The late John Barlow, esq. of Rhodes, near Middleton, Lancashire, had a fine Newfoundland dog in his keeping, which, for many years, was a domestick in the family; the guardian of their property, and the constant companion of his master. The general hour of Mr. B's return in the evening, was known to Toss, who, on some occasions, was not permitted to accompany his master; yet as soon as the clock had struck nine, the anxious animal would no longer be confined, nor indulge himself on a warm hearth, but go in search of his master, and seldom failed to find, and to conduct his charge back one or two miles on the road. On week days, nothing was so gratifying to this sensible brute, as a walk with some of the family; particularly with Mr. Barlow. But, on Sundays, Toss knew his place, as well as the day. No artifice or temptation could then induce him to leave the house. His business was to guard the premises in the absence of the family; whether at home or abroad, by night or by day, the protection of Toss was considered as equal to a guard of armed men. Once, when Mrs. Barlow's maid was sent on an important errand, late in the evening, she was attacked by two brutal wretches, who might have accomplished their horrid purposes, had not Toss immediately seized one of the ruffians, and held him in extreme torture, till the other offered to desist from rifling the young woman, provided she would rescue his accomplice, by calling off the dog; which she did, and so, through the courage and fidelity of her canine friend, she escaped whatever wickedness the villains had concerted.
The fondness and affection of this animal for his master, was almost unparalleled. If, in Mr. B's absence, any of the family wvould say: "Toss, your master is coming," he would immediately abandon even a delicate bone, in hopes to meet him; and if, at the time, he found himself cheated or deceived, he would growl, and show by his looks, that he was affronted. During Mr. Barlow's last sickness, the faithful creature could not be prevailed on to quit the bedside; and when he saw the coffin, which contained the remains of his beloved master, taken out of the house to be put into the hearse, his grief was inconsolable. This he manifested by howling, and by every sign of real grief. After this, Toss could never be so far deceived, as to be prevailed on to go and seek his master; and when told that he was coming, or desired to go and meet him, he would gently move his head, and, with a melancholy, significant look, silently reprove his deceivers. Toss never overcame this shock. The rest of his short and disconsolate life was spent in going the same rounds, in the neighbourhood, he had, in happier days, so frequently trod with his master; when, as it is supposed, (and as I firmly believe) grief put an end to his existence.