The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1888-06-02
FOR OUR YOUNG FOLKS.
"GREYFRlAR'S BOBBY"

That's splendid bookr' exclaimed
my nephew Phil as he closed the last
volume of Scott's Heart of Midlothian.
1 wish l could go to Edinburgh
myself and see all those places.
Won't you tell us about it. Aunt
MadgeP"
"Oh DOR joined in Helen and Beth,
and, as | smilingly assented, they all
drew up to the great wood fire, which
was the more cheerful for the chilly
November storm which was bowling
outside.
well, Phil" 1 began, ~ saw the
very Heart itself in the pavement near
the old church of St Giles, but within
a stones throw there was something
which interested me so much more
even than that that tonight / think
will tell you about 'Greyfriar's Bobby
instead
''Not far from St Giles is another
open square facing the old church and
graveyard of Greyfriar's. In front
of the church l saw fountain, at
which many tired and thirsty men and
horses stopped to drink even while l
stood near it, looking at the marble
statue of a shaggy, homely, insignifi-
cant little dog, which surmounted the
fountain.
Il felt sure that thereby hung
tale"
'Oh!' groaned Phil, "aohat a pun?'
'And you may know that my curl
eosity was well gratified when the old
sexton inside the graveyard told me
that the statue was of none other than
'Greyfriar's Bobby the most famous
dog on record for his extraordinary fl
deity to his masters memory.
From the sexton and other sources,
l finally obtained this true story of
Bobby's life:
'1n the year 1858 there came one day
to Greyfriar's churchyard an humble
Scotch funeral. A poor man named
Gray was buried in corner by the
church, and only few poorly clad
mourners watched the sexton as he
shoyeled in the last spadeful of earth
upon the newl y-made grave. As they
slowly left the spot no one noticed
little Scotch terrier which crept pitt
fully back and moaning sadly lay down
upon his masters grave. Not until
the next morning when the sexton-or
curator, as the Scotch call him
passed that way did he see the poor
little dog keeping guard over the newly
made mound, lying on the damp. cold
earth, as if to keep as close to his mas
ter as possible. Outside the gate of
the churchyard, in big black letters,
was posted an order: No dogs al
lowed within So the curator drove
poor Bobby away, and put him outside
the gate.
The next morning he was again
found there and was driven away in
the same manner. The third morning
was cold and rainy, and when the
curator found the faithful dog still ly-
ing shivering on the grave his heart
was touched. He gave him a little
food and left him to his trust in peace.
From that day, way back in 1858,
until the day of his death in 1871, for
taOelve gears and u half Bobby neuer
spent q single might array from his
masters Craze! Did you ever hear of
such devotion as that in a poor dumb
creature, little insignificant dog like
Bobby?
when the cold storms of winter set
in, and the nights were often bitterly
raw and cold, the old curator used to
try to keep Bobby inside the house,
where he could have a warm and COM
Portable shelter from the wet and chill,
but Bobby always howled dismally
whenever such attempts were made,
and no matter how rough the night
persisted in clinging to the spot, dearer
to him than any other-his master 5
grave.
LAS the months and years passed by,
the mound where poor Gray was buried
became leveled little by little till at last
there was almost nothing to distinguish
it from the surrounding ground, for the
man had been too poor to have even a
small footstone to mark it, but Bobby
never forgot the spot, and his devotion
to his masters memory attracted more
attention than any costly monument.
People who came from far and near to
see the famous Covenanter's stone near
by, where, two hundred years ago, the
old Covenanters signed their names in
blood, often took still more interest in
the little terrier which was now known
for miles around as 'Greyfriar' 5
Bobby
For long time weekly treat of
steaks was furnished him by certain
kindly Sergeant Scott, of the city en-
gineers. Then for many years a warm
hearted restaurant keeper near by,
named Trail, fed him regularly. Bobby
used to go to his house, near the
churchyard, every day, punctually at
twelve, being guided by the sound of
the Edinburgh time-gun, which is fired
every day at noon. For six years he
was fed in this way, till one day the
kind restaurant keeper was summoned
to court for not paying the dog-tax de-
manded of every man who owned a
dog. When Bobby's interesting story