OLD TRIM.

Here's brave old Trim: I once with him Was walking near the docks; We heard a cry, both Trim and I,— The cry that always shocks. "Help! boat, ahoy! See, there's a boy: Make haste, he's going down." "There! watch him, Trim! in after him! We must not let him drown." Through foam and splash Trim's quick eyes flash: He strikes out to the place; And round and round, with eager bound, He watches for a trace. A little hand comes paddling up, A face so wild and wan: "Ah, Trim, he's there! Make haste, take care; And save him if you can!" Oh! brave and bold, he seizes hold; His teeth are firmly set: Now bear him near; there is no fear: The boy is breathing yet. "Bravo, good Trim!" They welcome him, And clasp him round for joy; Then homeward bear, with tender care, The pale, half-conscious boy. O faithful Trim! "Would I sell him?" Inquired a curious elf: "What, sell," I cried, "a friend so tried! I'd rather sell myself."