The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1888-08-01
Il" Greyfriar's Bobby"

my nephew, Phil, as he closed the last
volume of Scott's Heart of Midlo-
THAN" /" | wish l could 90 to Edin-
burgh myself and see all those places.
Won't you tell us about it, Aunt
Madge?"
oh, do!" joined in Helen and Beth,
and, as l smilingly assented, they ali
drew up to the great wood fire, which
was the more cheerful for the chilly
November storm which was bowling
outside.
"Well, Phil" l began, 81 saw the
very Heart itself in the pavement nea r
the old church of St. Giles, but within
a stones throw there was something
that interested me so much more even
than that that tonight think 1 will
tell you about Greyfriar's Bobby in
stead.
"Not far from St. Giles is another
open square, facing the old church and
graveyard of Greyfriar's. In front of
the church | saw a fountain, at which
many tired and thirsty men and horses
stopped to drink, even while / stood
near it, looking at the marble statue of
shaggy, homely, insignificant little
dog which surmounted the fountain.
felt sure that thereby hung a
tale"
"Oh!" groaned Phil, &" ,chat a punr'
And you may know that my Gu
riosity was well gratifed when the old
sexton inside the graveyard told me
that statue was of none other than
Greyfriar's Bobby the most famous
dog on record for his extraordinary
fidelity to his masters memory.
" From the sexton and other sources
l hnally obtained this true story of
Bobby's life:
I'm the year 1858 there came one
day to Greyfriar's church-yard humble
Scotch funeral. A poor man named
Gray was buried in a corner by the
church, and only few poorly clad
mourners watched the sexton as he
shoveled in the last spadeful of earth
upon the new y-made grave. AS they
slowly left the spot no one noticed a
little Scotch terrier, which crept pitt
fully back and, moaning sadly, lay
down upon his masters grave. Not
until the next morning, when the SEX
ton-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
master as possible. Outside the gate
of the church-yard, in big black letters,
was posted an order, No dogs allowed
within So the curator drove poor
Bobby away and put him outside the
gate.
1.-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
lying 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
twelve years and half, Bobby never
spent single night away from his
masters grave! Did you ever hear of
such devotion as that in 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 his house,
where he could have had warm and
comfortable shelter from the wet and
chill, but Bobby always howled dis
mally 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 mas
ter's grave.
/" AS the months and years passed by
the mound where poor Gray was buried
became levelled little by little, till at
last there was almost nothing to dis
tinguish it from the surrounding
grounds, for the man had been too poor
to have even small foot-stone 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 Covenant
er'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's 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 warm
hearted restaurant-keeper near by,
named Trail, fed him regularly. Bobby
used to go to his house, near the church
yard, every day, punctually at twelve,
being guided by the sound of the Edin-
burgh time-gun, which is fired every
day at noon. For six years he was fed
in this way, till one day the kind res
taurant-keeper was summoned to court
to answer for not paying the dog-tax
demanded of every man who owned
dog. When Bobby's interesting story
was rehearsed in court and the Judge
was told how Bobby refused to attach
himself to any owner, and spent nearly
all his time by his masters grave, Mr..
Trail was dismissed, though he ex-
pressed his willingness to pay the tax
if the dog would stay with him any
longer than to obtain his midday meal.
So the years passed on, and day by
day there came to the graveyard new
visitors, who were always interested in
Bobby and his story, and who tried
more than once, but in vain, to get
possession of him.