Haney's Art of Training Animals - A Practical Guide For Amateur Or Professional Trainers. - Giving Full Instructions For Breaking, Taming and Teaching - All Kinds of Animals Including an Improved Method of Horse - Breaking, Management of Farm Animals, Training of Sporting - Dogs; Serpent Charming, Care and Tuition of Talking, Singing - and Performing Birds; and Detailed Instructions For Teaching - All Circus Tricks, and Many Other Wonderful Feats.

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Title: Haney's Art of Training Animals - A Practical Guide For Amateur Or Professional Trainers. - Giving Full Instructions For Breaking, Taming and Teaching - All Kinds of Animals Including an Improved Method of Horse - Breaking, Management of Farm Animals, Training of Sporting - Dogs; Serpent Charming, Care and Tuition of Talking, Singing - and Performing Birds; and Detailed Instructions For Teaching - All Circus Tricks, and Many Other Wonderful Feats.
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[Illustration: PRICE FIFTY CENTS. HANEY’S ART OF TRAINING ANIMALS. JESSE
HANEY & CO., PUBLISHERS, No. 119 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.]

[Illustration: THE SIEGE—PERFORMED BY DOG AND MONKEY ACTORS]

HANEY’S
ART OF
TRAINING ANIMALS.
A PRACTICAL GUIDE FOR
AMATEUR OR PROFESSIONAL TRAINERS.
GIVING FULL INSTRUCTIONS FOR
Breaking, Taming and Teaching all kinds of Animals
INCLUDING AN IMPROVED METHOD OF HORSE BREAKING, MANAGEMENT OF FARM
ANIMALS, TRAINING OF SPORTING DOGS; SERPENT CHARMING, CARE AND TUITION
OF TALKING, SINGING AND PERFORMING BIRDS; AND DETAILED INSTRUCTIONS FOR
TEACHING ALL
CIRCUS TRICKS,
AND MANY OTHER WONDERFUL FEATS.

ILLUSTRATED WITH OVER SIXTY ENGRAVINGS.

New York:
JESSE HANEY & CO., PUBLISHERS,
OFFICE OF HANEY’S JOURNAL,
NO. 119 NASSAU STREET.

Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1869, by JESSE
HANEY & CO., in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the
United States, for the Southern District of New York.

_Haney’s Art of Training Animals_.

Electrotyped by
_Smith & McDougal_,
82 and 84 Beekman Street, N. Y.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CONTENTS

PREFACE.
CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY—GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF TRAINING.
CHAPTER II. HORSE TAMING AND HORSE TRAINING—HORSE MANAGEMENT—WHIP
TRAINING—CURING BAD HABITS, ETC.
CHAPTER III. ENGLISH SYSTEM OF TRAINING HUNTERS.
CHAPTER IV. TRICKS OF PERFORMING HORSES, AND HOW THEY ARE TAUGHT.
CHAPTER V. THEATRICAL HORSES AND THE HORSE DRAMA.
CHAPTER VI. BREAKING AND TRAINING MULES—PERFORMING AND “COMIC” MULES.
CHAPTER VII. SOME HINTS FOR FARMERS—MANAGEMENT AND TRAINING OF ANIMALS
ON THE FARM—SOME EVILS AND HOW TO REMEDY THEM—GOOD TRAINING VS. BAD.
CHAPTER VIII. DOGS IN GENERAL—WATCH DOGS—THE SHEPHERD’S DOG.
CHAPTER IX. SPORTING DOGS AND THEIR MANAGEMENT AND TRAINING.
CHAPTER X. ORDINARY TRICKS PERFORMED BY DOGS.
CHAPTER XI. WONDERFUL FEATS PERFORMED BY DOGS—MOST CELEBRATED DOGS OF
THE WORLD—LEARNING THE ALPHABET—TO PLAY CARDS AND DOMINOES—TO SELECT
ANY ARTICLE DESIRED AND PUT IT ANYWHERE DIRECTED.
CHAPTER XII. TAMING AND TRAINING ELEPHANTS—CAPTURE AND
TREATMENT—ELEPHANTS AS LABORERS AND AS CIRCUS PERFORMERS.
CHAPTER XIII. LIONS, TIGERS, LEOPARDS AND PANTHERS.
CHAPTER XIV. TAMING WILD ANIMALS IN
GENERAL—SQUIRRELS—BEARS—BUFFALOES—WOLVES—HYENAS—RHINOCEROSES—
HIPPOPOTAMI—CROCODILES—ALLIGATORS.
CHAPTER XV. EDUCATION OF CATS AND GOATS.
CHAPTER XVI. EDUCATED HOGS AND THEIR TRAINING.
CHAPTER XVII. PERFORMING MONKEYS—MONKEY EQUESTRIANS—THE “WONDERFUL
CYNOCEPHALUS”—MONKEY ACTORS, ETC.
CHAPTER XVIII. RATS—MICE—FROGS—TOADS—FLEAS, ETC.
CHAPTER XIX. “HAPPY FAMILIES”—ENEMIES BY NATURE MADE FRIENDS BY ART.
CHAPTER XX. EDUCATED SEALS—TAME FISH, ETC.
CHAPTER XXI. THE ART OF TAMING BIRDS.
CHAPTER XXII. SONG BIRDS—THEIR MANAGEMENT AND TUITION.
CHAPTER XXIII. TALKING BIRDS AND THEIR TRAINING.
CHAPTER XXIV. PERFORMING BIRDS—THEIR TRICKS AND THEIR TRAINING.
CHAPTER XXV. SNAKE CHARMING AND SNAKE CHARMER.

PREFACE.

The intention of the present volume is to initiate the reader into all
the mysteries and secrets of the “Art of Training Animals,” and to give
full and clear explanations of, and instructions in, every branch of
that art. It is believed that the reader will find it acceptable whether
he desires using its instructions practically either for profit or as an
agreeable recreation, or as merely a curiosity to know how the feats
herein described are taught.

This is believed to be the first and only attempt made to treat this
subject fully and systematically. Fragmentary articles have occasionally
appeared, and some works, treating of one or another of the various
animals, have given a few brief though interesting paragraphs touching
their educatability or sagacity. Even combined these form but a
comparatively meager collection, and the volume herewith presented has
the essential part of all this as well as a very large amount of matter
which is entirely new. The aim has been to make the book as complete as
possible, and to do this the author has profited by the experience and
writings of others wherever they could be made available. He has,
however, striven in all such cases to give full credit. As far as it was
possible to communicate with the parties in question, their consent was
explicitly obtained, and in no case to the best of his knowledge
(certainly not intentionally) has any material been used contrary to the
wishes of its owner, or without due acknowledgment, and he would
respectfully ask any who may desire to make use of any part of his own
labors to a reasonable extent, the same courtesy of full credit to
Haney’s Art of Training Animals.

To many gentlemen in the profession we are indebted for details of their
experience, and material of various kinds. Much of information relating
to birds is derived from the works of the celebrated German fancier
Bechstein; while to Mons. Emil de Tarade is due a portion of that about
the French dogs. To Mr. Robert Jennings, whose works on the horse, as
well as on cattle, are deservedly popular, we are also indebted; also to
Mr. Smith of the New York Courier.

While attempting to give plain practical instruction in the art we
profess to teach, we have also designed to make a readable book, and it
is hoped that its perusal may prove pleasant as well as profitable. That
money can be made by training animals, is unquestionably true—even a boy
can make his pets more valuable by teaching them a few simple tricks.

In conclusion we may add that to amateurs interested in the subject, a
visit to either of the really fine collections of trained and wild
animals of Van Amburgh or “Yankee” Robinson, will prove most thoroughly
enjoyable. To the proprietors of both of these establishments we are
indebted for valuable assistance.

ART OF TRAINING ANIMALS.

CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY—GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF TRAINING.

Dr. Kemp thus concisely and clearly stages the difference between
instinct and reason: “In the former there is an irresistible impulse to
go through a certain series of motions after a certain fashion, without
knowing why they are performed, or what their result will be. In the
latter the actions depend upon previous mental judgments, are performed
or not at will, and the end of them is early anticipated and defined.”

We believe the evidence is too strong to be doubted that many animals
_do_ perceive the relation between cause and effect, and that many of
their actions, especially when the animals are surrounded by the
unnatural circumstances of a state of domestication, must be ascribed to
the reasoning power. There was a dog who lived in a strict monastery
where the monks dined alone, and who, instead of asking for their meals,
obtained them by knocking at the buttery door, the cook answering by
opening the door and pushing the allowance through. The dog observed
this proceeding and accordingly knocked at the door and laid in wait
until the meal was placed outside, and the door shut, when he ran off
with it. This he repeated a number of times.

The contrast between instinct and reason is displayed in the coursing of
hares. If an old and a young grayhound be employed we have examples of
both instinct and reason. The young one instinctively pursues his game,
following every turn and winding, while the old dog, reasoning from past
experience, knows that the hare will double, and accordingly does not
exactly follow her, but goes across. A similar example is afforded by
the dogs employed in hunting the deer in South America. The newly
imported dog, in approaching the deer, flies at it in front and is often
injured by the concussion. The native dogs have learned to avoid this
danger and they invariably keep from the front, and attack from the side
or rear.

Instances might be multiplied indefinitely, but our object is only to
show the distinction made between reason and instinct; those who desire
to investigate the subject more thoroughly can do so through works
specially devoted to natural history. No doubt any observing person can
recall instances in his own experience with animals, where their actions
showed evidence of a greater or less degree of reasoning power.

An action may be partly instinctive and partly the result of reasoning,
but a purely instinctive action never changes except under the influence
of reason. A hen sits on her eggs from an instinctive impulse to do so.
If chalk ones be substituted for the real eggs she tends them with equal
care and will not desert them any sooner than she would the others. And
yet in other matters perhaps hens have reasoning powers.

Without the possession of these powers we believe no education of
animals would be possible; and we farther believe that the capacity for
learning is in exact proportion to the ability to reason. A horse or dog
can be readily taught things which a hog can never learn, and in the
lower scales of animal life all attempts at education become failures.
Under the tuition of man the reasoning powers are undoubtedly developed
to an extent to which they would never attain in a state of nature, and
by judicious and persistent teaching numerous animals have been educated
to an almost startling degree. How this has been done we shall show as
we proceed.

Not only does the amount of reason vary with different species but with
different individuals of the same species, and much of the trainer’s
success will depend on the judicious selection of his pupil.
Professional trainers take the utmost pains in this selection, and they
usually consider that the descendants of an educated animal have, by
inheritance, a greater aptitude for learning than others.

The young trainer must not fall into the mistaken notion that mere
quickness in picking up a trick is the best quality in an animal. There
may be such a thing as learning a lesson too rapidly, and what is
learned with but slight effort is sometimes forgotten with equal
readiness. Another thing, too much should not be expected of one pupil.
Public exhibitors are able to show a large array of tricks because of
the number of animals they have, each, as a rule, knowing a
comparatively few of these tricks, or, in the case of some of the
“sensation” tricks, perhaps only one. Still any animal of ordinary
capacity ought, with proper tuition, to be able to learn a sufficient
variety to satisfy a reasonable trainer. Judicious management on the
part of the exhibitor will often make a variety of tricks out of a
single one which the animal has been taught; an example of this is
afforded by the “educated hog.”

The first essential for success in training animals is patience. At
first many lessons may be given without the slightest apparent
impression being made upon the mind of the pupil and an uncommon degree
of patience and good temper is required to bear up against such
discouraging results. By-and-by, however, the pupil will suddenly appear
to realize what is required of him, and will perform his task with
surprising accuracy at the very moment his teacher is about to give up
in despair. Then each successive lesson is learned with greater ease and
rapidity than the preceding one; the weariness and disappointment of the
trainer is changed to pleasure at his success, and even the animal
appears to sympathize with his master’s joy, and to take pride in his
performance.

As it is impossible to _explain_ to an animal what is required of him he
can be taught an action only by its constant repetition until he becomes
familiar with it. When he knows what you want him to do he will in
almost all cases comply with your wishes promptly and cheerfully. For
this reason punishments seldom do any good, unless the animal is
willful, which is rare. On the contrary they, as a general rule,
interfere with the success of the lessons. If the pupil is in constant
fear of blows his attention will be diverted from the lesson, he will
dread making any attempt to obey for fear of failure, and he will have a
sneaking look which will detract materially from the appearance of his
performance. This is the case with the animals instructed by a trainer
of this city who “trains his horses with a club,” the animals never
appearing as well as those taught by more gentle means. But for a rare
natural talent this man’s success would have been utterly defeated by
his brutality. He is the only one we know of in the profession who does
not base his tuition on kindness to the pupil. A sharp word or a slight
tap with a small switch will as effectually show your displeasure as the
most severe blows. It is both cruel and unwise to inflict needless pain.

All trainers make use of various little tit-bits as rewards for
successful performance of tricks. These serve as a powerful incentive to
the animal as well as to show him when he has done right. Withholding
the accustomed reward when he fails or but imperfectly performs his duty
is much more effective than any corporeal punishment. The repetition of
the lesson until the animal will himself perform the required action,
and the bestowal of these rewards whenever he obeys your order, is
really the main secret of training. Of course there are many important
details in the practical application, and many clever devices resorted
to by trainers to increase the effectiveness of tricks, as well as
skillful combinations of simple tricks to produce elaborate and
astonishing feats. These we shall fully explain in their proper places.

To certain scents has sometimes been ascribed a mysterious influence
upon animals, rendering them docile and subservient to the human will.
To the use of these many persons imagine trainers owe their success.
Though some scents are relished by certain animals, we doubt whether, as
a rule, they have so great a fondness for them as has been asserted.
Certainly there is no general use of them in the profession, though they
may have been sold to the credulous by ignorant or unprincipled persons,
for this purpose. Cats are fond of catnip, and we know of instances
where kittens, displaying a violent resistance to being carried in a
basket, have been quieted by being given some leaves of this herb.
Animals no doubt receive pleasure from the gratification of their sense
of smell, but there is about as much reason in conquering an unruly
school-boy by giving him a sniff of cologne water, as in taming a colt
by causing him to smell that or any other perfume.

To the oil of rhodium is most frequently ascribed the greatest and most
general influence over the animal kingdom, almost all animals, according
to this theory being powerfully affected by it. This is the “horse
taming secret” sometimes sold for considerable sums. There is no good
reason to believe it has any important influence over either the
disposition or actions of any animal.

The horse taming powders, composed of “a horse’s corn grated, some hairs
from a black cat’s tail,” and like absurd ingredients, are too
nonsensical to deserve serious notice, though once a staple part of the
veterinary art, and still, possibly, believed in by a few persons.

To a certain extent many animals are able to understand the meaning of
words. That is, if any particular word of command be used in instructing
an animal to do a particular act he will learn to associate that word
with the action, and be able to distinguish between a variety of words
and apply each to the act associated with it, without confusing them. In
training animals it is important that each word of command should be
used only in its proper place. The common habit ignorant drivers have of
using the words “back,” “whoa,” and others indiscriminately is absurd,
and it is not wonderful that their horses sometimes fail to understand
them. A story is told of a farmer who had recently purchased a new yoke
of oxen, and was driving them in a cart. Slipping from his seat he fell
before one of the wheels and very naturally got run over. “Back! back!”
he cried to the oxen, meaning for them to _stop_, but, like many another
man, using words which meant something else. The oxen happened to be
better linguists, or else had been accustomed to obey literally, and in
this case did so by backing as ordered, running over the man for the
second time.

CHAPTER II.
HORSE TAMING AND HORSE TRAINING—HORSE MANAGEMENT—WHIP TRAINING—CURING
BAD HABITS, ETC.

Some few persons imagine that to possess a proper mastery over their
horses, they must maintain their authority by brute force. This is a
great mistake. More work, within the limit of safety, can be got out of
a horse by kindness than by cruelty, and as far as _managing_ a horse is
concerned the chief point is to teach him confidence in you. If he
believes you to be his friend he will not only strive to please you, but
will have less fear of strange objects which otherwise might startle him
and render him refractory.

The Rareys—there are two or three of them—taught the world a most
important lesson when they taught it the “power of kindness” and
“self-control” in the management of horses, donkeys, zebras, and other
animals. How often do we see inconsiderate parents fly into a passion
and, without reason or religion, thrash the object of their displeasure.
So of brutal, heartless drivers, when the “blinded” horses chance to
misstep, get off the track, stumble, or in the wrong place. By their
actions it would appear that they expected a horse or an ass to reason
quite as well as themselves. Employers may not look for the same talent
in their apprentices as in their foreman. Teachers may expect every
little urchin to be self-regulating and to mind his books; but this it
is his duty to _teach_ him to do, and he should be all patience, all
kindness, affection, perseverance, if he would produce the _best_
results. The same spirit is required to subdue and manage a horse. If
you say you are not equal to the task; if you say your child, your
horse, or your ox knows _more_ than you, is your master, then you are
not the one to manage him, and you should resign in favor of one who is
superior to child, horse, or ox. A weak man in intellect may indeed be
outwitted by a sagacious child or horse.

There is no disguising the fact that viciousness is innate with some
horses. But far more so with some, nay, most, men, from whom they get
it. It is no doubt sometimes hereditary, and follows some of the best
strains of blood we have. That viciousness should accompany a highly
nervous organization is not to be wondered at. Hence it causes no
surprise when we find such dispositions among the finely organized
thoroughbreds—animals of a most sensitive and nervous organization—from
which the common expression “thin skinned,” as applied to a too
sensitive man, is obviously derived. The treatment horses receive, and
the _moral_ atmosphere in which they are thrown, have a much greater
influence than most horsemen are generally inclined to admit. The
pinching, tickling, rough, boisterous stable boy who annoys a spirited
horse for the sake of enjoying his futile, though almost frantic kicks
and leers, is affecting the disposition of the horse and his descendants
for generations to come, besides putting in jeopardy the lives and limbs
of those who are brought in contact with the horse so tampered with. A
horse is surely influenced by the character of the men with whom he
associates.

Sometimes, however, it is necessary to conquer a bad tempered horse, and
if possible to secure a radical conversion or change of character which
shall be lasting. No timorous man need undertake this task; he will only
make matters worse. A horse tamer should be calm, cool, brave, and
fearless—the horse will know it; he should be quiet, for then the horse
will be put off his guard; he should be firm and give the brute no
advantage, but crowd him up to doing something, and that, invariably,
what the tamer wants him to do. Thus any ordinary horse will soon give
up and own man his master. The kindest treatment and even petting must
always follow yielding; and if possible to help it, the horse should
never be frightened by any treatment, and above all things he should
never be angered by petty torture. His own contrariness should appear to
him to be the cause of all his trouble, and man his best friend. This
principle is at the foundation of Rarey’s successful practice.

POWELL’S MANAGEMENT OF WILD HORSES.

Place your horse in a small yard, or in a stable or room. If in a stable
or room, it ought to be large, in order to give him some exercise with
the halter before you lead him out. If the horse belongs to that class
which appears only to fear man, you must introduce yourself gently into
the stable, room, or yard, where the horse is. He will naturally run
from you, and frequently turn his head from you; for you must walk about
extremely slow and softly, so that he can see you whenever he turns his
head toward you, which he never fails to do in a short time, say in a
quarter or half an hour. I never knew one to be much longer without
turning toward me.

At the very moment he turns his head, hold out your hand toward him, and
stand perfectly still, keeping your eyes upon the horse, watching his
motions, if he makes any. If the horse does not stir for ten or fifteen
minutes, advance as slowly as possible, and without making the least
noise, always holding out your left hand, without any other ingredient
in it than what nature put in it. I have made use of certain ingredients
before people, such as the sweat under my arm, etc., to disguise the
real secret and many believed that the docility to which the horse
arrived in so short a time was owing to these ingredients; but you see
from this explanation that they were of no use whatever. The implicit
faith placed in these ingredients, though innocent of themselves,
becomes “faith without works.” And thus men always remained in doubt
concerning the secret. If the horse makes the least motion when you
advance toward him, stop, and remain perfectly still until he is quiet.
Remain a few moments in this condition, and then advance again in the
same slow and almost imperceptible manner. Take notice, if the horse
stirs, stop, without changing your position. It is very uncommon for the
horse to stir more than once after you begin to advance, yet there are
exceptions. He generally keeps his eyes steadfast on you, until you get
near enough to touch him on the forehead. When you are thus near to him,
raise your hand slowly and by degrees, and let it come in contact with
that part just above the nostrils as lightly as possible. If the horse
flinches (as many will,) repeat with great rapidity these light strokes
upon the forehead, going a little farther up toward his ears by degrees,
and descending with the same rapidity until he will let you handle his
forehead all over. Now let the strokes be repeated with more force all
over his forehead, descending by lighter strokes to each side of his
head, until you can handle that part with equal facility. Then touch in
the same light manner, making your hands and fingers play around the
lower part of the horse’s ears, coming down now and then to his
forehead, which may be looked upon as the helm that governs all the
rest.

Having succeeded in handling his ears, advance toward the neck with the
same precaution, and in the same manner; observing always to augment the
force of the strokes whenever the horse will permit it. Perform the same
on both sides of the neck, until he lets you take it in your arms
without flinching.

Proceed in the same progressive manner to the sides, and then to the
back of the horse. Every time the horse shows any nervousness, return
immediately to the forehead, as the true standard, patting him with your
hands, and thence rapidly to where you had already arrived, always
gaining ground a considerable distance farther on every time this
happens. The head, ears, neck, and body being thus gentled, proceed from
the back to the root of the tail.

This must be managed with dexterity, as a horse is never to be depended
on that is skittish about the tail. Let your hand fall lightly and
rapidly on that part next to the body a minute or two, and then you will
begin to give it a slight pull upward every quarter of a minute. At the
same time you continue this handling of him, augment the force of the
strokes as well as the raising of the tail, until you can raise it and
handle it with the greatest ease, which commonly happens in a quarter of
an hour in most horses, in others almost immediately, and in some much
longer. It now remains to handle all his legs; from the tail come back
again to the head, handle it well, as likewise the ears, breast, neck,
etc., speaking now and then to the horse. Begin by degrees to descend to
the legs, always ascending and descending, gaining ground every time you
descend, until you get to his feet.

