Dodge City times. [volume] (Dodge City, Kan.) 1876-1892, 1883-12-13
THE LAST ST. BERNARD.

THE LAST ST. BERNARD.
"Ah, he was noble animal / hat
not seen his like again" and the speaker
sighed as he pulled out a great cloud of
smoke from a ong-stemmed pipe.
1t was DIR. Hans Frolich, a recently
arrived German phys elan, who made
this remark. He was seated i'm his
Office on Jefferson, near Second street,
and between the intervals of long inha-
latiOns from a meerschaum with that
rich brown coloring so dear to the
hearts of genuine smokers, he was talk
ing to a reporter. A pleasant-faced
looking student was this German ply
stefan, with q rosy countenance that was
Just now tinged with a deep shade of
regret. He was speaking of the bench
show which was then going on at the
Exposition, and the conversation drifted
naturally to the st. Bernard kennel, the
noble animals in which attracted so
much and such favorable attention
This was a subject which touched the
doctors sensibilities, and at once he
became deeply interested. He spoke
English, but with such hesitancy as
made his meaning very difficult of COM
prehension, and finally had to be
assisted by an interpreter. The story
which follows is an interesting one,
made more SO by its occurring under his
personal observation, and it is in his own
words
"Those dogs at the Exposition" said
he, -arc-fine animals, but they are not
true st. Bernards. They are only
crosses, rs the pure breed became ex-
tinct forty years ago in the death of the
last and noblest specimen of his race.
Barry was his name, and l knew him
well in my boyish days. He was only q
dog, but he had the brains of man.
and more than his heart He was old
when he died, but he was as full of hon
ors as of years, and he met his death at
the hands of fool Englishman after he
had saved -and-forty lives.
Barry was the property of monas-
terry on Mont Blanc. The brotherhood
was more than ordinarily pious one,
and the old monks loved the dog almost
as well as if he had been one of their
own number. Well they might, for his
like had never been seen before, as it
was never to be again. He had been
brought up by them from the time he
was whimpering puppy up to the days
of his useful, middle-aged doghood.
The kennel that sheltered him first was
the one where all his days were passed.
He grew up among the monks and
their fat Abbot, and took his food from
their hands fondly and gratefully
''His life was not an idle one For
merly the monastery had owned some
thing over a dozen of the pure breed.
but death from age and accident cut
them down one by one till Barry was
left the sole survivor and very king
of his race. Not but that there were
many others, but they were partly
sprung from mongrel stock, and were
larger and heavier, though useful ami
mails enough. This particular dog of
which l am speaking needed nothing
more than the rudiments of training.
1t seemed as if the wonderful instinct
of his ancestors had all passed into that
shaggy head of his, and all their fidelity
into his heart. Many time l have
heard the good old monks dwell on his
virtues. When he was only year old
he had distinguished himself by saving
the life of young child which had
been overwhelmed in the drifts, spared
from the fate which carried its mother
TO the depths of the abyss on whose
edge the babe was lodged. His race
was always celebrated for their
strength and endurance, but his was
something extraordinary. Many time
he made his way back to the hospital
monks carrying some benumbed trav-
eler on his back, with whom he had
struggled all the toilsome day over the
snow-drifts. Not one, but many such
were his performances, and if ever a
brute deserved canonization he did, for
he met with martyrs death.
Forty years ago he died. The win
ter had been one of the coolest and Sc
verest ever known in Switzerland and
many guest had reason to he thankful
for the accommodations of the old mon
astery and its fat Abbot Barry was
getting old then, but he was hale and
hearty as ever. One morning. after a
violent night, during which two ava
lanches had fallen and buried the mar
row road that climbed the sides of the
mountain, he was sent out to see if, per-
chance, he might, as he had done nine
dIIu-iOItN tlllcS DcloTt, ItSCue some
buried traveller from the drifts. A roll
of warm blankets was strapped on his
back. his baTbed collar was put on his
neck. a hunters flask of liquor was at
tached, and the good monks sent him
out with their prayers and blessings.
He never came ba.k alive.
About a mile from the monastery
he came to q freshly fallen avalanche in
the narrow road. That unerring in
stinct of his taught poor Barry that
some traveller lay under the soft, white
snow, and he set to work to find him.
He was right, for on the night before
one of those travelling fools of English
men who think every other country
better than their own had tried to pass,
and had been overwhelmed with his
guides. With that marvellous scent
which his years of experience
had trained so perfectly Barry
was not long in finding him. As it.
happened, he was behind huge rock
when the avalanche fell. so that he had
been partially screened from its force,
and, though covered under several feet
of snow, he had not been suffocated nor
frozen to death. The dog dug eagerly
with those strong forelegs of his, and
soon had made his way into the DOING
Englishman's recess. As soon rs he
reached him he bagked vigorously and
splumeaesd llekiag the snow from The