lses of the bosom, and as
such should be resented.

Yes, the law was a bad one. I did what I could to defeat it in its
passage, and I broke it all I could after its passage, and that was some
satisfaction to my feelings, which were in fact outraged by it; for I
saw not only the injustice of it, as viewed in the light of correct
principle, but that it would bear heavily upon the poor, and bring
sorrow like the sorrow of death itself into families. I saw, moreover,
that it was a cruel law in its relation to children, whose pretty and
harmless pets and playmates could be murdered before their very eyes.
Many a sad case did I hear of, the winter after the law was passed, but
the saddest of all was that of my old friend, who was living peacefully
and happily with his dog in the little house I had hired for him.

[Illustration: _He was teaching the dog a new trick._]

He was sitting one evening in the comfortable quarters I had provided
for him, playing with his companion and teaching him some new tricks to
practise against my return, happy as he might be, when a loud rap was
delivered upon his door, and at the same instant it was pushed rudely
open, and a man walked into the room and, without pausing to give or
receive a greeting, pointed to the dog, and said:

"Is that your property, sir?"

"I never think of him in that way," answered the old man, mildly. "He
has been my companion--I may say my only companion--these many years,
and I love him as property is not loved. No, sir, _Trusty_ is not
property--he is my companion and my friend."

"I didn't come here to listen to any of your crazy nonsense, but as an
officer of the law, to see if you have registered your dog, and paid
your tax as it commands, and, if you hadn't, to see that the penalty was
put upon you as you deserve, you old begging loafer, you."

"I've broken no law that I know of," replied the beggar, "I love my dog,
that is all. I hope it breaks no law for a man to love his dog in this
city, does it, friend?"

"If you don't know what the law is, you'd better find out," answered the
fellow, roughly. "What right have you to own a dog, anyway? It strikes
me that it is about enough for you to sponge your own living out of the
community, without sponging another for a miserable whelp of a dog like
that."

"Trusty eats very little," replied the old man, respectfully, "and he
amuses people a great deal, especially the children; and, besides, he is
a great com