Talk to the horse while thus taming him; let him hear the sound of your
voice, which at the beginning of the operation is not quite so
necessary, but which I have always done in making him lift up his feet.
“Hold up your foot,” you will say; at the same time lifting his foot
with your hand. He soon becomes familiar with the sounds, and will hold
up his foot at command. Then proceed to the hind feet and go on in the
same manner; and in a short time the horse will let you lift them, and
even take them up in your arms.

All this operation is no magnetism, or galvanism; it is merely taking
away the fear a horse generally has of a man, and familiarizing the
animal with his master. As the horse doubtless experiences a certain
pleasure from this handling, he will soon become gentle under it, and
show a very marked attachment to his keeper.

MANAGING HORSES BY KINDNESS.

A lady visiting Egypt some years ago, gave in one of her letters to her
friends at home, an instance of the power of gentleness in controlling
even the most spirited of horses. She gives the following description of
her experience with the Arabian horses: “I fear you may deem me rather
boastful of my horsemanship when I tell you that the two Arab horses
which threw their cavaliers did not throw me. The cause of the exception
was not in me or my skill; it was the very remarkable predilection these
intelligent animals feel toward individuals of the weaker sex. Let the
wildest and fiercest Arabian be mounted by a woman, and you will see him
suddenly grow mild and gentle as a lamb. I have had plenty of
opportunities to make the experiment, and in my own stables there is a
beautiful gray Arabian which nobody but myself dares to ride. He knows
me, anticipates my wishes, and judiciously calculates the degree of
fatigue I can bear without inconvenience. It is curious to see how he
can manage to quicken his pace without shaking me, and the different
sorts of steps he has invented to realize those contradictory purposes.
Horses being as liable to forgetfulness as other organized beings, my
incomparable gray would allow his natural ambition to overcome his
gallantry, and if another horse threatened to pass him, would start off
with the speed of the whirlwind. Woe to me if, under these
circumstances, I were to trust to the strength of my arm or the power of
the bridle! I knew my gallant charger better. Leaving my hand quite
loose, and abandoning all thoughts of compulsion, I would take to
persuasion; pat him on the neck; call him by his name; beg him to be
quiet and deserve the piece of sugar waiting for him at home. Never did
these gentle means fail. Instantly he would slacken his pace, prick up
his ears as if fully comprehending his error, and come back to a soft
amble, gently neighing as if to crave pardon for his momentary offense.”

This power of women over the Arabian horses is partly due, no doubt, to
the fact that when still a colt he is reared in the back part of the
tent, the movable harem of the Arab. He is constantly petted, and it is
the women who see that he is supplied with food, and tenderly cared for.
It is the attachment which is by these means awakened in the horse that
leads him to so cheerfully yield obedience to the female voice.
Deservedly high as may stand the Arabian horse for docility and
sagacity, it should not be forgotten that, in the absence of all other
amusements, the education of the foal becomes a pleasure as well as a
business; it thus becomes attached to its biped companions, and takes a
pride in enacting all that is required of him. If his rider falls, the
horse will stand by and neigh for assistance; if he lies down to sleep,
the horse will watch over him and give notice of the approach of man or
beast. Similar anecdotes are related of all horses kindly treated, no
matter where may be their home. We heard of one who had a drunken
master, and this horse surpassed the Arab example even in intelligence,
for he would modify his gait so as to keep his reeling rider from
falling off; and if this catastrophe did happen, the horse would stand
for hours, regardless of food or drink, and with anger and determination
attack man or beast that would approach too near.

TO CURE A STUBBORN DISPOSITION.

If your horse, instead of being wild, seems to be of a stubborn or
_mulish_ disposition; if he lays back his ears as you approach him, or
turns his heels to kick you, he has not the regard or fear of man that
he should have to enable you to handle him quickly and easily; and it
might be well to give him a few sharp cuts with the whip, about the
legs, pretty close to the body. It will crack keenly as it plies around
his legs, and the crack of the whip will affect him as much as the
stroke; besides one sharp cut about his legs will affect him more than
two or three over his back, the skin on the inner part of his legs or
about his flank being thinner, more tender, than on his back. But do not
whip him much—just enough to frighten him; _it is not because we want to
hurt the horse that we whip him_—we only do it to frighten vice and
stubbornness out of him. But whatever you do, do quickly, sharply, and
with a good deal of fire, but always without anger. If you are going to
frighten him at all, you must do it at once. Never go into a pitched
battle with your horse, and whip him until he is mad and will fight you;
it would be better not to touch him at all, for you will establish,
instead of fear and respect, feelings of resentment, hatred, and
ill-will. It will do him no good, but harm, to strike him, unless you
can frighten him; but if you can succeed in frightening him, you can
whip him without making him mad; _for fear and anger never exist
together in the horse_, and as soon as one is visible, you will find
that the other has disappeared. As soon as you have frightened him, so
that he will stand up straight and pay some attention to you, approach
him again, and caress him a good deal more than you whipped him; thus
you will excite the two controlling passions of his nature, love and
fear; he will love and fear you too; and, as soon as he learns what you
require, will obey quickly. The stubbornness once broken down, there is
seldom any farther trouble of that score, if the horse be afterward
managed with judgment and kindness. He will appreciate your kindness and
become desirous of pleasing you.

THE CORD AND LINE WEBBING.

One of the main appliances used by horse tamers is a three or four ply
cord or rope, one of cotton being the best, such as is used by the
Indians for subduing their horses. This cord is a powerful instrument
for either good or evil, as it is properly or improperly used. It may be
prepared by any one in the manner shown in the engraving:

[Illustration: LOOPING THE CORD.]

A knot is to be tied in each end, then make a loop by doubling the cord
and passing the knot through as represented above. Be careful to make
the loops at such a distance from the knot as will allow the cord to
pass around the neck at one end, and the lower jaw at the other, passing
the knot through the loop from the opposite side of the loop to where it
passed through in making the lap. The necessity for this will be seen on
applying the cord. The object is to obtain steady pressure upon the
lower jaw, as well as friction in the mouth.

In addition to the cord a piece of worsted webbing, such as is used for
driving lines should be prepared in the following manner: Divide it into
two parts, one piece being of sufficient length to girt the body. Make a
loop in one end large enough for the other end to pass through, so as,
when adjusted it is sufficiently long to tie. These pieces of webbing
will be useful in carrying out future directions.

TO TEACH A HORSE TO STOP.

The word “whoa” should be used only to stop a horse when he is in
motion. Never use it when you approach a horse standing quietly. Horses
soon learn to distinguish any word often addressed to them, and they
should learn to associate it with some definite and exact duty which you
wish them to perform. If any word of command is used indiscriminately,
or out of its proper place, the animal becomes confused and loses the
association between the word and the object desired.

To teach a horse the meaning of the word “whoa,” the arrangement shown
in the accompanying illustration may be used. Put the large web,
previously described, around his near fore foot, pass it under the
girth; and as the animal walks along, pull up the foot, saying at the
same instant, “Whoa.” He will be brought to a stop, and by repeating the
lesson he will soon raise the foot and stop even though the web is not
pulled upon.

[Illustration: “WHOA.”]

[Illustration: TEACHING THE HORSE TO BACK.]

TO TEACH A HORSE TO BACK.

Put the cord upon the horse, using the small loop; draw it with a steady
pull; this brings the horse’s nose toward his body. Keep a firm hold
upon the cord until he steps back a little, using at the same time the
word “back.” Then caress him; by doing so you show him that he has done
exactly as you wished him to, and the caresses should be repeated every
time he obeys. The utmost gentleness must be observed in order not to
excite him, and the lesson should not be long enough to tire him. Five
to ten minutes being the best length, repeated at intervals of a few
hours. As soon as he understands what you desire he will probably back
promptly at command.

TO MAKE A HORSE FOLLOW YOU.

The directions make simple what have hitherto been among the mysteries
of the circus. Turn the horse into a large stable or shed, where there
is no chance to get out, with a halter or bridle on. Go to him and
gentle him a little, take hold of his halter, and turn him toward you,
at the same time touching him lightly over the hips with a long whip.
Lead him the length of the stable, rubbing him on the neck, saying in a
steady tone of voice, “Come along, boy!” or use his name instead of
“boy,” if you choose. Every time you turn, touch him slightly with the
whip, to make him step up close to you, and then caress him with your
hand. He will soon learn to hurry up to escape the whip and be caressed,
and you can make him follow you around without taking hold of the
halter. If he should stop and turn from you, give him a few sharp cuts
about the hind legs, and he will soon turn his head toward you, when you
must always caress him. A few lessons of this kind will make him run
after you, when he sees the motion of the whip—in twenty or thirty
minutes he will follow you about the stable. After you have given him
two or three lessons in the stable, take him out into a small field and
train him; and thence you can take him into the road and make him follow
you anywhere, and run after you.

TO STAND WITHOUT HOLDING.

To make a horse stand without holding, after you have him well broken to
follow you, place him in the center of the stable—begin at his head to
caress him, gradually working backward. If he moves give him a cut with
the whip, and put him back to the same spot from which he started. If he
stands, caress him as before, and continue gentling him in this way
until you can get round him without making him move. Keep walking around
him, increasing your pace, and only touch him occasionally. Enlarge your
circle as you walk around, and if he then moves, give him another cut
with the whip, and put him back to his place. If he stands, go to him
frequently and caress him, and then walk around him again. Do not keep
him in one position too long at a time, but make him come to you
occasionally, and follow you around the stable. Then make him stand in
another place, and proceed as before. You should not train your horse
more than half an hour at a time.

WHIP TRAINING.

So accustomed are we to the use of bit and reins for driving that we
have got to consider them absolutely requisite for guiding a horse.
Horses however may, if properly taught, be driven without either bit or
reins, merely by signals with the whip. Probably the simplest and most
concise directions for whip training are given by Mr. Jennings in his
valuable work on training horses. Mr. Jennings says:

“To train a horse thoroughly to drive without bit or line, under the
whip, requires from four to six weeks’ time; it requires also a man of
strong nerve and self-control to be a successful trainer in this
particular branch. Whip training illustrates the beauty and power of our
system of horse training. Such a feat as driving a horse without bit or
line cannot be accomplished by any other system known to man. Having
selected a horse with a moderate share of intelligence, the next thing
is to secure a suitable place for training. An enclosure twenty-five or
thirty feet square is required. If you have it smaller, and your horse
should be disposed to kick, you would be in danger; if larger it gives
the animal too much room to get away from the whip. It is better that
you go in with the horse alone, as then the animal will have no other
object to take his attention. Turn him loose without bridle or halter in
the enclosure; take your position in the centre, holding in your right
hand a straight whip nine or ten feet long; you crack the whip as you
take your position; this alarms the horse and causes him to run into one
corner of the enclosure; crack it several times that he may learn that
you do not intend to hurt him; now commence tapping him lightly upon the
near shoulder, but not to hurt him; if a nervy fellow he is all
excitement for a few minutes; continue the tapping until he turns his
head toward you, which he will do in a short time. The moment he turns
it, however slight it may be, cease the whipping; as soon as he turns it
away again repeat the tapping with the whip; in a few minutes he again
turns his head toward you; stop the motion of the whip; as he turns away
repeat the whip tapping as before; in a very short time he turns around
so that you can approach him; now gently caress him; move away and again
approach him; should he turn away repeat the whipping, by this means you
teach him to come to you on the near side. After he has learned this
thoroughly, which requires about one week’s training, half an hour each
day, then proceed in the same manner upon the off side; as soon as he
obeys the motion of the whip upon this side, take your position behind
him, and turn him by the motion of the whip to the right or to the left;
as soon as he performs nicely, put the harness upon him, take the lines
behind him, and, as you give him the word to go forward, throw the whip
down by his right side without touching him, at the same time have the
long web around the near fore foot, and give it to an assistant; you
want him to stop, give him the word ‘Whoa,’ at the same time your
assistant pulls up the foot, turn the whip in a horizontal position
above your head—in this way you teach him that the whip in that position
means ‘Whoa.’ By repeating these motions, he learns in about four weeks
to turn to the right whenever the whip is thrown toward the right
shoulder; to the left when thrown toward the left shoulder; to go ahead
when thrown down by the right side; and to stop when held in a
horizontal position. You now want to teach him to back; having
previously instructed him according to our rule, put the cord, using the
small loop, in his mouth; take the cord in your hand with the reins,
pull upon the reins and say ‘Back,’ at the same time keep the whip
directly over the animal’s back, giving it an upward and downward
motion, or you may tap him gently upon the back with the whip—this is
best done in a sulky. If he starts forward, set him back by pulling
quickly upon the cord; repeat the operation until he will go back by the
motion of the whip alone. Should he make repeated efforts to go forward,
bring the whip quickly once or twice down over his nose, he will not
then repeat the operation very often; with this training, it is
necessary to use an open bridle, so that the animal will see the motion
of the whip; you are now prepared to hook him up for the first drive.
Take an assistant with you; have the foot strap or long web secured upon
the near fore foot; give it in charge of your assistant; let the lines
lie over the dash, as a matter of precaution. Now commence operations
with the whip; if the animal acts promptly, remove the foot web and
begin again, having the lines over the dash as before; drive the animal
in this way at least two or three weeks before removing the bit from the
mouth. Your horse is now safe to drive under the whip.”

The large and noble looking horses which draw the trucks of the safe
manufacturers in this city, are hitched in single file, only the rear
one having reins attached. Sometimes six or eight horses will be
required to draw the ponderous load, and the coolness and dexterity with
which they wend their way through the confused mass of vehicles in the
crowded streets is a truly remarkable sight. Without any guidance the
leader will press onward through the mass, deftly avoiding collisions
and entanglement. Changes of route, stoppages, etc., are effected by
such orders as “Whoa,” “Gee,” “Haw,” which the leader promptly and
intelligently obeys.

TO CURE BALKY HORSES.

From the number of “infallible recipes” given in the papers for curing
balky horses we should judge a little light on the subject is called for
by horsemen. The various remedies which different correspondents
describe as having proved effective in their own experience would form a
curious collection, though some of them betray a remarkable lack of real
knowledge about the matter. One genius has discovered that stuffing a
horse’s mouth and nostrils with road dust is highly successful. Another
humane individual deeply deplores the barbarous practice of whacking
balky horses over the head and legs, and suggests that there should be
substituted a system of steady, but not very severe, pounding in one
spot with a “smooth club,” until “the pain grows intolerable and he
starts nervously forward.” One hero, whose valor deserves to be
chronicled for the admiration of future ages, thus modestly relates
_his_ experience with “one of the perverse animals,” as he calls his
horse:

“The first work I did with him after he came into my possession was to
draw a load of hay from the meadow. He started a few rods and then stood
still, and no amount of urging that I could command would induce him to
budge an inch. I took the pitchfork and sat down on the fore end of the
load and began to prick him about the root of his tail, inserting the
tines just through the skin. He kicked, but the load of hay was a
complete protection. I kept on, moderately and persistently pricking for
about five minutes, when he started for the barn. He never attempted to
balk but once after, when the mere sight of the pitchfork was sufficient
to make him draw.”

In Cecil county, Maryland, a farmer resorted to a rather novel expedient
for getting some “go” out of a balky horse. Having loaded his wagon
rather heavily with wheat, the horses were either unable or refused to
draw it. After trying for some time to put them in motion, he set fire
to a sheaf of wheat, and applied the flame to one of the horses. The
horse, not relishing the application, by a well directed kick deposited
the blazing sheaf in the load of wheat. This becoming ignited, was
entirely consumed, together with the wagon. One of the horses, also,
narrowly escaped perishing in the conflagration.

Many of the cases of “balkiness” are nothing but want of power to
perform the task assigned; a necessary pause from temporary exhaustion.
A driver who understands his business will give his team a breathing
spell occasionally while pulling a heavy load. Another thing, if you
find your team becoming exhausted and about to give out, it is well to
stop them of your own accord; and it is well, too, to give them a few
moments rest before encountering a peculiarly difficult part of the
route.

If you have balky horses, it is your own fault, and not the horse’s, for
if they do not pull true there is some cause for it, and if you will
remove the cause the effect will cease. When your horse balks he is
excited and does not know what you want him to do. For instance, a young
horse that has never been “set” in a gully with a load before, is
whipped by his owner or driver because he does not draw the load out.
The animal is willing to do what he can, but he does not know how to
draw out the load. He tries and finds that it does not move, not knowing
that a steadier and stronger pull would do it, and when the lash comes
down upon him and he hears the yells of his driver he is frightened, and
jumps and rears through fear rather than ugliness or balkiness. No
better way could possibly be devised to make a horse balky than to beat
him under such circumstances. When he gets a little excited, stop him
five or ten minutes, let him become calm; go to the balky horse, pat him
and speak gently to him, and as soon as he is over his excitement, he
will, in nine cases out of ten, pull at the word. After you have gentled
him a while, and his excitement has cooled down, take him by the bits;
turn him each way a few minutes as far as you can; gentle him a little;
unrein him; then step before the balky horse, and let the other start
first, then you can take them anywhere you wish. A balky horse is always
high spirited and starts quick; half the pull is out before the other
starts; by standing before him the other starts first. By close
application to this rule, you can make any balky horse pull. If a horse
has been badly spoiled you should hitch him to the empty wagon, and pull
it around a while on level ground; then put on a little load and
increase it gradually, caressing as before, and in a short, time you can
have a good work horse.

You might as well attempt to make a horse move a three story building
and draw it off, as to get out of a slough with a heavy load, when the
animal has never been taught by degrees to draw a load out of such
places. It is true that it is bad policy to unhitch a horse from a load
under such circumstances, but it is far worse to beat him an hour and
then have to do it. Our way of teaching colts is as follows: We put on
light loads, after they are well broken to a harness, and go into bad
places where it requires hard pulling by degrees; and the animal learns
how to draw the load out. He reasons as a man does, thus: “I have been
here before and got out, and I can do it again,” and out he goes. We add
to the load one or two hundred pounds, and go through the same process,
then wait a day or two and try him again, taking care that we require
nothing to be done extra except with a lighter load. This is teaching a
horse to have confidence in himself, which is the basis of all good
draught horses.

A Scotch paper describes a curious case of horse management, and though
the same treatment has been equally successful in other instances we are
inclined to believe the true secret lies partly in _gentling_ the animal
while the preparations are being made. The fact related is curious and
may be useful, so we reproduce it:

“On Saturday last a groom, mounted on a high mettled hunter, entered the
High street of Coldstream, and, when opposite Sir John Majoribank’s
monument, the horse began to plunge and rear to a fearful extent,
swerving to the right and then to the left, but go forward he would not,
nor could all the exertions of the groom overcome his obstinacy. The
street was filled with people expecting to see the animal destroy
himself on the spikes of the iron railing around the monument, when Mr.
McDougal, saddler, walked up to the groom, and said: ‘I think, my man,
you are not taking the proper method to make the horse go; allow me to
show you a trick worth knowing.’ ‘Well,’ says the groom, ‘if you can
make him go, it’s more than I can;’ when Mr. McDougal took a piece of
whipcord, which he tied with a firm knot on the end of the animal’s ear,
which he bent gently down, fastening the end of the string to the check
buckle of the bridle, which done, he patted the horse’s neck once or
twice, and said, ‘Now, let me see you go quietly home like a good
horse,’ and, astonishing to relate, it moved off as gently as if nothing
had happened. Mr. McDougal says he has seen, in London, horses which no
manner of force could make go, while this mild treatment was always
successful.”

HOW TO PREVENT HARNESSED HORSES FROM RUNNING AWAY.

For the following useful suggestion we are indebted to Mr. Robert
McClure:

“It has often occurred to our mind, on account of the many and
destructive runaways of horses harnessed to sleighs, that have taken
place in this city and its neighborhood the present winter, that some
mode of training might be adopted for family or carriage horses, which
would entirely prevent or at least mitigate the violence and excitement
of horses that may take fright. A good plan, based upon our knowledge
and observation of the excitability and nervous temperament of horses
disposed to take fright, would be to harness them with strong harness to
an old but stout carriage a few times before the sleighing season, and
have them taken slowly out of the city to a country road, not too hard
for the horses’ feet, and drive them at a full run or gallop for a few
rods at a time. Repeating this several times during the drive will so
accustom the horses to the excitement of a run in harness and the rattle
of a carriage behind them, that it will become familiar, and when
occasions arise, as they sometime will in all large cities, to start
them to run, they can be at once brought up and kept under complete
control. The training to an occasional run has familiarized such horses
with the excitement; but conversely, once let a team not used to it in
harness, get a start and run, the excitement every moment becomes
greater, takes the place of animal instinct, and all control of them is
lost—till brought up against some obstacle, with a general smash of all
surroundings, and perhaps the loss of valuable and useful life. Whether
the horse be hurt or not, they are forever of no value for family
purposes, and the groom or coachman not unfrequently loses both
situation and character as a driver. To familiarize your horse to an
occasional run in harness will do them no harm; and our word for it,
much good will be done, and safety insured.”

HOW TO INSTANTLY STOP RUNAWAY HORSES.

When a Canadian family party, traveling in winter over ice covered
rivers and swamps, is so unlucky as to cross a place where the horse
sinks, they save him from drowning, and themselves from the danger of
sharing the same fate, by pulling a rope so arranged that it chokes him.
The water being thus prevented from entering his gullet or windpipe, he
floats on the surface, and it only requires a long and firm pull to
bring him to solid ground, when the rope being relaxed he quickly
recovers his wind and is ready once more to start on his journey.

