I was sitting by an open fire the other evening, and there passed through
my mind a review of the breed since I saw a great many years ago, when the
world, to me, was young, a handsome little lad leading down Beacon street,
Boston, two dogs, of a different type than I had ever seen before, that
seemed to have stamped upon them an individual personality and style. They
were not bulldogs, neither were they bull terriers; breeds with
had been familiar all my life; but appeared to be a happy combination of
both. I need hardly say that one was Barnard's Tom, and the other his
litter brother, Atkinson's Toby. Tom was the one destined to make Boston
terrier history, as he was the sire of Barnard's Mike.
Mr. J. P. Barnard has rightly been called the Father of the Boston
terrier, and he still lives, hale and hearty. May his last days be his
best, and full of good cheer!
I am now rapidly approaching the allotted time for man, but I venture the
assertion that were I to visit any city or even small town of the United
States or Canada, I could see some handsome little lad or lassie leading
one of Barnard's Mike's sons or daughters. Small wonder he is called the
The celebrated Dr. Johnson once remarked that few children live to fulfil
the promise of their youth. Our little aristocrat of the dog world has
more than done so. May his shadow never grow less!
I feel convinced that I ought to take this opportunity to record my kindly
appreciation of the generous expressions of thanks for my efforts on
behalf of the dog. They have come from all parts of the country, and from
all classes of people. Were it in my power I would gladly reply to each
individual writer. This is impossible. I can only say, I thank you! May
God bless us, one and all!