94 MY OLD BOG TRIM. 



top of his speed, and taking the trail of our wounded bird, 

 ■which had left its hiding placp, soon had it where tricks 

 would not save its bacon, and bringing it to us, paraded 

 around with it, whining with pleasure, and finally marched 

 up to the horse and rearing up on his hind legs, held the bird 

 fur him to smell; then bringing it to me he barked and 

 crpercd until our sides ached laughing at his comical per- 

 formances. He had never barked before on any such occa- 

 sion, but he felt so good tbat he had got the best of this, the 

 wildest bird that we ever saw, that ordinary language failed 

 to express his feeling 3 , and several times through the day he 

 would stop and look at us, a world of intelligence in his 

 glance, and give two or three short barks, b\ which we, 

 knowing that he was making remarks about his feat of the 

 morning, would respond with words of praise which he ap- 

 peared fully to understand. A year afterward, when in the 

 vicinity of the ledge, he looked up in my face and used the 

 same language, and I am confident from his maimer that he 

 retained a lively recollection of the aflair. 



I could fill volumes witti interesting incidents connected 

 with Trim's career, but I fear that already I have wearied the 

 patience of the reader, and will s^y but a few words more. 

 For rraLy, very many long years I have been anxiously 

 seeking the counterpart of old Trim ; several times have I 

 succeeded in finding something that came very near to him 

 on some ore kind of game, bnt I have never seen the dog 

 that could compare wi h him for all kinds of birds ; and for 

 unflagging energy, combined with rare judgment, and, far 

 more than all else, for speaking, almost human intelligence, 

 he stands without a rival. 



Graceful ferns, mingled with somber hued mosses, gently 

 wave over his siient lesting place; and, for more than a 

 quarter of a century, as each golden Indian summer returns 

 to us, loving hands have plucked from the graceful neck of 

 the lordly grouse their beautiful plumes, and strewed his 

 lowly bed with fitting tribute to the memory of him who 

 loved them so well. Stiadow. 