Perhaps profiting by this example, a similar means has been adopted with
success for stopping runaway and subduing infuriated horses whether in
riding or driving. It consists of a rein composed partly of
thread-covered cat-gut, and partly of common leather, one end of which
is attached to the bridle at the top of the horse’s head, while the
other rests at the pummel of the saddle, or on the coach box, as the
case may be. Running upon the cat-gut part by means of loops, is a short
cross piece of cat-gut which rests against the windpipe of the animal,
ready to be pulled up against it by taking hold of the nearer end of the
rein. A quick and firm pull, to stop the breathing of the animal, is all
that is necessary to bring him to an instantaneous pause. He may be in a
state of panic, running off with the bit between his teeth in spite of
every ordinary means of checking him: but no sooner does he feel the
stricture on his breathing than he is conscious of being outwitted and
nonplussed and becomes instantly as quiet as a lamb; at the same time he
keeps quite firm upon his legs—the check not being by any means
calculated to bring him down. On the contrary, from the position in
which it places the horse, his shoulders being brought up, and being
pressed back upon his haunches, the check is, indeed, calculated to keep
him up.

CHAPTER III.
ENGLISH SYSTEM OF TRAINING HUNTERS.

Owing to difference in customs of the two nations, such horses as the
English hunters are not the most desirable for use in this country, and
the system of training adopted to suit the animals to the requirements
of English gentlemen, are seldom called into requisition here. Still, as
we desire our work to be as complete as possible, and as the method of
training is interesting, though it may prove useful to but few of our
readers, we introduce it. We take this spirited description from “A
Holiday on Horseback,” from the pen of an English writer whose name is
not given:

“A light built, gaylooking thoroughbred was passing into a paddock for a
lesson in jumping over a swivel bush hurdle. Without spur or whip, the
rider—the horsebreaker’s son—rode the mare steadily at the fence, and
she went over without touching a top twig, clearing nine yards in the
leap. ‘The great thing, sir, is to bring them into workmanlike ways; not
to be fussy and flurried at their fence, so as to take off at the right
spot.’ Then he went on to inform us that hunters should be carefully
handled at a very early age, if they are intended to become temperate
and handy. They may be ridden gently by a light weight with good hands,
at three years old, over small fences. At four they ought to be shown
hounds, but they should only be allowed to follow them at a distance,
after the fences are broken down, for if you put them to large leaps at
that age they are apt to get alarmed and never make steady fencers
afterward. Above all things, avoid getting them into boggy ditches, or
riding them at brooks; but they should be practiced at leaping small
ditches, if possible, with water in them, the rider facing them at a
brisk gallop, for this gives a horse confidence and courage. The old
custom of teaching colts to leap, standing, over a bar is now obsolete,
and they are taught to become timber jumpers simply by taking timber as
it comes across the country—the present rate of hounds gives no time for
standing leaps. The circular bar, however, is not a bad thing if in a
good place and well managed. Every description of fence that your hunter
is likely to meet with should be placed within a prescribed circle on
soft ground, the man who holds him standing on a stage in the center.
Another man, following the colt with a whip, obliges him to clear his
fences at a certain pace, and in a very short time a good tempered colt
will go at his jumps with pleasure.

“Here let me observe—for the conversation had ended—that no matter how
carefully a hunter may have been trained, until you taste and try him in
the field, it is hard to say whether the right stuff be in him. The best
judges are often deceived by outsides and school performances. A few
general rules may, however, be given, which will be found of certain
application. In a hilly country, for instance, nothing has a chance
against a pure thoroughbred. Lengthy horses always make the best
jumpers, if they have good hind quarters, good loins and good courage.
Extraordinary things have been done by such horses. In 1829 Dick
Christian jumped thirty-three feet on King of the Valley; and Captain
Littler’s horse, Chandler, cleared thirty-nine feet over a brook at
Leamington. The most dangerous of all horses in the field is a star
gazer. A hunter should carry his head low, as by so doing he is less
liable to fall, and gives his rider a firmer seat. All wild horses lower
their crests in leaping. It is, however, the peculiar excellence of
going well through dirt which decides the real value of a horse for our
best hunting counties. To find out this quality he must be ridden fair
and straight. If he flinch on soft ground he is of no use. No matter how
wide a horse may be, if he is not deep in the girth he cannot carry
weight, and is very seldom a good winded horse, even under a light man.
One of the best things that can be said of a hunter is, that at first
sight he appears two inches lower than he really is. Short legged horses
leap better and safer than long legged cattle, and go faster and farther
under hard riders. Horses with straight hind legs never can have good
mouths. He should have well placed hind legs with wide hips, well spread
gaskins, as much as possible of the _vis a lergo_, well knit joints,
short cannon bone, oblique pasterns and largish feet. The bone of a
hunter’s hock cannot be too long. These are the points for strength and
bottom.

“‘Handsome is as handsome does,’ and an old whip once said to a nobleman
who remarked that his staunch old horse who had carried him through so
many troubles had an awkward head: ‘Never mind his ’ed, my lord; I ain’t
a going to ride on his ’ed.’ Indeed, what is called the perfect model
horse is by no means the best. A horse’s constitution may be too good.
Horses of a very hard nature, and very closely ribbed up, are large
feeders, with great barrels, and do not make brilliant hunters. They
require so much work to keep them in place and wind that their legs
suffer, and often give way when their constitution is in its prime.
Horses with moderate carcasses last much longer, and, provided they are
good feeders, are usually bright and lasting enough, if otherwise well
shaped. Finally, a hunter should be well seasoned. Few five year old
horses are fit to carry a gentleman across country; for they cannot be
sufficiently experienced to take a straight line. About fifteen hands
two inches is the best hight for a hunter. His action should be smooth,
or it cannot last. The movement of the fore legs should be round, not
high; the horse should be quick on his legs as well as fast.”

CHAPTER IV.
TRICKS OF PERFORMING HORSES, AND HOW THEY ARE TAUGHT.

Horses may be taught many amusing tricks, some of which are really
wonderful. For teaching horses tricks the implements known as the Rarey
straps are requisite, to teach the animal to lie down, etc. The piebald
or spotted horses are generally supposed by trainers to be more
tractable as well as to possess more talent than others.

THE SHORT AND LONG STRAPS.

A common breaching strap is used to strap up the foot. For using, open
the loop, keeping the buckle on the outside, put the loop over foot,
then raise foot and pass the strap around the fore-arm from the inside,
and buckle it tight; this holds the foot up firmly. The _long_ strap is
the one which buckles around the foot. To a ring in this is buckled
another strap seven or eight feet long. This is attached to the right
foot and passes under the girth, or over the back. Its use is to raise
the foot when you wish to bring the horse upon his knees.

[Illustration: THE SHORT AND THE LONG STRAPS.]

[Illustration: THE SHORT STRAP IN USE.]

[Illustration: TEACHING THE HORSE TO LIE DOWN.]

[Illustration: THE APPLICATION OF BOTH STRAPS.]

Bend his left fore leg and slip a loop over it, so that he cannot get it
down. Then put a surcingle around his body, and fasten one end of the
long strap around the other fore leg, just above the hoof. Place the
other end under the surcingle, so as to keep the strap in the right
direction; take a short hold of it with your right hand; stand on the
left side of the horse, grasp the bit in your left hand, pull steadily
on the strap with your right; bear against his shoulder till you cause
him to move. As soon as he lifts his weight, your pulling will raise the
other foot, and he will come on his knees. Keep the strap tight in your
hand, so that he cannot straighten his leg if he rises up. Hold him in
this position, and turn his head toward you; bear against his side with
your shoulder, not hard, but with a steady, equal pressure, and in about
ten minutes he will lie down. As soon as he lies down he will be
completely conquered, and you can handle him as you please. Take off the
straps, and straighten out his legs; rub him lightly about the face and
neck with your hand the way the hair lies; handle all his legs, and
after he has lain ten or twenty minutes, let him get up again. After
resting him a short time, make him lie down as before. Repeat the
operation three or four times, which will be sufficient for one lesson.
Give him two lessons a day, and when you have given him four lessons, he
will lie down on your taking hold of one foot. As soon as he is well
broken to lie down in this way, tap him on the opposite leg with a whip
when you take hold of his foot, and in a few days he will lie down from
the mere motion of the whip.

[Illustration: BRINGING THE HORSE TO HIS KNEES.]

[Illustration: PREPARING TO LIE DOWN.]

Use great gentleness during the operation. Compel the horse to comply
with your wishes, but do not frighten or excite him.

[Illustration: THE HORSE LYING DOWN.]

TO TEACH A HORSE TO SIT UP.

A common winding-up of the “grand entree” which usually commences the
performances at most circuses, is for the horses of all the riders to
lie down at the word of command, and at another command, to sit up on
their haunches. The lying down part we have already explained; the
getting up is taught by Jennings as follows:

“Lay the animal down as previously directed, having a collar upon him;
place a hobble or strap, with a ring in it, around each hind foot; take
a pair of ordinary driving lines, pass the buckle end through the collar
back to the ring in the hobble, and buckle them; pull the feet up toward
the shoulders, and carry the lines back to the hind quarters, hold them
firmly in one hand, or give them to an assistant. Have a bridle with a
long rein upon the animal; take the rein in your hand, stand upon the
tail, and pull upon the bridle rein, keeping the lines firm at the same
time; this brings him up in front, and prevents his getting his hind
feet back far enough to rise upon them, they being drawn forward and
securely held by the lines.”

KICKING AT WORD OF COMMAND.

Jennings gives the following instructions for teaching horses a very
common trick performed at circus exhibitions:

“Care must be taken in teaching this trick, that you have a horse not
predisposed to vicious propensities, or you may make a confirmed kicker;
and then you will have the habit to break-up. A horse of a mild
disposition may be taught to perform thus without the risk of his
becoming a kicker. I have taught one of my ponies to kick when I desire
him to do so, and he cannot be made to kick unless the whip is used
lightly upon his hind parts. Having selected your animal, take a pin in
your right hand, prick the near hind leg with it and say, ‘Kick with the
left foot;’ the animal soon learns to obey. Then proceed with the
opposite leg in the same manner. After the horse will kick, with either
foot, by a motion of the hand without pricking him you will stand off a
short distance, with a long whip in your hand; touch the near hind foot
and say, ‘Kick with the left foot;’ then proceed in the same manner with
the right foot. By proceeding thus once a day the animal will soon learn
to do his part very nicely.”

TALKING HORSES.

If neatly managed one of the most “taking” performances of the “arena”
is the answering of questions by the horse. Yankee Robinson has a very
fine animal, who replies to his master’s interrogations with much
_seeming_ judiciousness. Horses may be taught to shake and nod their
heads as negative or affirmative replies, in either of two ways. The
first method of training is this: Take your position at the horse’s head
with a pin in your hand. Gently prick the animal’s breast. The horse
bobs his head, just as he would had a fly alighted on the spot. Repeat
the operation several times, each time caressing him, and perhaps
rewarding him with a bit of apple occasionally. He will soon learn to
nod his head on merely having the hand pointed toward his breast, or he
may be trained to do the same by a motion of the foot. To teach the
horse to shake his head it is only necessary to prick him slightly
anywhere along the mane or over the withers. After a little teaching he
will do so on your raising your hand to your head, a motion whose
connection with the horse’s action will scarcely be suspected by the
audience.

The second method is by pricking his breast at the same moment that you
say “yes,” or any other particular word; and by pricking his withers at
the same time you say the word “no.” He will soon learn to make the
desired motion on hearing the word, even though no motion whatever is
made. When exhibiting, the questions should be asked first, and
immediately after the signal given to the horse. He, of course, knows
nothing of the question, but obeys a definite command, just as he would
if ordered to “back” or “whoa.”

Madame Tournaire, who performed her horse by the first method, had a way
of coquettishly toying with her whip, and would give the horse the
requisite signals by what the public imagined to be a mere display of
feminine grace.

Where the horse obeys a _word_, that word must be incorporated into the
question asked, in such a way as to attract his attention. If used too
near the commencement of the sentence he will reply before the question
is out of your mouth. It is not necessary to use the _exact_ word that
he “works” by, provided it sounds to him like it; thus, Yankee Robinson
says to his horse during the performance, “I guess you’re as handsome a
fellow as these ladies and gentlemen ever saw—don’t you _guess_ so?” The
horse nods his head at the emphasized word “guess,” supposing it to be
his command “yes.” The next question, perhaps, is, “But others _know_
the most?” In this case the horse, not being posted on Webster, and
being guided by the sound, gives his head a negative shake, considering
“no” and “know” synonymous.

[Illustration: PERFORMING PONIES.]

TEACHING HORSES TO JUMP.

Colts should not be trained in jumping until at least four years old.
Until this age the muscles and sinews are too pliable, and there is
danger of the animal being strained. It is better never to urge a horse
to attempt a leap which he cannot readily accomplish, for severe injury
might result from his striking his feet, besides any failure to perform
the leap will discourage him.

The bar should at first be placed very low and only raised very
gradually. About knee high or less will do to commence with. Commence
the instructions by letting one man lead the colt, while another man
follows with a whip. The former walks over the bar encouraging the colt
with his voice to follow. The man with the whip is only to prevent the
horse backing, the whip should never be applied unless the animal is
positively restive. With a little coaxing he will soon go over, and
having once done so, he will readily repeat it. A few pieces of apple
may be advantageously used to induce him to leap the bar, and to reward
him for doing so. By using the word “hip” or any other as he jumps, he
may be taught to make the leap on hearing it. This is the common method
for horses in the ring.

The first lesson should be confined to the standing or walking leap, and
if the horse is led half a dozen times over in the manner described this
will suffice for the first day. The next day he may be trotted up to it,
or more lessons may be devoted to teaching him to leap at command. With
each succeeding lesson the bar may be raised until it is as high as the
horse’s breast, but beyond this there is no necessity with common
animals intended merely for private riding. Neither should the horse be
wearied and disgusted with too long lessons. When perfect in his lessons
a boy may be placed upon his back to ride him over. The boy must be a
good rider, for should the horse stop suddenly at the bar and throw his
rider the maneuver will be repeated. A sack containing a couple of
bushels of corn is sometimes used instead of the boy, but the boy is
better.

TO MAKE A HORSE STAND ERECT.

[Illustration: STANDING ERECT.]

To make a horse stand upon his hind feet it is only necessary to compel
him to rear up, and then to keep him in that position by gently striking
him with the whip either under the fore-arm or under the chin. At first
it will be necessary to allow him to resume his natural position after
standing erect for a moment or two, but in a little while he will learn
to keep his balance for a considerable time. Care should be taken not to
excite or keep him in the erect position too long at first. There is
also some danger of his falling over backward if too urgently pressed.
Ponies may be placed upon their hind feet by lifting them up by the
reins, taking hold under the chin close to the bit. By giving the
command, “Erect up,” when teaching the animal to take the required
position, he may be taught to do so at this command, or he will soon
learn to stand up by merely being tapped lightly under the chin. Now
give him a few pieces of apple, and by holding out pieces of apple or
other “horse” dainties, you may teach him to follow you walking erect.

TO “PIROUETTE.”

“Pirouetting” consists merely in the horse turning around while standing
erect upon his hind feet. He may be taught to do this very easily,
either by coaxing him to turn by the use of pieces of apple, or by
gentle taps upon the cheek. He soon learns to turn at a circular sweep
of the whip or at the command to “Pirouette.” This action is the same as
is made use of when a horse is supposed to “waltz.”

THE PEDESTAL.

[Illustration: PEDESTAL TRICK.]

One of the most common tricks displayed in circuses, and one which is
usually hailed with applause, is what is termed the “pedestal” trick. A
stout platform is used, to which is attached a wooden “drum” some two
feet in hight, out of which projects a wooden rod or post at a slight
angle. The horse first steps upon the platform, then places one fore
foot upon the drum, and lastly places his other fore foot upon the point
of the projecting post. In this position a handsome animal forms a
really beautiful picture, and the effect is sometimes enhanced by having
a number of men raise the platform upon their shoulders, and bear the
horse, high up above the heads of the spectators, like some equestrian
statue, around the ring.

To teach this trick some patience is necessary but the method is quite
simple. The horse is first led upon the platform several times, being
allowed to remain a moment or more each time. He will soon understand
when brought into the vicinity of the platform that he is to take his
position upon it. Now compel him to raise his foot, and as he attempts
to put it down again, guide it with your hand to the required position
upon the drum. After a few times he will place it upon the drum of his
own accord on being made to raise it. Then in the same manner make him
raise the other foot and place it upon the post. This is the most
difficult part of the performance on account of the post presenting only
a slight foothold, and the horse having only limited power to guide his
foot to this position; it is also quite difficult to make the hoof
retain its hold even after the right position is gained. After the horse
thoroughly understands what is wanted of him he will go through the
performance without prompting, for the sight of the platform suggests to
him the desired actions. The “carrying around” part is, of course,
strictly a ring performance which few persons would care to undertake
for private amusement, but if the horse is gentle and has been taught to
have entire confidence in his master, and to obey him implicitly, there
is little difficulty in this part of the exhibition if done with care.

TO TEACH A HORSE TO KISS.

Give the horse a few pieces of apple from your hand, then place a piece
between your teeth, letting it project so that the horse can readily
seize it. When he has become used to taking the apple in this way, say,
“Kiss,” or “Kiss me,” to him each time before putting the apple in your
mouth, and he will by and by put his mouth to your lips at this command.
In every case he should be rewarded by a piece of apple, for, to him,
“kiss me” means apple, and if he is deceived in getting it he will not
so readily obey.

TO MAKE A HORSE FETCH AND CARRY.

For this purpose a small basket or some light article which he can
easily seize with his mouth, should be used. Place the handle in his
mouth and shut his mouth upon it. Should he drop it when you remove your
hand, speak sharply to him, and replace it in his mouth. When he retains
it you are to let it remain a few moments, then remove it, pat him,
speak encouragingly to him, and reward him. In a short time offer it to
him again saying, “Take it,” and he will probably do so; if not place it
his mouth and repeat the course already described. When he has learned
to take the basket on its being offered, let him follow you around with
it in his mouth; then let some one else give it to him while you stand
at a distance; now call him toward you and reward him for bringing it to
you. He will thus learn in a short time to bring you any article given
him. After this, place the basket upon the ground, call his attention to
it, order him to “take it,” and he probably will obey, if not, place it
in his mouth and repeat the instruction until he will pick it up from
the ground. Then a handkerchief or other article may be substituted for
the basket, which articles he will soon understand are to be picked up
also. He will soon learn to pick up anything you may drop in his
presence, or to seize hold of any article that may be offered him, and
this latter act may be applied to many tricks, as hereafter described.

FINDING A HIDDEN HANDKERCHIEF.

Having taught the horse to pick up any article dropped in his presence,
take a handkerchief and cover it partially with loose earth, leaving it
sufficiently exposed for him to readily seize it. Repeat the operation,
each time covering the handkerchief more and more completely until it is
entirely concealed. He will by this means be led to look for it even
when it is entirely covered up. An assistant may now hold his hands over
the horse’s eyes while the handkerchief is being concealed. Before an
audience this adds to the credit of the performance, but as the
handkerchief is hidden in nearly the same place, the horse knows where
to look for it and will soon unearth it. Even when hidden at the option
of the spectator it is easy to indicate to the horse where to look, by a
signal, or his sense of smell will lead him to the spot. Oil of rhodium
is said by some to be employed in this trick, to guide the animal to the
hidden article. This may be true in some cases but the horse can so
easily be taught to accomplish the thing desired without its use that we
doubt its being used to any considerable extent.

Another plan adopted for teaching this trick is the following: Spread on
the sawdust a white cloth containing a liberal supply of oats, lead the
animal around the ring and let him take some of the oats. This is lesson
first; its object being to fix in the horse’s mind a connection between
the cloth and the oats. The march around the circle being once or twice
repeated, he stops at the handkerchief as a matter of course. By dint of
practice, say in a couple of weeks, he will learn to stop as readily in
a trot or a gallop as in a walk. After a time the handkerchief must be
doubled over and tied in a knot; the animal shakes it to get at the
grain, but not succeeding, lifts it from the ground, which is just the
thing wanted. When the horse has done this a few times, and finds that
though he can shake nothing out he will receive a handful of oats as a
reward, he may be trusted to perform in public.

TO SELECT A CHOSEN CARD.

In performing this trick in public one of the audience is allowed to
choose a card from the pack, and this card, with several others is
thrown on the ground. The horse is then asked by his master to select
the chosen card from among them, and to give it to the person who chose
it. This sounds like quite a difficult feat, especially, as is usually
the case, if he has had his eyes blindfolded while the selection of the
card was being made.

Having taught the horse to find and pick up the handkerchief it is very
easy to substitute any other article in its place. If a card should be
substituted it would be picked up just as anything else would be. The
main difficulty is to teach the horse to pick the one desired from among
the others, and that one only. To do this, spread half a dozen cards
upon the ground at intervals of about ten feet. Let the horse go to one
end of this line of cards. He will naturally stop at the first one he
comes to, and, if left to himself, will pick it up. Instead of allowing
him to do this, start him ahead with the voice using the term “Get up,”
or any other which he has been taught means “go ahead.” Do this until he
reaches the card which you desire him to pick up, at this you must
remain silent unless he is about to pass it by like the former ones, in
which case you say “Whoa,” and keep him standing before it until he
picks it up. When he does this, reward him and speak encouragingly to
him, that he may know he has done what you wished. If you make a
practice of speaking to him when he stops at the wrong cards, and of
keeping silent when he reaches the right one he will soon come to
understand that “silence gives consent,” and that _that_ is the proper
card to select. The order in which the chosen card is placed in the row
should be varied so that the horse may not learn to select the card by
its _position_ instead of obeying your signal. This enables you to let
your auditors place the cards in any position or order their fancy may
dictate without interfering at all with the successful “working” of the
horse.

