One can hardly visit the main page of any social networking site without being bombarded by the accomplishments of an adorable pet, but pride in one’s animal friends stretches far beyond the digital age.

At the end of the nineteenth century, John Strachey, editor of England’s oldest continuously publishing weekly magazine The Spectator, was bombarded with stories about the dogs of his subscribers. Between 1870 and 1895, The Spectator received so many letters regaling the editors with the ingenuity, loyalty, and human empathy of terriers, collies, and sheepdogs it became necessary to compile the best tales into a standalone volume, and so in 1895 the magazine released Dog Stories from the Spectator: Being Anecdotes Of The Intelligence, Reasoning Power, Affection And Sympathy Of Dogs, Selected From The Correspondence Columns Of The Spectator.

Here, we present four hopefully true tales of dogs who count and spend money, practice religion, atone for their misbehavior, and discriminate against chimney sweeps:

The dog I refer to was a little white fox-terrier, Prin by name, who lived at the Lion Hotel. He began by displaying a fancy for playing with coins, not unusual amongst terriers, and he advanced to a discovery that he could exchange the coins for biscuits. He learned that for a halfpenny he could get two biscuits, and for a penny three; and, having become able to distinguish between the two coins, it was found impossible to cheat him. If he had contributed a penny, he would not leave the bar till he had had his third biscuit; and if there was nobody to attend to his wants, he kept the coin in his mouth till he could be served. Indeed, it was this persistence which ultimately caused poor Prin’s death, for there is every reason to fear that he fell a victim to copper-poisoning.
-Lawson Tait, May 26, 1877

Well, in Shrewsbury a certain family had a dog of a religious turn of mind, who regularly attended the family prayers. When the bell rang for morning and evening prayer, the dog invariably accompanied the household into the room where prayers were said. Of course, each member of the family would kneel down, leaning upon a chair wand with the head bowed down, supported by the hands and arms. The dog would copy this example exactly. He would sit upon his hind-legs, and in that way copy the kneeling of the family. Then, in order to copy the arms resting on the chair and the head in the hands, the dog would put his forelegs on the chair and his head down between them. He would remain in this attitude until prayers were over, and then, when the family rose, he would also rise, and perhaps leave the room with some members of the household.
-Ludovicus, Oct. 26, 1893

A young fox-terrier, about eight months old, took a great fancy to a small brush, of Indian workmanship, lying on the drawing-room table. It had been punished more than once for jumping on the table and taking it. On one occasion, the little dog was left alone in the room accidentally. On my return, it jumped to greet me as usual, and I said, ‘Have you been a good little dog while you have been left alone?’ Immediately it put its tail between its legs and slunk off into an adjoining room, and brought back the little brush in its mouth from where it had hidden it. I was much struck with what appeared to me a remarkable instance of a dog possessing a conscience, and a few months afterwards, finding it again alone in the room, I asked the same question, while patting it. At once I saw it had been up to some mischief, for with the same look of shame it walked slowly to one of the windows, where it lay down, with its nose pointing to a letter bitten and torn into shreds. On a third occasion, it showed me where it had strewn a number of little tickets about the floor, for doing which it had been reproved previously. I cannot account for these facts, except by supposing the dog must have a conscince.
-Mrs. Hill, Feb.1, 1879

Your correspondent, W.H. O’Shea, has found several dogs “coulour-blind”. If black is a colour, I can give several instances in which a black retriever dog of mine was certainly not “colour-blind.” He had the greatest antipathy to sweeps and coalheavers, and would fly at them if not fastened up or carefully watched. He would even bark at a passing hearse! In all other respects, he was the best-tempered dog in the world, and I can only imagine that when very young he must have been ill-used by either a sweep o a coalheaver.
-C.R.T., Jan. 12, 1884