A dead
dog lay by the wayside, and every one that passed along flung some
offensive epithet at him. Eastern dogs are not like our dogs, and
seemingly there was nothing good about this loathsome creature, but as
our Saviour went by, he said, gently, 'Pearls cannot equal the whiteness
of his teeth.'"
"What was the name of that old fellow," said Mr. Maxwell, abruptly, "who
had a beautiful swan that came every day for fifteen years, to bury its
head in his bosom and feed from his hand, and would go near no other
human being?"
"Saint Hugh, of Lincoln. We heard about him at the Band of Mercy the
other day," said Miss Laura.
"I should think that he would have wanted to have that swan in heaven
with him," said Mr. Maxwell. "What a beautiful creature it must have
been. Speaking about animals going to heaven, I dare say some of them
would object to going, on account of the company that they would meet
there. Think of the dog kicked to death by his master, the horse driven
into his grave, the thousands of cattle starved to death on the
plains--will they want to meet their owners in heaven?"
"According to my reckoning, their owners won't be there," said Mr.
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