After he has learned to select the desired card without hesitation, he
must be so taught that he will hand it to the person who may have
selected it, when he comes to perform in public. To teach him this, have
an assistant stationed at some distance from you, and when the horse
comes to you with the card, instead of taking it from him as you have
been accustomed to do, turn his head in the direction of your assistant
and start him up. He will go to the assistant if the latter holds out
his hand, and, perhaps, whistles to him. Pretty soon the whistling may
be dispensed with, and he will carry the card in any direction indicated
in search of some one to receive it. When he comes to perform in the
ring he will go around the edge looking for somebody to whom he may
relinquish the card. The proper person will probably hold out his hand
to take it, but a hundred others will quite as certainly do the same
thing. Now if the horse selects the right person in spite of the other
claimants to lead him astray, a round of applause is pretty sure to
crown his success. To insure this he should be taught to relinquish the
card at some particular signal given by the trainer. A cough will
answer, or any _word_ which can be incorporated into a sentence
addressed to him, without being detected by the audience. We have given
sufficient instruction on this point in preceding pages, we believe, to
enable the trainer to use his own discretion as to the manner of
associating the signal with the giving-up of the card, in the horse’s
mind.

TO FIRE OFF A PISTOL.

[Illustration: FIRING OFF THE PISTOL.]

In performing this trick the pistol (unloaded) should be firmly secured
to a post or some other convenient support, as high as the horse can
conveniently reach. To the trigger attach a small wisp of hay by a
string, so arranged that by pulling at the hay the pistol will go off.
Lead the horse up to this, that the savory morsel may attract his
attention. He will probably pull at the hay, and in his efforts to get
it, will pull the trigger. Let him eat the hay, and repeat the operation
several times, patting and speaking kindly to him each time. Now attach
a piece of rag to the trigger instead of the hay; show it to him and
induce him to take hold of it. Every time he pulls at it, and makes the
hammer click, reward him with a piece of apple. When he has become used
to pulling the rag when it is shown him, the pistol may be capped. The
explosion of the cap may startle him somewhat at first; but gentle
treatment and a little encouragement will soon banish his fears,
especially if the noise of the explosion be only slight, which would be
desirable. When he will snap caps without hesitation a small charge of
powder may be tried. A heavy charge only makes a nuisance of the trick,
and should only be used when displaying before an audience; even then
the desirableness of such a proceeding is very questionable.

TO TEACH A HORSE TO DANCE.

A horse may be taught to dance thus: Fasten the animal with two
side-reins between the posts supporting the leaping bar. Take a whip,
and, as the music plays, gently touch him with it, using the “jik, jik,”
of the groom as you go on. The horse being tied to the posts can move
neither backward nor forward, but he will be induced to lift his legs
and thereby gain the rudimentary movement of his lesson. After a while
the teacher must mount on his back; the horse being fastened by the side
reins. Just when he is to raise his leg, a gentle pull must be given to
the rein at the proper side to help the movement. In course of time the
reins must be loosened, and the horse, if tolerably ready, will soon
learn to mark time, quick or slow, in answer merely to a slight jerk of
the bridle. The rider must then dismount, and coming before the horse,
teach him to dance, or keep time, with a wave of the hand, or by a pat
on the foot which he is wanted to lift.

It may be remarked here that, though the dancing horses at the circuses
appear to keep time with the music of the band, it is really, in most
cases, the band that accommodates its music to the movements of the
horse.

TO EAT AT TABLE.

An amusing scene often enacted in the ring is to have a horse seated on
his haunches before a table, while the clown obsequiously serves him. A
bell is attached to the table, so arranged that the horse can ring it by
pulling at a bit of rag, and as the horse is almost continually ringing
the bell, and the clown makes apparently frantic efforts to answer this
summons each time, while bringing in plates, etc., a vast amount of
laughter is usually created. The same instructions which we have given
in previous pages relative to sitting down, firing off the pistol, etc.,
will apply to this trick. It is usual, when the table is finally set,
for the clown to seat himself opposite the horse and pretend to share
his meal. As the food commonly consists of hay pies, with brown paper
crusts, the actual eating, we presume, is generally confined to the
horse, but the fun is much increased by the clown taking a huge mouthful
of hay, as though intensely hungry, and the horse then snatching it from
his mouth, and devouring it himself. This latter feat is a mere
modification of the kissing trick, where he takes the piece of apple
from the trainer’s mouth.

[Illustration: AN EQUESTRIAN EPICURE.]

TO TURN A HAND ORGAN.

This feat may be easily accomplished by the application of the plan
already described, which we may term the “pistol principle.” After the
horse has learned to take hold readily of anything offered to him, which
knowledge he will have acquired if he has already learned to perform the
tricks heretofore mentioned, the only additional instruction necessary
will be to initiate him into the mysteries of _turning_ the handle. When
he has taken hold of the handle, gently move his head so as to produce
the desired motion. If, when you let go of his head, he ceases the
motion, speak sharply to him and put his head again in motion. With
almost any horse a few lessons, and judicious rewards when he does what
is required, will accomplish the object, and he will soon both be able
and willing to grind out Old Dog Tray, or Norma, if not in exact time at
least with as much correctness as many performers on this instrument.
Some time since there was a horse connected with Franconi’s circus in
Paris, whose education had progressed finely until the organ was
reached, as it was in due course of time; this appeared to be the
stumbling block in his progress.

[Illustration: THE HAND ORGAN PERFORMANCE.]

It seems that the horse in question had already, under the lessons of
his master, developed an unusual degree of intelligence, his eyes in
particular becoming so full of expression that one could hardly doubt
that he understood very much of what was said to him. His master had
great hopes of him; he had been in training only a year, and he had
already learned to lie down and get up as ordered, to enact the dead
horse, to fire a pistol, and to give whichever of his fore hoofs was
asked for. At length the professor began the task of teaching this
promising pupil to turn a barrel organ; but either this particular
species of exercise was repugnant to his tastes, or the sound of the
organ was disagreeable to his ears. Certain it was that the animal,
usually so docile, was resolute in his refusal to touch the handle of
the barrel organ. His preceptor labored at this point for a month
without being able to vanquish the repugnance of the horse for the
object so constantly presented to his attention. Coaxing, caresses, and
the whip were employed in turn, and equally without success. On these
occasions the horse’s eyes expressed as clearly as though he had spoken
it in so many words the absolute determination not to touch the handle
of the organ. The trainer, though naturally of a violent temper, was
always patient and gentle with his equine pupil. Whenever he felt that
the obstinacy of the horse was on the point of getting the better of his
apparent calmness, he would leave the stable to give vent to his
irritation out of the sight or hearing of the animal. To those who
prophesied that the horse would never turn the handle of the organ, he
replied, “He shall turn or die.” At length, perceiving that he made no
progress in the work of vanquishing the animal’s obstinacy, he caused
the windows of the stable to be stuffed with hay and then boarded over,
so that not a ray of light was visible, and a couple of men, hired for
the purpose, beat a drum incessantly beside the animal’s stall,
relieving one another at stated intervals. The struggle was continued
for four days and nights, during which the professor returned to the
charge once every hour, presenting the handle of the organ to his
refractory pupil, renewing his command to the latter to take hold of it.

The neighborhood was beginning to threaten the trainer with a summons
before the police court, to answer to the charge of disturbing its
slumbers with the perpetual beating of the horrible drum, which the
unfortunate horse, comprehending at last that there was no other chance
of deliverance left to him, suddenly seized the handle of the organ with
his teeth and turned with all the little strength that was left to him.
Daylight was at once restored to the stable, the drummers were
dismissed, all possible caresses and the finest oats were lavished on
the now docile scholar, who never forgot the terrible lesson of his four
days struggle, but, whatever may have been the sentiments with which he
regarded the operation, never failed vigorously to turn the handle of
the barrel organ whenever the word of command was given.

TO FEIGN LAMENESS.

To teach a horse this trick requires a greater decree of labor and
perseverance than is necessary to instruct him in almost any other. So
wearisome is the task, and so long is the time required in its
accomplishment, that in ordinary cases it is not worth attempting. We
propose, however, in this little work to tell all that there is to be
told about our subject, even though most of our readers should find many
things impracticable in their own cases; and it is well worth while to
explain all these matters though it be only to gratify the curiosity
which is very naturally felt. An uninitiated person would probably be
entirely at a loss how to set about accomplishing this feat, and it is
doubtful whether he would succeed in discovering the secret of it
without assistance. The mystery is not such a very great matter after
all, and may be disclosed in a few words.

If you observe a really lame horse—if you haven’t any in your
neighborhood just visit New York and you will find some beautiful
specimens of the article—you will perceive that there is a constant
jerking or bobbing of his head, caused by his lowering it as he treads
upon the lame foot and raising it as he raises the foot again. Now the
_appearance_ of lameness is caused just as much by the motion of the
head as anything else, and a really sound horse, if he bobbed his head
as he lowered and raised a particular foot, would appear lame; in fact
he would actually go lame with this foot because the motion of his head
would compel him to tread more lightly on that than he did on the
others, exactly as in the case of the bona fide lameness. This is the
secret, and the trainer’s efforts are directed to producing this motion
of the head. To make a horse bob his head is a trifling matter, but to
make him do so every time he treads on one particular foot, and to do so
at the right moment, without hesitation or mistake, requires many weary
lessons, and a stock of patience equal to that popularly supposed to
have been possessed by the ancient Job.

Commence by taking the horse by the bridle, close to his mouth, and
walking him very slowly. Watch the foot with which you desire him to go
lame, and each time that it comes that foot’s turn to step, press the
horse’s head gently upward as he raises his foot, and downward as he
again places it on the ground. Let your motions be simultaneous with the
movement of the foot, proceeding so slowly that there is no danger of
becoming confused. By-and-by you may release your hold of the bridle and
make the motion with your hand, which he will soon obey. You may then
accompany the motion by any sound or word of command, and he will learn
finally to make the motion on hearing this sound.

A correspondent of an English journal lately described a pony in his
possession who in some way had picked up a knowledge of this trick and
applied it very acutely to his own advantage. The gentleman thus
describes the proceedings of the animal: “Whenever the pony had been
turned out to graze and was afterward brought up to be hitched into the
carriage, it invariably turned lame after going a few yards—so lame in
fact that I frequently turned back, being ashamed to drive an animal in
such apparent pain; I say apparent, because no sooner had the pony been
relieved of its harness than it used to canter around. The same pony
when brought from the stable would go perfectly well as long as it
wished, but when I drove it in any direction contrary to its inclination
it became lame immediately; as soon as its head was turned homeward the
lameness entirely disappeared.”

TO TEACH A HORSE TO WALK OVER YOU.

This trick is sometimes exhibited by persons desirous of displaying
either their own courage or the docility of their horses. There is a
natural aversion felt by horses, and indeed by most animals, to treading
on a living object. Few horses will, of their own accord, unless they
are under excitement, trample upon a child who may chance to be in the
way. Many instances are related of horses lifting infants from their
pathway and gently putting them down on one side, where they were out of
danger. It is therefore pretty safe to allow your horse to step over
you, while you lie upon the ground. To insure against accidents,
however, a little preliminary training is advisable. First, let an
assistant lead the horse over your legs while you are seated upon the
ground with those members extended. Then, after a few repetitions, lie
down at full length and let the assistant lead the horse over you in
various directions. Very soon the horse may be entrusted to walk over
you, merely guided by the snapping of your fingers in the direction you
desire him to go.

ORDINARY CIRCUS HORSES.

The common horses ridden by circus performers require some training
before they are available in the “circle,” though it is slight compared
with the instructions of the “trick” horses. The main thing is to break
them to trot evenly and steadily around the ring. They may be taught
this in an open field by attaching a line to the nose piece of the
halter, which line the trainer holds in his left hand while in his right
he has a long whip. Starting the horse, the trainer turns slowly as the
horse goes around; the line keeps the horse from going away from the
trainer in any direction and so forces him to go in a circle; the whip
is used to keep him at the proper distance from the man, and so preserve
always the same sized circle. The whip should be held on a level with
the horse’s shoulder and should be moved so as to accompany him around.
Subsequently the line may be removed and the horse will still follow the
circle pointed out by the whip, and increase or abate his speed to
correspond with its movements. The horse is then ready for the
rehearsals of the rider, and soon learns to preserve his pace unbroken,
regardless of the movements of the man upon his back.

[Illustration: BREAKING HORSE FOR THE “CIRCLE.”]

CHAPTER V.
THEATRICAL HORSES AND THE HORSE DRAMA.

The exact date at which horses were introduced upon the stage we are
unable to state. It is the custom with many writers to trace everything
back to the ancient Greeks or Romans and build up their subject from
this classic foundation; perhaps we might be able to do likewise were we
to try, but we prefer to be excused. Certain it is that for many years
such dramas as Mazeppa, Herne the Hunter, Putnam, and others of a
certain kind have maintained a steady popularity. At first the
characters of the heroes in these pieces were performed by males, and
their popularity depended upon the beauty and spirit of the horse, the
daring of the rider, and the general excellence of the drama—combats,
processions, and startling effects being always taking ingredients.
By-and-by, however, an adventurous rider of the other sex entered the
lists in competition with the gentlemen. Her success inspired others to
follow her example, until a dozen or more actresses were found
performing the various rôles of the “horse drama.”

In all these pieces the principal attraction, next to the lady rider, is
the performance of the horse, which, with very little variation, is
generally the same in all. At the back of the stage, crossing and
re-crossing it, and rising higher and higher at quite a steep
inclination, is a plank gangway, some two or three feet wide. This is
technically termed the “run,” and is supported by stout scaffolding,
which is hidden by the scenery. At each turn, which is concealed by the
“wings,” is a sort of platform to enable the horse to turn and to get a
fair position for making the next rush across. The scenery is usually
painted to represent mountains, and the canvas which conceals the run is
painted to resemble rocks. Ravines and other results of the skillful
scene painter’s talents often add to the seeming danger of the pass.
Usually a series of different plays are produced during the engagement
of the horse and rider, and the same run serves to represent the
mountains of Tartary in Mazeppa, the Yankee hills in Putnam, or the
natural elevations of any other portion of the world in which the scenes
of any particular play may chance to be located. At the proper moment
the horse dashes over precipices, rushing torrents, or fearful mountain
gorges, (all canvas of course), with his rider astride his back, or
strapped upon the “untamed steed,” as the stage business may require. To
enable the horse to climb or descend the run without slipping, small
pieces of sharpened steel are screwed into his shoes previous to his
coming upon the stage. When it is a man who is strapped upon the horse
he is usually merely secured by the waist, he holding the girth firmly
with his hands. When a woman performs the part it is customary to secure
her ankles as well, mainly for the purpose of keeping her _on top_ of
the horse should he by any accident fall. In playing Mazeppa the rider
is utterly helpless, and without this precaution serious and even fatal
injuries might be received. The gentlemen consider their muscle
sufficient to enable them to dispense with this care. Some years ago a
popular equestrian actress while performing in a western city met with a
fearful accident from having one of her feet free in order that she
might tickle the horse with her spur, to make him prance and curvette
before the audience. On leaving the stage the horse stumbled over some
stray scenery or other obstacle, and fell. Had the rider been lashed
according to custom on _top_ of the horse the only danger would have
been the risk of striking against some projection, for the horse could
not fall upon his back. As it was, her leg slipped under the horse as he
fell, and his weight coming suddenly upon it, the thigh was broken. It
is said that as she was conveyed to the boat the horse followed with
every appearance of sorrow, whinnying softly, as though striving to
express his sympathy. Many months after the accident, when the rider
mounted him for practice previous to resuming her profession, an
eye-witness related that it was really wonderful to see how gentle were
all the horse’s movements, and how, of his own accord, he would check
himself whenever his motion extorted the slightest cry of pain, almost
suppressed though it was, from his rider.

In these plays very little training is required by the horse. After the
ordinary breaking he is frequently exercised in going over the run.
Owing to the restricted space it is very difficult for the horse to
display any degree of speed, and as this is the main thing to be
accomplished, he is therefore taught to start _instantly_ at a rate
which an ordinary horse could not by any means attain within the
prescribed limits. We have seen Mazeppa played where the stage was so
small that while the horse’s tail was against the wall of the theater
his nose was barely prevented protruding beyond the scenes, previous to
his starting to rush before the audience, from an imaginary journey of
some score of miles. When he _did_ come before the public it was
difficult for them to see the whole of him at one time even with the
scenes run back as far as possible. How the poor animal managed to
travel over the diminutive run which was provided we cannot imagine, and
yet the sight from the body of the theater was quite respectable.

After ascending the run the horse and rider must remain high up in the
lofty region of the “floats” until a change of scene permits them to
descend unobserved, or the play requires their descent in public. A
perilous, and consequently attractive, feat has been introduced into
this play by one or two unusually reckless and daring riders, consisting
of an extension of the run around the gallery of the theatre. Over this
narrow road above the heads of the spectators, some hundred feet or more
from the ground, amid the glare or the lights, the banging of the
orchestra, and the thunders of the multitude, dashes the horse, bearing
in triumph “the sensation rider of the world.” A single misstep, the
displacement of a single plank in that frail support, and horse and
rider would lie a mangled mass below. And this is the very reason the
house is jammed with eager throngs—not that they wish the rider to meet
the horrible death thus courted night after night, but it is certainly
this _possibility_ which renders the performance so attractive. Playing
Mazeppa is not always the hight of felicity.

There is a story told of a horse who probably never had the honor of
figuring on either posters or play bills, which we think may be
appropriately recorded here. A traveler on a dark night presented
himself at the door of a country inn, and demanded lodging. The
landlord, after some general remarks, suddenly turned pale and asked his
guest by what road he had come. Upon being informed he almost fainted
with terror. On examination in the morning it was found that the horse
ridden by the traveler had walked with safety the string piece of a long
bridge, and maintained his footing on the single extended timber,
scarcely a foot wide. The planks of the bridge had been torn up for
repairs the day previous; a misstep of the sure footed animal would have
precipitated himself and rider into a chasm a hundred feet below.

In Mazeppa and similar plays the horse is “worked” by his trainer or
master who comes on the stage attired as one of the retinue or
attendants. In other pieces the rider himself manages the horse. These
horses are seldom used for any other purpose, as ordinary riding or
driving would make their mouths hard and render them less easily
controlled upon the stage. In the summer their shoes are taken off and
they are allowed a holiday in the country pastures. Mr. Collins, an
actor of considerable celebrity who played successfully all the range of
equestrian characters, and who trained several of the most popular
“star” horses, had a magnificent stallion of large size which was
probably the handsomest horse in the profession. He was a trifle too
large to display his speed to the best advantage in the theater, but on
the road, where Mr. C. occasionally displayed his points, there were few
animals who could contest the palm with him for speed. He was a fiery
fellow, and if annoyed would bite his tormentor fiercely, and few cared
to excite his anger. This was made a “point” of on the stage, Mr. C.
plaguing him a little unnoticed by the public, and the spirit the horse
displayed always “took” with the audience. Mr. C., however, found it
necessary to keep out of reach of the animal’s teeth, or even _his_
influence over the horse might not have preserved him from an
uncomfortable nip.

Years ago when horse dramas reigned in the Broadway theaters, as well as
in the less aristocratic locality of the Bowery, an enterprising manager
determined to bring out Herne the Hunter, “in the highest style of the
art.” A number of horses, circus men and innumerable supernumeraries
were engaged, and the piece produced under the most _horse-piece-cious_
circumstances. The eventful night arrived, the house was crammed. The
play progressed, people came on and off the stage, talked, raced,
shouted, went through traps, climbed canvas rocks, and indulged in all
the customary motions of a grand “spectacle.” There has always been a
natural feud between actors and circus folks. The ring people despise
those who can only “cackle,” (flash term for talk), while the stage
fellows say that folks who travel on their shape, and have no brains to
back them up, are contemptible. In those days there was even less good
feeling between the two professions than at present. The supes aspiring
to the dignity of “the stage” were more intense in their antipathy to
the riders than were the actors themselves, and being always ready for a
lark, some of them procured a lot of a peculiar kind of tinder which is
readily lighted and could be surreptitiously blown into a horse’s
nostrils without the culprit being detected. Suddenly in the midst of
the performance the horses became restive, and in a moment became
unmanageable. Some reared and kicked, some broke through the stage,
while others, trampling the foot lights under foot, plunged into the
orchestra. All was confusion. An actor advances to the foot lights and
assures the audience that they need feel no alarm—nothing of importance
is amiss—it is “all right.” At this very moment two horses are murdering
their riders in the orchestra. One of the men, literally impaled upon
the spikes around the railing, presents a sickening, horrifying,
spectacle as he writhes in his death agony. Of course the play was not
concluded; the audience departed shocked at the awful sight they had
witnessed, and the supes, who had intended no farther harm than a little
amusement at the expense of the circus men, now bitterly repented their
thoughtless folly. They did what they could to atone for trick by making
up a purse for the benefit of the families of the principal victims of
the unfortunate affair, but the horse drama had received its death blow
on Broadway.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VI.
BREAKING AND TRAINING MULES—PERFORMING AND “COMIC” MULES.

Mules appear fated to labor under an unfavorable and unenviable
reputation. Not only has that rather objectionable quality of
stubbornness been supposed to exist in their disposition to such an
undue degree as to give rise to the saying, “as stubborn as a mule,” but
this general reputation for intelligence is by no means first rate. That
the mule is by nature inclined to be rather stubborn is undoubtedly
true, but it is very questionable whether the wonderful displays of this
quality sometimes met with, are not actually as much due to the very
measures adopted to overcome the fault as to the natural disposition of
the animal. With proper treatment and a little judicious training the
objectionable features in a mule’s disposition might be easily remedied.

[Illustration: A LAZY CURE FOR LAZINESS.]

There is a clever invention attributed to a certain lazy Hindoo, for
overcoming the proverbial laziness of the mule. It appears that the man
was employed to oversee a mule working one of those primitive mills in
use to this day in India. The man seems to have been slightly inclined
toward laziness himself, and was anxious to contrive some plan which
would enable him to keep the mule in motion and monopolize all the
indolence himself. This he at last accomplished with the aid of a clever
device, shown in the accompanying illustration, which explains itself.
We give it as a curiosity in the “art of training animals,” without
vouching for its strict fidelity to the truth.

