of calling him by his
last name, Henry, changed that, too, to "Harry," so he became Tom, Dick,
and Harry rolled into one.

Mr. Henry was a great sportsman, and many a time had Tom listened to his
father and one of his friends plan out a day's shooting. Tom had often
made his little plans, only to be carried out in his dreams. But at
last, one September evening, in his twelfth year, dreams could no longer
satisfy him. As he sat in his father's "den" after supper, looking for
the hundredth time through the book of colored sporting incidents and
game-birds, taking occasional long glances at the little sixteen-bore
which hung over his father's head, as he sat at his desk reading the
_Forest and Stream_, Tom was really developing a plan. He must go
shooting, and with a real gun of some kind. "Sling-shots" he was done
with; then he knew if he asked permission, what the answer would be, and
therefore he decided that his hunting-trip must be made "on the sly,"
and this alone was one cause for the rather restless night which
followed. As he turned the pages of the big book he began to imagine
himself in the place of the tall man in the picture just taking a
partridge from his dog's mouth, and on the next page he was the short
thick-set man in brown hunting-coat walking up to his dogs, who were
"stiff" and "stanch" on a covey of quail, which in pictures you can
always see hiding in the clump of bushes.

Now, Tom, Dick, and Harry had a friend, and that friend had a Flobert
rifle, and on that friend's willingness to lend he was counting
strongly. The game did not seem to worry him; he kept thinking of a
certain patch of blackberry bushes just outside a small piece of woods,
where he had often started up an old cock p