The following instructions are given by Mr. Riley, an experienced
authority, for breaking mules:

“In breaking the mule, most persons are apt to get out of patience with
him. I have got out of patience with him myself. But patience is the
great essential in breaking; and in the use of it you will find that you
get along much better. The mule is an unnatural animal, and hence more
timid of man than the horse; and yet he is tractable and capable of
being taught to understand what you want him to do. And when he
understands what you want, and has gained your confidence, you will, if
you treat him kindly, have little trouble in making him perform his
duty.

“In commencing to break the mule, take hold of him gently, talk to him
kindly. Don’t spring at him, as if he were a tiger you were in dread of.
Don’t yell at him; don’t jerk him; don’t strike him with a club, as is
often done; don’t get excited at his jumping and kicking. Approach and
handle him the same as you would an animal already broken, and through
kindness you will, in less than a week, have your mule more tractable,
better broken, and kinder than you would in a month, had you used the
whip. Mules, with very few exceptions, are born kickers. Breed them as
carefully as you will, the moment they are able to stand up, and you put
your hand on them, they will kick. It is, indeed, their natural means of
defense, and they resort to it through the force of instinct. In
commencing to break them, then, kicking is the first thing to guard
against and overcome. The young mule kicks because he is afraid of a
man. He has seen those entrusted with their care beat and abuse the
older ones, and he very naturally fears the same treatment as soon as a
man approaches him. Most persons entrusted with the care of these young
and green mules have not had experience enough with them to know that
this defect of kicking is soonest remedied by kind treatment. Careful
study of the animal’s nature, and long experience with the animal have
taught me that, in breaking the mule, whipping and harsh treatment
almost invariably make him a worse kicker. They certainly make him more
timid and afraid of you. And just as long as you fight a mule and keep
him afraid of you, just so long will you be in danger of his kicking
you. You must convince him through kindness that you are not going to
hurt or punish him. And the sooner you do this, the sooner you are out
of danger from his feet.”

PERFORMING MULES.

[Illustration: A “COMIC” MULE.]

Chief among circus attractions, especially in the eyes of the boys, are
the trick or “comic” mules. A couple of these animals are attached to
nearly every troupe, and quite a variety of tricks are performed by
them. The performance usually the most eagerly looked forward to, is
that reserved for the final part of the exhibition. The regular
performances being concluded, one of the mules is retained in the ring
and the ring-master invites some boy present among the audience to come
forward and take a ride—if he can. There are generally plenty of eager
respondents to this invitation, one of whom is permitted to enter the
ring. The ring-master leads the mule up to the boy as though to assist
him in mounting. If the boy is “green” he will probably be somewhat
astonished, as soon as the mule is brought near him, at having the pit
of his stomach made a target for the reception of the said mule’s heels.
If he has already seen a similar performance he will have anticipated
this little episode, which can always be calculated upon without fear of
disappointment. After many struggles the boy perhaps succeeds in
mounting the mule and then an amusing contest ensues between them—the
boy’s efforts being directed to maintain his hold, and the mule’s to
dislodge him. Running at full speed, the animal tries to throw his rider
by stopping suddenly, and if successful in this attempt, the boy is
either thrown head first among his companions, or, if he lands in the
ring, is chased out by the mule.

It is rarely that any one succeeds in maintaining his hold for more than
a few minutes, unless he is a capital rider, in which case he may be
able to master the animal; should this result be at all likely, the
ring-master will, on some pretext, interfere and select some less expert
rider from the audience. Finally an attaché of the circus, disguised as
a countryman, volunteers to ride the mule, and after considerable
caricature riding, and ridiculous posturing, he concludes the
performance.

Sometimes to enhance the interest in the affair a reward of five dollars
is offered to any one who will ride the mule three times around the
ring. This was usually done by Dan ——, a prominent circus manager. We
were present on one occasion when a big burly “rough” entered the ring
at Dan’s general invitation, to compete for the prize. The mule was
particularly spunky but he was finally forced to succumb, and
notwithstanding all Dan’s attempts to balk the rider, the mule was
ridden the requisite number of times around the ring. Lest any of our
readers should be led to cherish the delusion that _they_ might thus
earn a reward for displaying their mule breaking abilities, we may
mention that, in this case at least, the rider did _not_ receive the
money. The showman assured him that the offer was only in fun and
declined to hand over the amount. The rough thereupon “pitched in” and
administered a thrashing to the showman before he could be prevented. A
general fight was only averted by the exertions of the police. We
believe Dan, while he remained in that locality, did not repeat his
offer.

Very little special instruction is required for “comic mules.” The
kicking part of the performance may be taught according to the
instructions given for teaching horses the same act. The mule is allowed
with strangers to give full vent to all the natural viciousness of his
nature, and is encouraged therein. Toward his trainer, and those
connected with the establishment, such conduct is not allowed. He soon
learns from experience that the worst conduct toward boys in the ring is
meritorious, and being annoyed by their persistent efforts to ride him,
he resorts to every possible device, without requiring any instruction,
to get rid of his tormentors.

Another humorous scene sometimes enacted by the mules is a prize fight,
the principals being rigged up in costume and furnished with boxing
gloves, while two small donkeys are made to seat themselves and hold
sponges, as though personating the seconds. Sometimes this latter
character is assumed by the clown and ring-master, though it makes
little difference. The actions of the mules have a very slight
resemblance to a combat and the costumes make them look funny and
satisfy the audience. The training required is merely to make them stand
erect.

[Illustration: AN ASININE PRIZE FIGHT.]

Mules, though possessing less intelligence than horses, may be taught
many of the tricks which the latter perform, and the same instructions
will suffice for training them.

The sure-footedness of mules has enabled trainers to teach them, in
several cases, a very effective and showy trick—that of walking over a
number of empty bottles placed upright on a floor or platform. This feat
is always highly successful wherever performed, and it is really an
excellent one. The bottles used are large, stout porter bottles, which
will readily sustain a great weight if placed directly on top. To teach
the trick the bottles are at first secured in a platform composed of a
double thickness of planks, in the upper one of which holes are cut. In
these holes the bottles are placed; the bottoms resting on the lower
layer of planks, while the upper one holds them securely in place.

Before teaching this trick the animal is usually taught the ordinary
pedestal trick, as explained in a preceding chapter, as a preparatory
lesson. He will then more readily acquire the bottle feat. He is first
made to place one fore foot on top of a bottle’s neck, then the other
fore foot on another. Then the first foot is tapped with the whip to
make him raise it and advance it to the succeeding bottle; as he does
this his hind foot is struck gently to force him to place it on the
vacated bottle. Six or eight bottles are sufficient to commence with,
additions being made as the animal becomes proficient. When the trick is
learned it is unnecessary to secure the bottles in any way; if the mule
places his foot squarely on the top, as he should be made to do, there
is no danger of either breaking or upsetting them.

[Illustration: THE PORTER BOTTLE FEAT.]

There is a trick related of a couple of English costermongers, or
perambulating vegetable dealers, which is amusing if not of practical
value. These two worthies were in the habit of passing their donkey
through a Devonshire toll gate, on their return trip, free of charge, by
making him walk through on his hind legs, arm in arm with them, and
taking advantage of the twilight to represent him as a friend slightly
under the influence of liquor!

At the south, where mules are almost universally used for many purposes
for which horses are used at the north, the negroes are in the habit of
directing their movements in many cases entirely by the voice. The
animals of that section being as a rule more gently treated, are of a
better disposition than their northern brethren. The course of training
practiced by their stable masters is by no means systematic, but the
animals manage by some means to learn to understand and obey the far
from lucid commands. We have often been surprised to see how readily the
mules would detect the meaning of what, to our ears, was entirely
unintelligible. Probably practice had taught them what was required just
as the mules which convey travelers through the wild mountain passes of
Spain are reported to stop immediately upon hearing the hail of any of
the banditti who infest those regions—habitual experience of the customs
of those gentry having taught them to come to a stand still.

There is an amusing, though, possibly, not strictly authentic, story
told in connection with the performance of the pantomime of Humpty
Dumpty, some years ago, in this city. In this spectacle a small mule was
made to appear quite comically by the dexterity of his heels. During the
season the regular animal fell ill, and an amateur was substituted. When
one of the characters touched the new mule to make him kick, he began in
admirable style. He kicked off the fellow and kicked him twice before he
touched the boards. Then he ran toward several of the other dramatis
personæ, and kicked them. Every movable object on the stage, animate or
inanimate, he kicked off. Next he began on the scenery. He kicked down a
whole forest, three good sized cottages, a picturesque cascade, a
granite prison, a robber’s cave, a royal palace, the Rialto and Vesuvius
in eruption, and was about to attack the grand transformation scene from
Midsummer Night’s Dream, when a rope was thrown around his neck, and he
was dragged off by the whole strength of the company, assisted by all
the able bodied supernumeraries. The audience, many of whom supposed the
obstreperous mule part of the performance, were delighted at his energy,
and demanded with deafening plaudits, a repetition of the scene. The
uproar was so great that the manager came out and said that an
intermission of fifteen minutes would be given to enable some of the
actors to recover the breath that the active mule had kicked out of
them, and pledged his honor that the brute should never make another
appearance on the Olympic stage. At this the audience roared louder than
ever, and for nearly half an hour the performance was suspended by the
universal guffaw. Every night afterward while the piece ran, the kicking
mule was called for, and the manager of the theater it is said, in
consequence, had to insert an advertisement in the daily papers, stating
that the animal was mysteriously knocked in the head the same night of
his highly successful débût.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VII.
SOME HINTS FOR FARMERS—MANAGEMENT AND TRAINING OF ANIMALS ON THE
FARM—SOME EVILS AND HOW TO REMEDY THEM—GOOD TRAINING VS. BAD.

Farmers would find it of great advantage to pay more attention to the
education of their domestic animals. Many things may be taught them
without any appreciable trouble, which will prove not only convenient,
but profitable in the saving of time and labor that may be effected. For
instance, any animal on the farm may be taught to come on being called,
instead of requiring to be hunted for and chased home whenever wanted.
All that is necessary is to give him some dainty as a reward, each time,
and the thing will be accomplished almost before you are aware of it. By
giving each animal a particular name and calling him by that, you teach
each individual to come to you when wanted, and if you reward only the
one you call, the others will soon learn to come only when desired. This
custom is observed with the sheep in Greece; the shepherd has only to
call any one he wants, and the animal will instantly leave its pasturage
and its companions and run to the hand of the shepherd, with every token
of pleasure. Those which have not learned their name are called “wild,”
while the others are termed “tame.”

Animals cannot associate with man without learning _something_. Many of
those habits and tricks which farmers deplore in their stock, are due to
the _unintentional_ training that has been given the animals. If your
stock run from you, appear to dread your presence and can never be made
to stand quietly, perhaps this state of things may be accounted for if
you reply candidly to the question whether they have not been accustomed
to tormenting or annoyance, and so taught to be wild. No wonder there is
complaint of cows being unquiet, when the habit is so general of pelting
them with stones, or punching them with sticks, while driving home to
milk.

How often instead of attempting to teach the animals proper behavior do
we see an apparently contrary course adopted? The “American Stock
Journal” has some sensible remarks on this subject:

“We find many persons, when turning stock into or out of pasture,
instead of letting down all the bars, leaving two or three of the lower
rails in their place; and then, by shouting or beating, perhaps, force
the animals to leap over. This is capital training, the results of which
are seen in the after disposition of animals to try their powers of
jumping where a top rail happens to be off, and this accomplished, to
set all fences at defiance, and make a descent upon the corn or grain
field, as their inclination, ability or hunger may prompt them. Another
good lesson is to open a gate but a little way, and then, as in the case
of the bars, force the cattle forward, and by threats and blows compel
them to pass through it. The result of this teaching is shown in the
determined spirit manifested by some cattle to make a forcible entry
into the stable, yards, fields, or in fact, to almost every place where
a gate or door may, by accident, be left slightly open. A western farmer
says he makes it a rule whenever cattle are made to pass a fence,
whether through bars or ‘slipgap,’ to leave one rail for them to pass
under. This gives them a downward tendency, and lessens their
inclination to jump or look upward, as they are sure to do when a lazy
attendant throws down a part of the rails, and makes them vault the
rest. Cattle may be taught to go over any fence by the careful training
they often get for this end, performed as follows: First, starve them or
give them poor feed, which will make them light and restless. As soon as
they go over the lowest part of the fence after better provender, make
them jump back again, and put on one more rail, saying, ‘I guess that
will keep them out.’ Next day, (of course they will be in mischief
again) repeat the process, adding another rail; in a short time they
will take care of themselves, and harvest the crops without charge.”

That gentleness and good treatment will subdue even naturally unamiable
dispositions in animals, is shown by the example of the bulls intended
for the bull fights at Havre during the marine exhibition in 1868. The
bulls, selected for their ferocity on the plains of the Guadalquiver,
were so kindly treated by the railway servants during their journey
across Spain and France, that, on arriving at their destination, they
had become perfectly tame and could not be induced to fight. The
sight-seers were obliged to solace themselves with a regatta in lieu of
their anticipated combat.

It may be interesting here to refer briefly to the proper management of
bulls. There has been some discussion as to whether or not it is
advisable to use bulls for purposes of draught. The advocates of the
plan consider that a bull should do _some_ labor and that exercise would
be beneficial. The opponents say that the main object of keeping bulls
is to breed, and that exhaustive labor would impair the vigor of the
descendants. Though the latter is probably the true case bulls should be
exercised in the open air if it is desired to keep them in health and
vigor. They should always have a ring inserted through the nose that
they may be held in control, but they should never be tied up by
anything attached to this ring. Always use a rope tied around the horns;
a sudden jerk is very apt to tear the ring from the nose. Never fool
with bulls, and beware of trusting yourself in their power. They are
subject to sudden fits of fierceness, when any defenceless person is
liable to be horribly destroyed.

One of the most important duties on the farm is the breaking of steers.
It is best to begin with them as calves, and let the boys play with
them, and drive them tied or yoked together, taking care they are not
abused. When a pair of old steers are to be put together and broken to
the yoke, or a pair of bulls, as not unfrequently happens, it is usually
best to yoke them, and _tie their tails together_, in an extempore
stall, in a well fenced yard, and then turn them loose in the yard,
which should not be large enough for them to run in and get under much
headway. If the tails are not tied together they will frequently turn
the yoke, which is a very bad habit. After half a day’s association, the
lesson of “gee up!” and “whoa!” may be inculcated—and when well learned,
probably the next day, “haw” and “gee.” The daily lesson should be given
after they have stood yoked a while. They should not be taken from the
yard until they have become used to the yoke, and are no longer wild and
scary, as they are apt to be at first. Each day all previous lessons
should be repeated. Put them before an ox-sled or a pair of cart wheels
at first, rather than to a stone boat, as they are apt to step on the
chain, and that frightens them. All treatment should be firm but mild,
and no superfluous words should be employed.

As regards training heifers, a Pennsylvania farmer who has trained and
milked heifers for more than fifty years, and never has any trouble
about their jumping, kicking, or running, gives the following as his
secret: “When I intend to raise a heifer calf for a milch cow, I always
raise it by hand, and when feeding, frequently handle it by rubbing it
gently over the head and neck until it becomes tame and gentle. The
rubbing is begun at the first feeding with milk, and continued until I
quit feeding it; I never afterward have any trouble about milking them.”

CHAPTER VIII.
DOGS IN GENERAL—WATCH DOGS—THE SHEPHERD’S DOG.

Among all the animals the dog seems preëminently intended by nature for
the companion and friend of man. Even the instinctive passions all
animals have for their own kind appear to be in a measure sacrificed to
human influence, for the dogs often care more for the society of man
than for that of their own kind. Not only is the dog a trusty and
valuable friend and associate of man, but the companionship between the
human and the canine races developes in the latter many of those noble
qualities not possessed under other circumstances. The Turks look upon
the dog with abhorrence, and almost universally in the East he is an
outcast from human society. The consequence is that all his good
qualities are lost; he is no longer the faithful companion, ready to
defend his master with his life, but on the contrary, he is deceitful,
bloodthirsty, and as unlike the more favored dog of other countries as
it is possible to imagine.

WATCH DOGS.

Many kinds of dogs are used as watch dogs, and where all that is
required of them is a notification of nightly intruders, and the
awakening of the household, perhaps the species used is of comparatively
little consequence. Where the dog is intended to act as a defender as
well as a sentinel, strength and courage are important requisites. With
many the bull dog is a favorite for this purpose. Though the least
intelligent of his species his unflinching and unconquerable courage
renders him a terrible opponent. So utterly without intellect is his
courage, however, that no consideration of his foe’s powers deters him
from attacking the most formidable thing that gives offense. Striking
examples of this quality are displayed in England in what are termed
“bull baits,” exhibitions whose cruelty and brutality are scarcely
excelled in the customs of any other country. In these bull baits the
dog, while fastened to the nose of some unfortunate bull, has had one
leg after another cut off with a knife to test his courage. So
persistent is the dog in maintaining his hold that the most frightful
mutilation will not compel him to relinquish it until his strength is
exhausted from loss of blood; he has been known to die from this inhuman
hacking with his death grip firmly holding the bull.

Probably the best watch dog is the mastiff. Capable of great attachment
to his master, he unites strength with intelligence, and, while
implacable toward intruders, toward members of his master’s family he is
docile and gentle. His hearing is remarkably acute, for he can detect
the difference between a familiar and a strange footstep, however light
it may be.

THE SHEPHERD’S DOG.

The rapid increase in the importance of sheep husbandry in this country
will soon direct attention to the value of proper dogs for assisting in
their management and protection. There are several different breeds used
for this purpose, varying in different countries with their several
local requirements. In Spain the Pyrenean, or St. Bernard’s dogs, are
found valuable to accompany the large merino flocks on their annual
migrations to the mountains, as a protection against the wolves
infesting the Pyrenees. In Spain, too, the mastiff is highly prized, an
improved, large breed, with strong feet, short hair and slightly pointed
nose, being much in use.

A gentleman of Delaware gave, some years ago, the following account of a
shepherd’s dog of the Spanish breed in his possession:

“The dog is three times as large as the shepherd’s dog described by
Buffon, but is endowed with the same good qualities: immense strength
and great mildness in his usual deportment, though ferocious toward
other dogs. I can say, without exaggeration, that at least twenty dogs
have been killed in my barnyard, or on my farm, by my dog Montague. His
dimensions are three feet eleven inches from his eyes to the root of his
tail, and two feet eight inches high over the shoulders. He is a fine
animal, _entirely white_. I prefer that color in recollection of the
story of old Jacob. In fact, I had formerly a black dog, and many of my
lambs were born black. Since I have had Montague and his mother I have
very few black lambs. The natural instinct of this animal is to guard
your sheep against wolves and dogs. No other training is required, but
to keep them constantly with your flock, the moment they are from the
litter, until they are grown.”

What is commonly known as the shepherd’s dog is a smaller breed, seldom
more than two feet high. Those in France are usually black with white
touches on breast, face, legs, etc.; with sharp head and nose, and with
a countenance full of alertness and intelligence. In Great Britain,
particularly in Scotland, the colors of the shepherd’s dog are more
mixed with shades of red and brown; or black dogs with sharp ears,
turning down at the tips. The Scotch breed, or colley, is a light and
active one, probably the best adapted for those portions of our own
country where there is no danger from wild animals. It is pretty
extensively diffused in the United States and British America, and is
very useful to the farmer, shepherd or drover.

[Illustration: SCOTCH COLLEY, OR SHEPHERD’S DOG.]

The Mexican shepherd’s dog is doubtless a descendant of the Spanish ones
introduced at the time of the conquest, and is a marvel of fidelity and
intelligence. In training these dogs the method is to select from a
multitude of pups a few of the healthiest and finest looking, and to put
them to a sucking ewe, first depriving her of her own lamb. By force, as
well as from a natural desire she has to be relieved of the contents of
her udder, she soon learns to look upon the little interlopers with all
the affection she would manifest for her own natural offspring. For the
first few days the pups are kept in the hut, the ewe suckling them
morning and evening only; but gradually, as she becomes accustomed to
their sight, she is allowed to run in a small enclosure with them, until
she becomes so perfectly familiar with their appearance as to take
entire charge of them. After this they are folded with the whole flock
for a fortnight or so; they then run about during the day with the
flock, which after a while becomes so accustomed to them, as to be able
to distinguish them from other dogs—even from those of the same litter
which have not been nursed among them. The shepherds usually allow the
slut to keep one of a litter for her own particular benefit; the balance
are generally destroyed. After the pups are weaned, they never leave the
particular drove among which they have been reared. Not even the voice
of their master can entice them beyond sight of their flock; nor can
hunger or thirst.

A remarkable example of the intelligence of these dogs is displayed when
two flocks approach within a few yards of each other; their respective
protectors will place themselves in the space between them, and as is
very naturally the case, if any adventurous sheep should endeavor to
cross over to visit her neighbors, her dog protector kindly but firmly
leads her back, and as it sometimes happens, it may make a rush and
succeed in joining the other flock, the dogs under whose charge they are
go over and bring them all out, but strange to say, under such
circumstances they _are never opposed by the other dogs_. They approach
the strange sheep only to prevent their own from leaving the flock,
though they offer no assistance in expelling the other sheep. But they
_never permit_ sheep not under canine protection, nor dogs not in charge
of sheep, to approach them. Even the same dogs which are so freely
permitted to enter their flocks in search of their own are driven away
with ignominy if they presume to approach them without that laudable
object in view.

The English sheep dog, or drover’s dog, is a _tailless_ animal, larger,
coarser, and stronger than the colley. It is very easily trained and is
very well adapted for working among cattle, keeping the herd from
straggling when on the road or the prairie, and acting as an aid to the
farmer in the management of his flocks and herds. One of this breed was
used by an American farmer to drive home his cows. It was only necessary
to tell him it was time to bring the cows, and he would scour the farm
and bring them from all parts safely into the yard. On the prairies such
dogs would be of great use.

A careful, well tempered shepherd never allows his dog to harass or
worry the sheep. He walks his regular rounds quietly, the dog following
at his heels, appearing to take no notice of the sheep, and they almost
unconscious of his presence. Should anything occur in which the aid of
the dog is needed, he is at hand to perform the will of his master. If
the sheep break through a fence into forbidden ground, one word from the
shepherd is enough, the dog drives them back without causing much alarm.
If a sheep breaks away from the flock, the dog is not allowed to bite
it; he is taught to run before it and bark, in order to drive it back to
its place.

A dog which has been properly trained will be continually on the look
out for stray sheep, and will, of his own accord, visit those parts of
the pastures where the fences are weakest, and where ditches or ravines
exist, into which the sheep may be in danger of falling. Heavy sheep,
with large fleeces, will sometimes lie on their backs for a whole day or
night, being unable to get up. When in this position, instances have
occurred of their eyes being picked out either by ravens or carrion
crows. They are all subject to the attacks of dogs and foxes. A well
trained shepherd’s dog will find sheep that are in this position, and
attract attention to them.

Well trained dogs will not annoy ewes with lambs, nor show any signs of
irritation when assaulted by the ewe for the protection of her young.
They keep at a respectable distance from quarrelsome rams, not
considering it to be any part of their business to fight with them. They
are very watchful at night, especially during the lambing season,
guarding the lambs from the attacks of foxes and dogs and all other
intruders.

In training a young shepherd’s dog, the services of a well trained,
experienced dog will be almost indispensable. The ardent temperament of
the young dog must be subdued, and there is no better mode of doing so
than by compelling him to accompany a well trained dog and imitate his
actions. A long line in the hands of the trainer, attached to a collar
or belt on the neck of the young dog is generally necessary in the
training process. With the aid of this contrivance the dog may be
perfectly subdued, and made to obey all the commands of the trainer. He
can be taught to “go away,” “come back,” “come in front,” “come behind,”
“bark,” “lie down,” “be quiet,” “get over the fence,” “slop them,”
“bring them back,” and every other evolution in the field exercise of
the sheep dog. The training should commence when the pup is five or six
months old. The older the animal is, the more difficult will it be to
train him.

The shepherd’s dog of any of the breeds we have mentioned, has a natural
inclination for working among sheep, but he may be spoiled by improper
management, and then he becomes an enemy to the flock instead of a
protector. A cross between the mastiff, bull dog or cur, and the
shepherd’s dog, produces a mongrel which has an insatiate thirst for the
blood of the sheep, and can scarcely be restrained from destroying them.
The shepherd’s dog should be full blood, anything less is worse than
useless. Dogs even of the best breeds may be spoiled by neglect or
mismanagement in the training. The shepherd must himself treat the sheep
with gentleness if he desires the dog to do so; the dog will act as his
master does.

CHAPTER IX.
SPORTING DOGS AND THEIR MANAGEMENT AND TRAINING.

The pointer and the setter are the two universally recognized dogs for
hunting game birds. As to which of the two is the better variety
authorities differ, and much depends upon circumstances. For hot
climates the pointer has more endurance than the setter, but he is also
more tender and would suffer in a cold climate. Pointers do not require
so careful training, and with sportsmen who are, as is the case with
many, loose in their manner of training, a pointer will be a passably
well behaved dog where, with the same laxity, a setter would be utterly
worthless. As the value of a dog in hunting depends in such a great
degree upon his proper understanding of the work in hand, and his prompt
and faithful execution of the duties incumbent upon him, too much pains
cannot be taken with his training.

PRELIMINARY TRAINING.

The education of sporting dogs should begin in earliest puppyhood.
Unless they are early taught obedience, it will be difficult to overcome
this neglect by after training. His first lesson may be given with the
aid of a piece of beef placed before him on a plate. Naturally he will
evince an eagerness to obtain it. Prevent his doing so, by gently
tapping him upon the head, at the same time cry, “toho!” By repeating
this word each time you check his eagerness, he is taught to associate
the slap with the word and to stop when the word is used. This makes the
“point.” In a few moments after you must cry, “hie on,” and allow him to
seize the meat. “Steady” is the next lesson, and consists in allowing
him slowly to approach the plate as you keep repeating the word at short
intervals. When near the plate cry, “toho,” and never allow him to reach
the meat until you give the command, “hie on!” When you wish him to
break his point but not to “pitch in” to the meat, the command, “close
on” should be used. Before he reaches the plate, cry, “toho,” and then,
“hie on;” when he has pointed, by “close on” he must understand that he
is to move cautiously, and this he is taught by the oft repeated command
of “steady.” All these commands may be taught with patience, and
patience is absolutely necessary. No harshness should be used, and no
new lesson should be attempted until the old one is fully mastered. You
should always feed the dog yourself.

When the preceding lessons are thoroughly acquired, “charge” may be
taught. Gently force him down as you give the command, extend his fore
paws and gently place his head between them. Each time he moves, tap him
lightly and repeat the command. No more force should be used than is
absolutely requisite. Practice him frequently by crying,
“charge—charge,” with your hand upraised, and forcing him into the
desired position. To make him rise, you should cry, “hie up,” and gently
raise him. Repeat these instructions until they are fully understood and
readily obeyed, doing a little each day, but doing that thoroughly.

To retrieve is the next lesson to be taught. An old glove or other soft
substance should be used, and after allowing the pup to play with it,
toss it from you and he will rush to get it. Call him to you after he
has got it, and take it from him, rewarding him with caresses and kind
words. Repeat this plan using the command, “hie fetch,” when you wish
him to go, and “come in,” when you wish him to return. By using the
command, “come in,” on all occasions when he is a little distance from
you—when you call him to feed him—etc., he will learn to obey it. Hooper
in his excellent work[1] gives the following directions for teaching a
dog to retrieve: “Begin by placing your glove within his mouth, making
him retain it; if he rejects it, replace it, gently correcting him,
crying, ‘fetch! fetch!’ After he understands the meaning of the word
fetch you may let him accompany you in a walk, in some quiet place.
Whenever he drops the glove you must gently and encouragingly replace
it, crying, ‘fetch! fetch!’ If he rejects it the lash must be used, but
sparingly. If you study the disposition of your dog and manage properly,
he will soon perfectly understand you, and gaily and happily gambol
alongside of you, seldom dropping his charge, and if he should, he will
only need the words, ‘hie fetch! fetch!’ to make him bound back with
eagerness to regain the lost glove. You may now take the glove, cast it
from you, and tell him to ‘hie, fetch!’ He will immediately return with
the glove. You may now let him see you drop the glove, walk off thirty
or forty yards, wave your hand in the direction of the glove, and cry,
‘hie, fetch!’ He will of course regain the glove. After practising him
at this often, you may drop the glove unobserved by him. He will soon
follow your track for a considerable distance for a lost article, by
receiving the command, ‘hie, fetch!’ You may now give the glove to
another person to hide, first permitting the dog to see it in his
possession, and he will be almost certain to find it, if it is at all
accessible. In your first lessons be careful to place the glove where
your dog will be certain to find it—not too far off.”

Footnote 1:

DOG AND GUN.—Price thirty cents, post paid. An interesting and useful
work for every amateur sportsman.

[Illustration: THE SETTER.]

He should also be taught to follow closely on at the sportsman’s heel
when they are out together; this may be done by saying, “back, back!”
and striking him gently with the whip when he attempts to press forward.
Any hunting dog may be taught to retrieve notwithstanding the complaints
some sportsmen make to the contrary. Great patience is required to teach
the dog, but the result of careful training amply compensates for the
trouble. Hooper recommends that, after the dog has learned the preceding
lessons, he be made to practice them often, playing with a ball.

LESSONS IN THE FIELD.

After the dog has been thoroughly drilled in the preliminary exercises
we have described, it will be necessary to teach him their practical
application. Much of the future value and usefulness of the dog depends
upon his first day’s shooting and the manner in which he is initiated
into the sport. We again avail ourselves of Mr. Hooper’s instructions
for managing him the first day he is taken out:

“When you observe Dash more excited than usual, you may reasonably
expect a bevy near. They will not probably be far off, as he has not
become accustomed to the familiar and welcome scent that will enable him
to wind them at a distance. Now comes the trying hour for master and
pupil. The former should be perfectly cool, and should consider the
killing of game a secondary affair—let him give his attention to Dash.
The dog seems too eager for the scent—you cry ‘steady! steady!’—if he is
apparently near the game, and you are afraid he will flush, you cry
‘toho!’ You approach and find the quail do not raise—you tell him to
close on, which he does by moving rather rapidly—you check him by crying
‘steady! steady!’ he points, ‘toho!’ You now approach and flush the
bevy; be sure you bring down one bird, and it will be well that you only
fire one barrel, that you may have more time to look after Dash, who of
course scampers after the whirring bevy. You immediately cry ‘toho! come
in!’—on, on he goes; in his wild excitement he disregards your will
entirely. You now use your whistle. By this time the birds are out of
sight (but you, of course, have marked them), and he is running helter
skelter. You must soon get hold of his collar, drag him rather roughly
back to where he pointed—lashing him slightly—and make him ‘charge,’ and
keep his position until you reload; after which you will take him to
where your bird has fallen—indicate the place with your hand, crying
‘hie, fetch! fetch! fetch!’ From his previous lessons he will know that
you wish him to look for something, and his nose will soon tell him what
it is. Do not let him mouth or toy with it, or he will soon get in the
habit of roughly mouthing your game, than which I scarcely know a worse
habit.

“You may now rest for a short time, that the bevy may get over their
fright; after which they will be more easily found, for if they have
been very much frightened, they will not give out sufficient odor to
enable your pupil to point well, and he may consequently flush them,
thereby doing great harm. You cannot do better than to spend your time
in repeating your house training with the dead quail: casting it from
you, telling him to ‘close on! steady! charge! hie on! fetch!’ Cast it
some distance unobserved—waft your hand in the proper direction, and
tell him ‘hie, fetch! fetch! fetch!’ After a short time has elapsed, you
may take Dash to where you have marked the birds. When near the birds,
keep Dash near you, that he may be the more easily controlled. If he
seem too eager he only needs the command of ‘steady!’ to control him.
Let the command be in rather an undertone—never get into the snobbish
habit of _bawling_ at your dog. Apart from its being an ungentlemanly
habit, it frightens the quail more or less, and they will not lie so
well to the dog. Ha! but Dash has _come_ down to a point most
beautifully, ‘toho!’ You carefully approach, flush and shoot the bird,
and immediately give your attention to the dog, crying ‘charge!’ in a
strong and emphatic tone; if he breaks, get hold of his collar as soon
as possible and lash him, and at the same time drag him to his ‘point’
and make him ‘charge’ and keep his position until you reload. You then
cry ‘hie up,’ make friends with him, and cast him off—he soon points
again. You manage to get very near the dog, and when you fire,
immediately cry ‘charge!’ and it would be well to accompany ‘the word
with a blow,’ at this juncture. You make him charge, reload, cry ‘hie
up,’ indicate the point where the bird has fallen, and command him to
‘hie fetch!’ You cast him off again, and _always_ manage to control him
after you fire—_never, never_ suffering him to break shot without
feeling the lash. Remember this is the most critical time for yourself
and dog. Never suffer yourself to become excited; do not for some time
fire more than one barrel, that you may sooner give your attention to
Dash, and you will accomplish much if you can be near enough to Dash to
give him the lash as he first springs from the point, at the same time
crying ‘charge!’ If you do not suffer yourself to become excited, and
lose sight of your dog after your shot, you will soon have him drop at
the report of the gun; but rest assured, if you let him have his own way
a few times, in your eagerness to secure game, you will rue it for many
a day to come. You cannot have this fact too strongly impressed upon
yourself. If you control him _from the first_, your object will be
attained. If Dash evinces unusual perverseness in this, it will be well
to make him ‘charge’ while on a ‘point.’ Even should he see a dead bird
fall, he should not retrieve without permission.”

It is a maxim in hunting never to allow a dog to run ahead of another in
a point, but either to make him back, or come in to heel. Besides the
danger of flushing your game, it would be permitting an unfair advantage
to be taken of the dog doing his duty in the lead, of both which a dog
of nice sensibility will show himself to be conscious. It happened, some
years since, that a party was out, near Old Point Comfort in Virginia,
with a fine pointer belonging to Mr. A——. A small terrier had
accompanied them, and whenever the pointer would take his stand, the
terrier would rush by him, and put up the birds. Repeating this
vexatious, ungentlemanly conduct several times, the pointer was seen to
grow impatient. At last having found another bevy, as the terrier
attempted to pass him, the pointer seized him, and placing his fore paws
on him, held him fast, growling to keep him quiet, and maintaining his
point until the sportsmen came up.

WATER DOGS.

The Newfoundland is unquestionably the water dog par excellence, and
probably the best individuals of the variety are the celebrated dogs
used for duck shooting on the margin of Chesapeake Bay and commonly
called the Chesapeake Bay Water Dog. These animals being derived from
ancestors of pure breed, and the constant training from generation to
generation having caused the transmission of their excellent qualities
in increased measure to each successive generation, are probably
unrivalled by any other in their particular forte. Owing to thoughtless
and injudicious mixing of breeds a true Newfoundland is rarely seen.
Although the purer the breed the better water dog he will be, yet many
dogs of mixed breeds possessing considerable Newfoundland blood, make
excellent dogs for ordinary aquatic sporting.

On breeding the water dog little need be said, for, like Dogberry’s
reading and writing, his education “comes by nature.” In his infancy he
may be taught to bring a glove and lay it down at your feet as he should
do; and, by practice, the comprehension and fulfillment of his various
duties will soon follow. He will be found, with judicious encouragement
and exercise of authority, more docile than a child. They have been
known at four months old to fetch a duck, but lest the constitution be
impaired, they should not be put too early at hard service.

“Canton,” a celebrated Newfoundland, owned by Dr. Stewart, of Sparrow’s
Point—a great sportsman in his day—was noted for a number of remarkable
feats in securing “canvas backs” on the Chesapeake. She surpassed her
species generally in unrivalled devotion to the water, and to the sport
of ducking, as carried on by the doctor’s colored man, Varnell, with his
murderous swivel gun. Her patience and endurance were almost incredible.
She was the heroine of many desperate encounters with wounded swans,
often pursuing them for miles, and many were her exploits among rotten
and floating ice, in pursuit of wounded ducks, sometimes, in fogs and
darkness. On one occasion she brought out twenty-two or twenty-three
ducks, all killed or wounded by Varnell at a single shot. A good deal of
time was lost in pursuing these wounded ducks, and at the close of this
pursuit, it being then dark, Varnell gave up the slut as lost, so many
hours had she been engaged in bringing out her game; but after Varnell
had sorrowfully turned his face homeward, she overtook him with one or
two ducks in her mouth; and the old doctor stated that he remembered
Varnell saying that at one time, when she was most fatigued, she climbed
on a cake of floating ice, and after resting herself on it, renewed the
pursuit of the ducks.

CHAPTER X.
ORDINARY TRICKS PERFORMED BY DOGS.

Every dog who has the good or ill fortune to be a member of civilized
society is usually fated to undergo a more or less systematic education
“in the way he should go.” This education may be either in the primitive
style illustrated by the administration of a vigorous kick accompanying
the command “get out,” to teach the dog to leave you, or the more
elaborate training which culminates in the production of a canine
prodigy. The capacity for education in dogs varies much with different
varieties, and even with individuals of the same variety. While some are
taught with the greatest difficulty, others display a wonderful aptitude
for learning, and acquire a proficiency which is often really
surprising. Whether it is proposed to educate the animal as much as his
capacity will admit of, or merely to teach him the things necessary for
common convenience, the first thing is

TO TEACH HIM HIS NAME.

If a dog has any particular name by which he is usually addressed, he
will in time learn to answer to it. With a little system, however, he
will learn much sooner than otherwise, and where there are several dogs
it is a good plan to make each know his own distinctive title
thoroughly, and to respond promptly to it. This will render your
intercourse with, and your management of them, both easier and
pleasanter. It may be accomplished by a very simple process. When you
feed them, call each one by name to his food. If any of the others come
forward, send them back. By dividing the food into small morsels and
calling each dog in turn to receive his piece, always insisting that
_he_ and no other shall receive it, considerable of a lesson may be
derived from each meal. When convenient take them out to walk, being
careful to provide yourself with a few crackers or a piece of bread.
Allow the dogs to ramble about at their pleasure, and whenever you
choose call some particular one by his name; when he comes to you reward
him with a piece of cracker. By-and-by call some other one, and continue
the plan at your discretion. At the end of ten or a dozen lessons they
will have pretty well learned their names, and come at your call. If you
have only one dog, the plan would be about the same.

TO LEAP.

This is very a simple trick and easily taught. A line or pole may be
extended from any convenient supports, just so high that the dog cannot
_step_ over. Take your station on one side of this barrier with a supply
of bread or cracker. By the offer of a small piece induce him to
approach as near as possible to the line or pole, keeping the tid-bit
close to his nose, but raised a trifle above it. Now, with a sudden
movement, extend your hand beyond the barrier, crying at the same
moment, “hip,” or any other quick, inspiring exclamation. Eager to get
the tempting morsel he will leap over, and the same proceeding may be
repeated once or twice, when he should be rewarded with the bait he has
been striving for. After a few repetitions he will probably leap over at
a motion of the hand and the word of command. He should always be
rewarded for obeying, and it is well to have a light switch with which
to give him a gentle cut should he attempt to run under, which he should
never be permitted to do. The hight of the barrier may be increased
gradually from day to day, taking care never to over-task his powers.
With practice many dogs acquire the ability of making very creditable
leaps. We had an old dog who had been attached to a circus in his youth,
and had been rather “fast” in his proclivities. Not being content to
settle down to the quiet peacefulness of a back-yard existence, which he
probably considered rather slow, he was in the habit of leaping over a
fence at least ten feet high and plentifully studded with spikes, that
he might indulge in a nightly canine spree with other festive dogs of
his acquaintance.

When the dog leaps readily over a bar, a hoop may be held in the hand
and the same system pursued. The hoop may be gradually lessened in size
until the dog finally leaps through one hardly bigger around than his
own body, but to do this the trainer must display some skill in
conforming the motions of the hoop to those of the dog as he passes
through.

TO WALK ERECT.

[Illustration: WALKING ERECT.]

Hold a bone or other like temptation a little above the dog’s nose, but
not so high as to lead him to jump to get it. As he reaches for it raise
it so as to induce him to rise up on his hind feet, saying as you do so,
“up, up!” When he reaches the proper stand-point, let him remain there a
moment or two and then let him have the bone. Soon he will stand up on
your merely holding your hand in the position described and saying, “up,
up.” Then he may be taught to walk in this position by slowly moving the
bone or your hand slightly in advance. These exercises should not be
tediously prolonged, especially at first, for the position is an
unnatural and very fatiguing one to the animal. After he thoroughly
understands what is required of him you may check any attempt he may
make to regain his natural position before you are willing, by a gentle
tap under the chin or under the fore paws.

TO DANCE.

A dog is generally considered sufficiently accomplished in this
“graceful and agreeable art” when he has learned to hop around on his
hind legs, and to keep turning completely around at short intervals.
There are several modes of arriving at this result, the most simple of
which is, probably, to take a long switch, after the dog has learned to
stand erect, and to this switch attach a piece of meat. With this you
can trace out in the air, in tempting proximity to his nose, the figures
you wish him to take, and you may depend upon his instinct leading him
to follow the motions of the switch. This may seem rather an absurd plan
for initiating your pupil into the mysteries of the ball-room, but it is
nevertheless one of the most effective that can be devised. The dog
should be rewarded with the meat after he has danced enough to fairly
earn it, and after a few lessons the switch may be used without any bait
attached. He will at first follow its motions in the hope that there
_is_ something attached, and if he be rewarded for doing so, he will
soon comprehend that following the switch means meat by-and-by. If he is
dressed up in feminine apparel, as is generally done at public
exhibitions, the absurd figure he cuts, and the ridiculous caricature of
a lady “tripping the light fantastic toe” which he presents, is
extremely laughable.

TO JUMP ROPE.

After the dog has learned to leap at your command a light rope may be
substituted for the pole, one end of the rope being attached to some
stationary object while the other end is held in your hand. Exercise the
dog a few times at leaping the rope while it is without motion, and near
the ground, using the command “hip,” or whatever one he has been trained
to leap with, each time. Then give the rope a slight motion and at the
proper moment give the dog the usual command and he will obey it. By
increasing the motion very gradually he will, after many lessons, be
able to jump rope very creditably. He may be taught either to jump while
standing on his full complement of legs, or in the perpendicular
fashion.

TO SIT AND LIE DOWN.

It is one thing to have your dog do a thing at his own convenience and
of his own free will, and quite another thing to have him perform the
same action at your desire, especially if he had a little rather not do
it. This applies particularly to sitting or lying down, for it usually
happens that when you desire him to do so he feels least inclined; but
it is the trainer’s business to bend the animal’s will to his own, and
in this case it may be done thus: Taking your position with the dog in
front of you, raise one hand over his head and make a motion with it as
though about to strike him on the top of his head with your palm; as you
do so repeat the word “down” distinctly and commandingly, with each
motion of the hand. This should not be done as a menace, but to indicate
your wishes. While you do this, press firmly with your other hand upon
his back, just over the hips,—this pressure will assist in making him
take the desired position. When he has done so he should be patted and
made to understand that he has done right. Repeat until he obeys the
command readily, and then teach him to _lie_ down, which consists in
forcing him into a recumbent posture, as you command him to “_lie_
down!”

TO BEG.

After the dog has learned to stand erect he may easily be taught to beg.
All that is requisite is to press him down in the desired position; if
he attempts to leave it a gentle tap on the head with the switch will be
sufficient to control him. He may, if preferred, be taught to beg
without learning to stand erect; in this case he may be made to sit down
and then, pressing his haunches down to prevent his rising to his feet,
tap him under the chin till he takes the right position. Repetition is
of course necessary until he learns what is desired, and each time you
place him in position it is well to say “beg” two or three times so he
may associate the word with the act. Dogs, like many of the human race,
after they have “got the hang of it,” will beg persistently for the sake
of an occasional trifling reward.

TO GIVE HIS PAW.

There is scarcely a boy’s pet dog who has not acquired this very simple
trick, though his master probably would not recollect how it was taught.
Perhaps it was the dog’s sociable feelings that led him to perform the
kindly ceremony of “shaking hands,” or perhaps it was due to the
instinctive good breeding which is sometimes accredited to some
people—and why not also to some dogs? Whether politeness is a grace
which adorns the canine character, however, is a question we hardly feel
prepared to discuss, and it is much more probable that Master Harry, (or
James, or whatever his name may be), with no special thought in regard
to the matter, hit upon the secret which underlies all animal
training—compelling obedience to a command until the command is obeyed
without compulsion. What was more natural for our friend Harry, when he
first gave the momentous command of “paw,” and Carlo utterly in the dark
as to its signification, taking no notice of it—than to grip Carlo’s
fore “limb” and give it a shake? Nothing in the world more natural. This
is probably repeated at odd times until Carlo learns to give his paw
when Harry says “paw,” or holds out _his_ paw.

If the same paw is always given, as it will be if during the training
that one be always taken, the dog may be taught to offer the other one
when you ask for the “other paw,” by merely taking it a few times when
you make the request. By using “paw” for one and “other paw” for the
other—“paw” first—the dog will seldom get them confused. It is
preferable and makes the performance seem better, while it is really no
more difficult, if the words “right” and “left” are used in connection
with the commands. It is just as easy for a dog to learn the difference
between “right paw” and “left paw,” as between “paw” and “other paw.” It
is well to lay extra stress upon “right” and “left” while training, and
these words should be pronounced very distinctly. Should the dog offer
the wrong paw merely repeat your former command until he changes it,
then take it in your hand, call him “good dog,” and pat his head to let
him know he has done right.

A little boy of our acquaintance had a very handsome Newfoundland dog,
and having often heard the family physician desire members of the family
to let him feel their pulse, he thought it would be a capital idea, and
having coaxed the cook to give him some choice bits of beef-steak, he
commenced practice. “Let me feel your pulse, Bruno,” says he, and taking
Bruno’s paw in his fingers he imitated the doctor with a comical
childish assumption of professional gravity. He scarcely intended, when
he commenced, to make Bruno _offer_ his pulse for examination at his
desire, but Bruno was an intelligent dog and the beef-steak was very
good, and before long he would stick his paw out as nicely as could be
desired. Our little friend, delighted with the result of his efforts,
lost no opportunity of showing off Bruno’s accomplishment, and the dog
was continually holding out his “pulse” for the examination of visitors.
The doctor calling some time after was somewhat amused at our little
friend’s request to Bruno to “let the doctor feel your pulse,” and
Bruno’s ready compliance therewith.

We had a half-grown puppy of one of the larger breeds some years since,
which by constant training became so used to offering his paw that he
would do so to visitors or others without being ordered to. One day a
strange cat intruded upon the premises, and puppy made a rush at it with
every token of hostility. When near it, however, habit appeared to gain
a mastery, for he held out his paw as usual. The cat being irritated by
his previous threatening aspect merely struck at him with her claws,
inflicting quite a severe scratch, whereupon puppy, perceiving
politeness to be at a discount, pitched in and routed the enemy
gallantly.

TO SNEEZE.

On a recent visit to a friend we came across a dog who would sneeze in a
most natural manner whenever his master said, “Sneeze, Zip.” This being
the only example of a dog performing this trick which we had ever seen
we desired our friend to give us some particulars of the manner of
teaching the trick, which he obligingly did, to this effect: “One
afternoon, having nothing more important to do, I was amusing myself by
bothering Zip with a long feather which I poked in his face, to induce
him to snap at it. While doing this I by chance tickled his nose, he
immediately commenced sneezing. Once commenced, it seemed as though he
would never stop, and I said, rather sarcastically, ‘Sneeze, Zip.’ I
don’t suppose my words had any effect, but he certainly did sneeze; this
gave me the idea of teaching him to repeat it at my bidding. Armed with
my feather I commenced operations; tickling his nose gently each time I
repeated the command. He didn’t like the feather very well, and
by-and-by, as though his imagination foreshadowed its effects, he would
sneeze on having it pointed in close proximity to his nose. At odd times
when I had a little idle time on my hands, I repeated the exercise, and
the dog in a few weeks would sneeze very creditably when I commanded. I
was in the habit of rewarding every first rate sneeze with a butter
cracker, of which Zip was very fond. Zip has since had the reputation of
suffering from severe colds in the head.”

This was the only special accomplishment which Zip possessed, and
whether this was the result of peculiarly sensitive olfactory organs or
his master’s training we are unable to say. Of the merits of the latter
we are not prepared to speak, having never given the system an actual
trial, but we should imagine that such a course might succeed.

TO SPEAK FOR IT.

This may be taught either in connection with the preceding trick, as a
portion of it, or by itself. If the former, it is better to let the dog
thoroughly master the first part, begging, before it is attempted to
teach him to “speak for it.” Take a piece of some article of food which
he is fond of, and allowing him to see it, command him to “speak for
it!” Of course he will not understand what you mean, and will probably
only gaze wistfully at the morsel. By-and-by he will grow impatient and
give vent to a sharp bark. The moment he has done this give him the
article, for although he has not understood you he has done what you
desired, and by rewarding him he learns that this is the case. Practice
him a little at some of his old tricks with another reward at hand to
encourage him. Should he try the experiment of barking while thus
engaged no notice should be taken of it, for it is not desired that he
should bark except he be told to, and his doing so in other cases should
never be rewarded. When you wish it, repeat the command of “speak for
it,” and when he obeys reward him. If at first he does not show an
inclination to bark he may be stimulated to do so by your giving a
“bow-wow” yourself in as doggish a manner as you are able. This
encroachment on his language will generally have the desired effect, for
few dogs can resist replying to this act which they no doubt deem an
impertinent meddling with their “mother tongue.”

TO FETCH AND CARRY.

[Illustration: DOG TAUGHT TO CARRY BASKET.]

This accomplishment may often be put to great practical use, and it is
an excellent plan to teach all dogs, which are large enough to be of any
service in this manner, to carry baskets or parcels when accompanying
their masters. The mode of training is very simple, consisting of merely
placing the article in the dog’s mouth, and when he lets go of it give
him a slight box on the ear and replace the article in his mouth.
Whatever is given him to carry should be of such a form as to be grasped
easily by him without hurting his mouth or teeth. The weight should at
first be _very_ light and _never_ more than he can easily carry. Most
dogs will take a real pleasure in carrying articles in this manner, and
they seem to feel the responsibility attached to their duty, for they
will carry their own or their master’s dinner without attempting to
appropriate any portion of it until the proper time when their share
shall be given them. In teaching dogs to carry food, however, it is
necessary to take a little special pains to overcome their instinctive
inclinations to eat it. A good plan is to place the article in a covered
basket which they cannot open, and when the dog has learned to carry an
ordinary parcel give him this. If he attempts to get at the food, which
he readily detects by his sense of smell, box his ears. By-and-by reward
him with the food, and then try him with a basket from which he _can_
abstract the contents; if he tries to do so punish him slightly, never
permitting him to steal the food. If a dog ever deserves a reward for
well doing he certainly does in this case, for it is too bad to
tantalize him with the smell of some dainty and then not to let him
finally have something for his good conduct.

To make a dog carry articles from one person to another it is only
necessary for two persons to take their position at some distance from
one another. One gives the dog some article saying, “go, sir,” at the
same time. As the first says this let the other person call or whistle
to the dog. Now let this one give the dog some thing and let the other
one call him, and so on back and forth until he will go from one to the
other at the command, “go, sir.” The distance between the parties may be
increased from time to time, and the trick may be varied by one of them
hiding himself, this will teach the dog to hunt for the person to whom
he is to deliver the article, which will prove useful when you by-and-by
desire to send him on an actual errand to a distance.

The extent to which any dog may be educated in this matter depends very
much upon his natural intelligence and the skill and perseverance of his
teacher. Many anecdotes are told of dogs going on errands. In some cases
they go to the post-office for letters, in other cases to the store for
groceries, etc., and we recollect several instances cited where dogs
would, on being given a piece of money, go to the baker’s and purchase
cake on their own account. The baker, in one of these instances, is said
to have one day palmed a stale bun upon a dog who had been in the habit
of coming to him regularly with pennies, and the animal, to show he was
not to be imposed upon, transferred his custom to a rival establishment.
In none of these accounts have we ever seen any mention of the dogs
having been subjected to any special training, and it is more than
likely that they never were. Animals, like men, are creatures of habit.
If a man becomes accustomed to a certain routine it is difficult for him
to change. Many merchants, retired from business, continue to pay a
daily visit to their old offices, their brokers or lawyers, just because
not to do so would make them uncomfortable and restless. So a dog who
has become used to accompanying his master on any regular round of
duties will often show that he understands where it is they are going by
running ahead and stopping at the accustomed place. We call to mind a
dog belonging to a gentleman residing some miles from this city, who
will serve as an example of what we have stated, though probably all of
our readers are familiar with instances equally, if not more,
remarkable. The gentleman was accustomed to walk from his residence some
half mile to take the morning train for the city, and to return by a
particular train in the evening. The dog accompanied him to the cars in
the morning, and would again meet him on the arrival of the train at
night. It took him some weeks to learn when to expect his master, but
after that he never made any mistakes.

A writer in one of the magazines mentions a poodle who was in the habit
of going to church with his master and sitting with him in the pew
during the whole service. Sometimes his owner did not come, but the
poodle was always promptly in his place, remaining during the service
and departing with the rest of the congregation. One Sunday the dam at
the head of a lake in the neighborhood gave way, and the whole road was
inundated. The attendance at church that morning was therefore
restricted to a few individuals who came from near by. But by the time
the clergyman had commenced, he saw our friend the poodle coming slowly
up the aisle dripping with water, having been obliged to swim a quarter
of a mile to get there.

It is not very difficult to teach a dog to go on errands. Suppose you
wish him to go to market for you of a morning; take him with you
regularly for a few mornings, letting him carry the basket. In a few
days he will understand when you start where it is you propose to go,
and will, perhaps, run on ahead and arrive there some minutes before
you. It would be well on all occasions before starting to give the
command, “Go to market,” which will accustom him to it.

We do not vouch for the truth of the story of the dog who, on being
given—when purchasing one time on his own account, with money given him
for that purpose—a piece of meat inferior to what he considered his due,
went and brought a policeman.

TO BRING HIS TAIL IN HIS MOUTH.

The dog having been taught to fetch and carry, an amusing application of
this knowledge can be made by having him bring his own tail in his
mouth. This trick is exceedingly funny and is always hailed with roars
of laughter. The feat is rather difficult for while his tail is in his
mouth, the dog can only advance in something like crab fashion, or
sideways, with an almost irresistible tendency to go around in a circle
without getting ahead any. To attain success in teaching this trick the
dog must be gifted with a good deal of tail, and the trainer with a good
deal of patience. Dogs will in play grasp their tails, and most persons
have noticed while frolicking with a dog that if the dog’s tail be taken
hold of with one’s hand, the dog will attempt to seize the hand with his
mouth, and if his tail be now dexterously placed in his way, he will
seize that. This perhaps first suggested the idea of the trick, and this
is the initial step of the training. When the dog takes hold of his tail
praise him, and after he has held it a little while bid him “let go,”
and reward him. Should he relinquish his hold before you order him to,
speak sharply to him and commence again. When he has learned to retain
hold of his tail until ordered to relinquish it, the more difficult part
of his lesson may be taught—the bringing it to the trainer. The trainer
at first takes his place a few feet from the dog in the direction in
which the dog can most easily advance, and calls the dog; should he let
go his tail to come, he is to be scolded, and the tail replaced in his
mouth. When he comes without letting go, he should be rewarded.
Gradually the distance he is required to come may be increased, but it
would be cruel to make this distance more than half a dozen yards. When
the tail is placed in his mouth it is well to say, “Bring me your tail,”
to accustom him to the order. By-and-by when you give this order merely
hold his tail for him to grasp, and at last let him seize it without any
assistance from you.

THE ROLLING BALL.

There are several modifications of this trick, or rather there are
several feats all performed with this instrument—a globe of wood or
other material some two feet in diameter. One of these feats consists in
the dog standing with his hind feet upon the ground, and resting his
paws on the ball, pushing it forward, or up and down an inclined plane.
This is easily taught, and the only difficult part of the performance is
the descent of the inclined plane, where the ball is apt to roll away
from the animal. To teach this trick it is only requisite to place the
dog’s paws upon the ball and set it slowly in motion; as you do this tap
his hind legs gently from behind to urge him to step forward. It may be
necessary to hold him in position by the nape of the neck at first, but
he should very soon learn to retain his position without this aid. When
he rolls the ball readily upon a level, substitute a wide plank very
slightly inclined, up which he should be required to roll the ball.
Increase the inclination of the plank slightly with each lesson, but the
descent should only be attempted after he has been thoroughly drilled in
the preceding exercises. It will be necessary to commence with a very
slight inclination and to promptly stop the ball should the dog begin to
lose control of it. The width of the plank may be decreased eventually
to some ten or twelve inches.

To stand entirely upon the ball while it is in motion, and to propel it
backward and forward, and up and down the inclined plane, starting and
stopping it as well as guiding its motions in the desired direction—is a
more difficult feat. In this the dog must be practiced in standing upon
the ball while it has no motion; in several lessons in this just the
barest possible motion is to be given to the ball while a slight hold
upon the dog’s neck keeps him in position. The motion may be slowly
increased with each lesson, but the ball must for many lessons be held
firmly with the hand to prevent it becoming unmanageable. When the dog
becomes able to maintain his position he may be required to manage the
ball without any assistance. In all cases where he gets down from the
ball, accidentally or willfully, he should be spoken to sharply, but the
trainer should be equally prompt to praise and reward success.

TO WALK ON STILTS.

The stilts used in this trick are about twelve or fifteen inches in
length, made to fasten to the leg just below the knee joint, with tape
or thin flexible leather straps. When four are used there is no
particular training required to make the dog walk upon them; it being
only necessary to put him “on his pins” again whenever he upsets. The
tumble is sufficient punishment for his failures. Walking man fashion on
only two stilts is a much more difficult task, though it has been
accomplished in some cases. The dog should be first thoroughly taught
the walking erect trick, then stilts may be put on his hind legs. A cord
attached to his collar and held in the trainer’s hand will aid in
maintaining the dog’s balance until he becomes accustomed to his novel
position. Of course the dog cannot raise himself upon the stilts, but
must be placed erect by the trainer. The farther training is similar to
that described for teaching him to walk erect. A story is told of a dog
who actually found a wooden leg of practical use; one having been
furnished him by a whimsical surgeon who had amputated an injured limb
for him.

TO GO UP AND DOWN A LADDER.

[Illustration: CLIMBING THE LADDER.]

In teaching this trick two ladders should be provided about six feet in
length and joined together at the top ends so as to form an angle when
the other ends are placed on the ground. The bars of these ladders
should be flat and sufficiently near together to enable the dog easily
to step from one round to another. Standing at the side of this ladder
with a switch in your right hand you whistle to the dog, or call him by
name, and tap the first round of the ladder with your switch to indicate
he is to step upon it. When he places his fore paws on this round, tap
the next in the same manner, saying, “Go on,” to him. If he does not
obey strike his hind legs lightly from behind, while you encourage him
with your voice and snap your fingers in front of him to urge him
forward. A tid-bit of some kind held in tempting proximity to his nose
may have an encouraging effect. After ascending one ladder he should be
made to go down the other. He will be inclined to jump to the ground in
preference to descending step by step; should he do this he must be
punished and made to commence over again. When on the ladder if he
hesitates about proceeding gently tap the toes of the foot he should
next advance. When two dogs have been taught to go over the ladders a
race may be arranged, the dog who first goes three times over to be
rewarded. The dogs will soon understand that when they are both ordered
to go over, speed is expected; the dainty given to the winner will be an
incentive to exertion. By making one dog go up to where the ladders
join, turning half around and forming an arch of his body, the other dog
can go over the ladders, passing beneath the belly of the “arch.” This
is a very trifling feat but it generally pleases an audience.

The ladder climbing forms really the principal part of the celebrated
siege scene, performed by dogs and monkeys. This scene, we believe, was
first enacted in London in the year 1753, by a troupe of dogs and
monkeys which acquired considerable celebrity by their performances.
They were owned by a lady, who had also taught them, and went by the
name of Mrs. Midnight’s Animal Commedians. A small stage was specially
fitted up for their performances, furnished with scenery, decorations,
etc., and to these adjuncts was no doubt due much of the success of the
troupe. The performance was much like modern ones; the tricks are all
included in this chapter and the one on monkeys; the famous siege being
only a clever combination of the different tricks. Each animal was
taught a particular part and merely obeyed the signals of the
exhibition.

TO STAND ON HIS HEAD AND TO WALK ON HIS FORE LEGS.

[Illustration: WALKING ON FORE LEGS.]

The term “standing on the head” is applied to a “wrong end up” position
though the animal is actually supported by his fore paws, his head not
necessarily touching the ground. To teach the trick, provide yourself
with a switch twenty inches in length, and moderately stout. This
switch, held in your right hand, you place under the dog’s belly, and
while you raise up his hind quarters with it, you place your left hand
on his head to keep him from moving away, and to make him retain his
reversed position. As the dog rises into position the switch should be
gradually carried along until it supports his hind feet. This is the
process for the first few lessons, until the dog understands what is
required; after that it is better merely to tap his ankles from in front
with your switch, giving at the same time whatever order you have
accustomed him to in teaching the trick. He should eventually take the
position without any hint or help from the switch.

When the preceeding trick is thoroughly mastered, the walking part may
be easily added. Taking your position a little in front of your pupil
when he is in his upside-down position, you encourage him to come to
you. At the same time you must keep your switch in handy proximity to
his toes, which you tap lightly on any signs of his relinquishing his
position. By-and-by he may be made to walk quite a distance.

TO “SING.”

When a dog howls _in time_, we think it fair to call his performance
“singing.” Dogs may be taught to do this; at least they have been, and
it is reasonable to presume it may be done again. In only one case of
this kind do we know positively the mode of tuition, but it was probably
pretty much the same in all cases. This consisted in keeping the dog
without food until his appetite was quite sharp. When food was shown
him, he naturally whined for it. Now, a dog may be made to whine, howl,
or bark, if you make any of those noises yourself; almost any dog will
imitate you, and not only that, but the pitch and style of noise he
makes will be somewhat regulated by that made by you. The hungry dog is
in prime mental condition for this exercise, and if rewarded when he
hits pretty near upon the right degree of noise, he will learn to follow
your tones quite accurately. If exercised in a regular scale, or in a
simple tune, he will by-and-by go through it without requiring your
prompting, with sufficient accuracy to be recognized—if the hearers know
beforehand what melody to expect.

It is not pretended, of course, that dogs trained as above described, do
anything but repeat a series of noises mechanically in a prescribed
rotation. We find recorded, however, one instance of a dog learning to
discriminate between the different notes, and to detect false ones in a
musical performance. The story seems improbable, but may be true;
however, it is worth telling:

“Frederick Schwartz, a merchant retired from business in Darmstadt,
occupied his leisure hours, which were many, almost exclusively with
music. His passion for the art acquired such an intensity that he
required every one about him to fall in with his musical predilections
by either vocal or instrumental coöperation. Poodle, the dog, was the
only one unable to render any musical assistance. As worthy Herr
Schwartz felt the utter impossibility of making Poodle afford any
practical aid, he determined to train him to fill the office of critic
in his own harmonious community. He succeeded, too, by an ingenious
method. Whenever a note out of tune proceeded from a voice or an
instrument; every time that a musical fault was committed by any member
of the family—and such faults were committed purposely—the rod was
applied to Poodle’s back, and he naturally began to bark and howl. He
was exactly in the position of the whipping boy, who pursued his studies
with the royal prince. Whenever the prince made a grammatical blunder,
the whipping boy had to smart for it. Before long, simple threats were
substituted for smitings of his (Poodle’s) back; afterward a look
sufficed to set the creature barking; and little by little Poodle
familiarized himself with wrong notes and other musical atrocities,
until at last a mistake could not be committed without his rebuking it
either by a bark or a growl. He thus became, as far as music was
concerned, the most impartial judge, the most conscientious critic in
the whole grand duchy of Hesse Darmstadt.

“Unfortunately, his appreciation of musical art was completely and
solely negative. He bestowed no praise, but only blame. Sing with
expression, perform with talent, the dog would remain impassive and
cold; but at the slightest incorrectness of intonation he ground his
teeth, lashed his tail, growled, yelped, and barked aloud. So long as he
flourished—and he may flourish still—not a concert or an opera was
rehearsed in Darmstadt without inviting Herr Frederick Schwartz and his
dog—but more especially the dog. If the prima donna made the slightest
slip, the dog looked at his master with an air of disapprobation. If the
hautboys came in too late, Poodle pricked up his ears; if the clarionet
hurried the movement, Poodle fidgeted on his bench; if the
kettle-drummer broke the time, Poodle uttered audible murmurs. In fact,
no piece was considered properly executed unless the canine connoisseur
remained quiet on his seat.

“Nor must it be supposed that Poodle’s instinct was limited to forming a
judgment of the execution only. His intelligence, trained by hearing
classical works, seemed to have penetrated some of the secrets of
composition. An abrupt modulation, a false resolution, would produce
symptoms of doubt on Poodle’s muzzle; consecutive fifths made him
shudder, and a halting melody set his teeth on edge. Sometimes Herr
Schwartz and his intimate friends, in the privacy of a snug little
quartette party, would amuse themselves by producing discordant sounds,
for the sake of tormenting the sensitive animal. On such occasions
Poodle lost all self-command: his hair stood on end, his eyes became
bloodshot, and frightful howlings answered to the discord produced by
the fiddles of the mystificators. Moreover, they were obliged to keep
within certain bounds. Poodle possessed only a limited stock of
forbearance. If the cacophony was too intense or too prolonged, Poodle,
carrying out his sense of duty, upset everything. Music-stands,
music-stools, and instruments, were strewed in confusion about the
room.”

THE LUMP OF SUGAR TRICK.

This consists in placing a lump of sugar on the dog’s nose, and having
him toss it up and catch it in his mouth. It is not essential that sugar
should be used; any other dainty will do as well, indeed a piece of meat
will answer better in teaching the trick. In teaching, hold your switch
under the dog’s chin, and tap him whenever he tries to lower his head to
let the meat drop. If he does not presently jerk his head up, and so
throw the morsel into the air, you should strike him under the chin a
pretty smart rap to make him do so. When it leaves his nose there will
be no instruction required to make him seize it promptly before it has a
chance to reach the ground; should it, however, touch the ground, it is
well to take it from him, and make him toss it again.

TO FEIGN DEATH.

A dog may be placed on his back or in almost any other posture, and by
speaking sharply to him and threatening him with your forefinger, you
can prevent his changing his position. In this manner the trick of
feigning death is taught. If a special word of command be used when
placing him, he will learn to take the position on hearing that command.

CHAPTER XI.
WONDERFUL FEATS PERFORMED BY DOGS—MOST CELEBRATED DOGS OF THE
WORLD—LEARNING THE ALPHABET—TO PLAY CARDS AND DOMINOES—TO SELECT ANY
ARTICLE DESIRED AND PUT IT ANYWHERE DIRECTED.

Our last chapter gave a wide range of tricks performed by dogs, most of
which can be taught by the amateur trainer. There is another class of
tricks, requiring great intelligence on the part of the dog, and rare
skill and patience on the part of the trainer, for their successful
mastery. Though these may be beyond the abilities of ordinary dogs and
ordinary trainers—for such feats are very rare, even in public
exhibitions, and when performed, are looked upon almost as miracles—they
cannot fail to prove interesting to our readers, and it is barely
possible that some reader of this book may yet astonish the world with
some equally proficient animal, to rival those whose deeds are herein
recorded.

The French trainers have probably brought the education of the dog to a
point achieved in no other country, and several of these canine
celebrities have become subjects of history. Emil de Tarade gives a very
interesting account of two of these, the principal part of which account
we translate, as follows:

“In 1840 I was acquainted with M. Leonard, of Lisle, (an inspector of
the revenue) who possessed two well taught dogs. Braque and Philax, as
they were named, were two grayhounds, with large brown ears. Their eyes
alone would tell you how much intelligence had been developed in these
interesting animals. Words were fixed in their memory with a positive
meaning. These dogs knew as well as we do the meaning of ‘above,’
‘below,’ ‘before,’ ‘behind,’ etc. They made a proper application of the
name of a color, of a number up to a certain point; knew what was meant
by ‘parlor,’ ‘corridor,’ ‘stairs;’ knew the furniture, utensils, small
objects of the pocket and toilet; and when one bade these dogs perform
in the _absence_ of their master, one was seized with astonishment and
admiration.

“If you said to one: ‘Go sit down in front of the lady in the
rose-colored dress,’ the dog went immediately to seek the lady so
designated, seated himself upon his haunches, wagging his tail, and
regarding the lady with a very expressive look. ‘Ask the lady for her
thimble.’ The lady offered successively her handkerchief, gloves, etc.,
but the animal did not move. As soon as she presented the thimble, he
ran off, making a thousand gambols at having obtained it. After this he
passed gravely about the room, as if to say: ‘What shall I do with it?’
On saying to him: ‘Go to the sofa in front of the fireplace—there is a
hat upon it—put the thimble in the hat, and carry it to the lady in
blue,’ the dog would strictly carry out the order.

“Placing a piece of meat on a piece of bread, and putting the whole into
a corner of the room, you might say to either of these dogs: ‘Seek it!
Seize it!’ The animal would run toward the object in question, but on
nearing it, he would face about, seat himself before you with a pleasant
air, as if to say: ‘I only eat what my master gives me—is Mons. Leonard
present?’ The latter would say: ‘Leave the meat—put it on the ground—eat
the bread.’ The order would be executed.

“Both these dogs knew how to play dominoes, and this is the method in
which it was done: One dog was made to seat himself upon a chair before
a table on which were placed the dominoes, and opposite a human player.
It was necessary to give the dog only four dominoes, which were laid out
in a row, the faces toward him. If he had a double six he played it at
once, placing it in the middle of the table. If he had not, he waited
for his opponent to play. Then, if he had a domino proper to play, he
did not fail to do it, though he never adjusted it nicely—contenting
himself with placing it at the end to which it belonged. If you
attempted to cheat, by placing a two, for instance, where a six
belonged, he contented himself (if it was a lady) with returning the
wrong domino; but if it was a gentleman, he accompanied the correction
with a growl, as if to say: ‘Do not revoke, sir.’ These feats were
performed by these dogs either in the presence or absence of their
master.

“One day, walking in the country, I asked M. Leonard to order the dogs
to go over a fence right and left. He did so by command only, Philax
going over on our left, and Braque on the right, as they were ordered.
Then he ordered them to kiss each other; they pushed muzzle to muzzle in
quite an amusing way. Another thing, the dogs were frequently sent to
the butcher, baker, or grocer, with a basket and written message, and on
these occasions it was only necessary to say: ‘Go to the butcher!’ ‘Go
to the baker!’ or, ‘Go to the grocer!’ and the command was always obeyed
without fail. On these occasions, one would carry the basket, and the
other would act as guard.

“One may see from this that if the grayhound, the least intelligent of
his kind, is capable of such instruction, all dogs are capable of being
taught to do things which seem apparently impossible.”

Still another French celebrity of the canine kind is described by a
writer in Le Siecle, a Paris journal. Mlle. Bianca, as she was called,
one of the pug breed, created quite a sensation among amusement seekers
at the time she was exhibited, and her wonderful feats were witnessed by
large audiences. We did not see her performance, but have been assured
by persons who did, that the following, though perhaps a little highly
colored—as is the habit of most French writers—is yet substantially an
accurate description of the dog’s feats. Le Siecle’s reporter says:

“As most of the Parisian papers have mentioned this little phenomenon,
who reminds the public of the genius of the illustrious Munito, I, in
turn, wished to make Mlle. Bianca’s acquaintance. She did me the honor
to accord a private audience to me, for which I am extremely grateful.
To see artists on the theater of their exploits is doubtless very
agreeable, but to be introduced into their intimate circle of
friendship, is still more precious. If these lines should fall under
Mlle. Bianca’s eyes—as it is not improbable, for artists generally do
not disdain to read newspapers where their merits are vaunted—she may
see that, though I am only a man, may hert is no stranger to every
sentiment of gratitude. Let me say, in the first place, in praise of my
heroine, that her modesty exceeds even that of male and female literary
people, who are, as everybody knows, a most modest race. Vanity, that
horrible fault which some observers have insisted they were able to
detect in some men and women—fortunately extremely rare—is no canine
vice; and great as are Mlle. Bianca’s talents, she remains what nature
made her—simple and good natured, and as sprightly as beautiful.

“She reads fluently, writes in her way, corrects faults of orthography,
takes part in a game of ecarte, forms a bouquet by the names of flowers
or their colors, and barks, or at least is familiar with, nineteen
languages. Even if we admit the natural affection which Mlle. Bianca’s
professor has for his excellent pupil has betrayed him into exaggerating
the talents of Mlle. Bianca some fifteen more tongues than she really
possesses, nevertheless she will still be a most distinguished
polyglotist. This I can affirm. I gave her the English word ‘God’ to
translate into Latin. She instantly, and without hesitation, composed
the word ‘Deus.’ This is her modus operandi: She is placed on a table
sufficiently large to allow her to move easily in every direction. She
is in the center of the table. All around her are small bits of
pasteboard, bearing each a letter of the alphabet. When a spectator
gives a word, or asks for a translation, Mlle. Bianca seems to think a
moment, half closes her eyes, like a poet hunting for a rhyme, and moves
around the table, taking pasteboard, letter after letter, until she
completes the word. She does this quietly, easily, without ever being
betrayed into hurry. The word formed, she gravely takes her seat and
gives one bark, as a printer places a period at the end of a sentence.
She plays cards, and forms nosegays in the same way. While this
intellectual animal is at work, her master stands motionless, some three
or four paces from the table, but does not say a word. He sometimes
disappears entirely behind a door, and Mlle. Bianca works wonders as
effectually as when he is present. I said to her tutor: ‘So your dog
really reads and understands what is said to her?’

“‘How can you doubt it, as you see she does so as well when I am absent
as when I am by her side?’

“‘She really is the worthy peer of Munito, the Newton of the canine
race.’

“‘Munito!’ quickly exclaimed Mlle. Bianca’s tutor, his lip curling with
contempt as he spoke. ‘Munito was a miserable humbug; one of those dogs
who abuse the public credulity.’

“‘What? Munito a humbug? You astound me!’

“‘Yes, sir; and were Munito here, I should tell him so to his face.
Impostors and dogs of real talents should not be confounded. Munito did
not know B from a bull’s foot, while Bianca has learned by rule. What
she knows, she knows thoroughly.’

“‘Is it possible Munito knew nothing, and merely concerted with his
master to appear learned?’

“‘You have hit the nail on the head.’

“‘Do you mean to tell me there are pseudo savants among dogs? I thought
men had a monopoly of that plague.’

“‘Dogs don’t escape it.’

“‘Good heavens! can a fellow trust neither man nor dog? Do enter into
particulars; and since I am doomed, it seems, to lose one more illusion,
let the loss, at least, turn to the profit of my knowledge.’

“‘I, too, was a dupe to Munito’s merits; but one fine morning the scales
fell from my eyes, and I discovered the truth. Like my Bianca—forgive me
the odious comparison, dear!—Munito stood in the center of a circle
formed of bits of pasteboard bearing letters, or figures, or colors. I
grant you, Munito had a good deal of brains; he was no fool, I admit,
and his ear was exquisitely delicate. Had he been trained by a good
method, he would have attained high rank; but his master, who was an
Italian, preferred turning his delicacy of hearing to profit, rather
than bringing him up by rule.’

“‘Ah! Munito was no classic. But, pray tell me, did he then belong to
the romantic school?’

“‘Not a bit more than he belonged to the classical school. All his
talents lay in obeying his master’s signals. Munito walked gravely
around the table, assuming the airs of a member of the French academy;
but incapable as he was of reading or distinguishing colors, he never
stopped to pick up the bit of pasteboard except when his master gave him
the signal. Munito’s master stood with his hand in his breeches pocket.
He would snap a finger nail or a tooth pick, and this click, though so
slight as to escape the attention of the spectators, was caught by the
dog’s ear, and who instantly received the reward of his criminal comedy.
He was given a bonbon. Do you know of what that so-called bonbon was
made? ’Twas nothing but bread and meat hashed fine and rolled in the
shape of a ball; but there was no more sugar in it than there is in a
black draught. Such cheating really deserves the brand of history. If
you think I speak harshly of Munito, my excuse is, he is dead. We owe
nothing but truth to dead dogs as well as dead men.’”

The reader will perceive that, for the best results, a systematic course
of education is necessary rather than the teaching of a mere trick, to
be performed at a recognized signal from the trainer. Presuming that the
dog has been taught to fetch and carry, as described in the preceding
chapter, and may thereby be considered to be well up in the rudiments of
canine education, the following, which may be termed the “classical”
course, would be the system of instruction—it is, indeed, the same as
was pursued with Braque and Philax:

Having taught your dog the meaning of the words, “go fetch it,” “bring
it,” “drop it,” “bring it back,” you will next teach him the names of
different articles. Let us first take a handkerchief, and placing it
upon the ground, order him to “bring the handkerchief,” until the name
is impressed on his memory. Now we will add a glove, and direct the dog
to “bring the glove.” Should he bring the handkerchief instead, we scold
him, but should he bring the glove, we reward him. When he has
thoroughly learned to distinguish these articles by name, a key may be
added, and the same method of teaching continued. One by one other
articles may be added, until the number is sufficiently large to make
the trick entertaining. When he has been exercised in picking out on
command the desired article from those-placed on the ground, hide one of
them, and, calling the hidden article by name, order him to bring it.
If, after examining the objects before him, he shows by his distressed
looks that he knows the article required is not among the others, you
may be assured he has thoroughly acquired his lesson. If he brings a
_wrong_ article, it is certain that either he is careless, or not
sufficiently drilled.

Differences of color come next. Take, for example, a red, white, or blue
handkerchief, and placing it on the ground, direct the dog to bring it,
calling it by _color_ as well as name. At first he will bring it,
because he knows what the word “handkerchief” means, and without giving
consideration to the color; but when you add a handkerchief of a
different color, still ordering him to bring the former one, he will
remember the new word and its application to the right handkerchief.
Supposing you have commenced with the red one, and have added the white,
should he bring the white, you say sternly, “No! the _red_
handkerchief,” making him replace the white, and bring the red. Now
repeat the lesson, calling at will for first one and then the other,
until he makes no mistakes. Then add the blue handkerchief, and repeat
the lesson. Gloves of various colors may then be added, one by one, in
all cases naming the _color_ as well as the article when directing him
to bring it. The number of objects may be increased to whatever extent
the patience of the trainer and the capacity of the pupil will admit of.

After that it will be found convenient to teach him the names of the
more common articles of furniture. Pointing to a table, you will say to
him: “Go to the table.” The motion of your hand will probably direct him
to the designated spot; and by repeating the lesson, he will learn to
associate the name of “table” with that article. Of course, “chair,”
“sofa,” and other objects may be added as he progresses.

Then he may be taught to distinguish between the meanings of such words
as “on,” “under,” etc. This is done by emphasizing the prepositions as:
“Put the glove _on_ the chair;” “Put the handkerchief _under_ the
table,” etc., in each case repeating the order until he obeys correctly.
If all preceding lessons have been thorough, he will readily comprehend
all of the order but the _new_ part, and as his attention will only be
required by that, he will soon learn it. Then the titles of individuals,
as “lady,” “gentleman,” and “child,” may be taught in the same manner,
reproving his failures and rewarding his successful attempts.

To secure a valuable dog against accidental or malicious injury from
poisonous or improper food, it is well to accustom him to take his food
from the hand of his master, or some other trustworthy person, and never
to eat anything unless it be so given. This is the foundation of several
tricks spoken of in a preceding page. After the dog’s intelligence has
been so cultivated that he quickly understands your wishes, and has
become accustomed to rendering implicit obedience thereto, place within
his reach a piece of meat, or a saucer of milk, and order him not to
touch it. Then retire to a short distance, but be ready to check any
attempt to seize the food, by repeating the command, “Don’t touch it,”
and by force if necessary. Do not tantalize him too long, but soon give
him some tid-bit as a reward for his self-control, and repeat the
lesson. By-and-by he may be left alone, at first only for a few minutes,
then for a longer and longer time.

It is possible—and, indeed, it is the common method—to teach a dog to
pick out any desired letters from a number of printed cards, in
obedience to signals given by the exhibitor. This method of training is
essentially the same as that adopted with the “educated hog;” so it is
unnecessary to describe it here. But dogs, as in the case of those
described in the preceding pages, may be taught to _know_ the letters,
and to recognize them when named; so that the performance can be
conducted more openly, and without risk of the clap-trap of signals
being detected.

But how is this to be taught? Why, very much as a child is taught—by
constant drilling until the name and looks of each letter are perfectly
associated together. Pieces of pasteboard should be provided, on each of
which one letter is marked large and plain. Placing the A and B cards
side by side, tell the dog to bring you the A. If he brings the B, scold
him; make him return it to its place, and again order him to bring the
A. As soon as he does so, pat him, speak encouragingly to him, and
repeat the lesson, not calling the letters in any regular rotation, but
at random. Add letter by letter each day as the dog learns thoroughly
those already given him, until he can select without hesitation any
letter of the alphabet that may be called for. He may then be made to
spell words by your calling the letters composing them. If thoroughly
trained, he will bring the proper letters when shown a card on which the
word you desire him to spell is printed. Of course, only capitals should
be used in these exercises, for otherwise the labor of teaching would be
doubled, besides confusing the dog between capitals and small letters,
without gaining anything.

On the same principle the dog may be taught what, with a little license,
may be called playing cards. Pieces of pasteboard several times the size
of ordinary playing cards should be provided, one side of each being
printed to represent one card. As with the letters, these cards are to
be placed on the floor, at first only two, then three, increasing the
number as the dog learns those already shown him. Suppose the ace of
clubs and the ace of hearts be used to commence with: direct the dog to
bring the ace of clubs; if he does so, reward him, but if he brings the
heart, scold him, and order him to return it; again directing him to
bring the ace of clubs. So on with each lesson until he can distinguish
between all the cards, and bring any one desired. After this, cards a
little smaller may be substituted for those at first used, and then
smaller and smaller ones until the customary playing cards are used. We
give this feat on the authority of M. de Tarade, never having personally
seen it performed, but it is really not so difficult as might at first
be imagined; the dog, even to know the whole pack, needing only to learn
the thirteen _values_ of the cards, and to then distinguish between the
four suits.[2]

Footnote 2:

Even this would be a greater feat of intelligence than we have ever
seen exhibited by a dog, and we are inclined to think there was some
aid afforded in this case of the French dogs, by arranging the cards
systematically, or by some other means. It is harder to count (or to
distinguish between) the number of dots, than to distinguish between a
blue handkerchief and a red stocking. The dog who is described as
playing dominoes, it should be remembered, used only four pieces at
one time. Possibly the dog recognized the cards by the _general_
appearance of each, not the number of spots thereon.

The “playing” part consists in the trainer directing the dog to bring
the particular card required; wherever it is pretended that the dog of
his own accord selects the proper card for taking a trick, there is
really deception; the dog in such a case must be secretly directed by
signals which he has been taught to obey.

To teach a dog to play dominoes, provide some pieces of board or thick
card, some eight or ten inches long, on which paint conspicuously in
black the required dots. Having provided two sets in this manner, spread
one set upon the floor, and taking in your hand the blank domino of the
other set, you say: “Bring the white.” Being familiar, from his previous
training, with the color, he will doubtless select the correct domino.
Then you show him the one spot, directing him to “bring the one.” Should
he hesitate, repeat the command, showing him the spot on the domino in
your hand. As soon as he has learned this difference, cease your
instruction for the day, as it is unwise to attempt to go too fast. On
the next day the two, three, and four may be included in the lesson; and
so on each day, adding two or three, until the whole are learned. Having
learned so much, the dog is prepared to play a game of dominoes, for the
game consists merely in matching certain pieces.

Munito, the dog to whom reference is made in a preceding page, was a
French poodle, very handsome, with a fine silky, white, woolly coat,
half shaved. A gentleman who saw him exhibited in Piccadilly, London,
nearly fifty years ago, thus describes his performance, disclosing at
the same time the secrets thereof:

“He performed many curious feats, answering questions, telling the hour
of the day, the day of the week, or date of the month, and picking out
any cards called for from a pack spread on the ground. At the corner of
the room was a screen, behind which the dog and his master disappeared
between each feat for a short time. We watched him narrowly; but it was
not until after our second visit that the mystery was solved. There were
packs of ordinary cards, and other cards with figures, and others with
single letters. One of the spectators was requested to name a card—say
the queen of clubs—the pack was spread on the floor in a circle, faces
upward. Munito went around the circle, came to the queen of clubs,
pounced upon it, and brought it in his mouth to his master. The same
process was repeated with the cards with figures, when he brought the
exact numbers which answered the questions put as to dates, or days, or
hours; in the same way with the letter cards, when he picked out the
necessary letters to spell any short word called for, always making a
full circle of the whole of the cards for each letter, or for each
number, and never taking up two letters or two numbers consecutively,
though they might chance to lie close together. This fact we made out at
the first visit, but nothing more. On the second occasion we watched
more narrowly, and with that object took a side seat, so that we had a
partial view behind the screen. We then noticed that between each feat
the master gave the dog some small bits of some sort of food, and that
there was a faint smell of aniseed from that corner of the room. We
noticed that the dog, as he passed around the circle of cards, with his
nose down, and his eyes directed to the ground, never pounced on the
right card as his eyes covered it, but turned back and picked it out. It
was clear that he chose it by the smell, and not by the sense of sight.
We recalled that, each time before the dog began his circuit, the master
arranged and settled the cards, and we then found that he pressed the
fleshy part of his thumb on the particular card the dog was to draw,
which thumb he previously put into his waistcoat pocket for an instant;
and as he passed close to us, his waistcoat had an aniseed scent.”

Dogs have been made to take part in stage representations, their
performances being but applications of simple tricks taught in our tenth
chapter. The good dog who recognizes the murderer of his master and
seizes him by the throat; the other good dog who prevents an
assassination by flying at the would-be assassin, and having a scuffle;
and the still other good dog who rescues the child from drowning, or
some other impending danger, are all “worked” by signals, or obey
understood commands—the actor’s “cue” serving as well as any other word.

An amusing story is told of an accident which befell a penurious manager
of a minor play-house, in endeavoring to avoid an engagement with the
owner of the wonderful dogs, when _their_ services and not _his_ were to
constitute the principal attraction. The owner persisted; it must be his
dogs _and_ himself, or no dogs at all; the sagacious animals would
perform their marvels with no one else. The huckstering manager doubted
this, and craved permission to try whether, by running across the room,
and using the words repeated by the owner in the play, one of the
animals would not seize _him_ by the coat collar as well, without doing
him any injury. The master consented, but the experiment failed
entirely. The dog remained doggedly motionless. “It strikes me,” said
the disappointed manager, “that if you were to say, ‘Go, sir!’ in a
harsh tone, when I repeat the words, that he would at once perform the
feat.” “Very well, sir,” replied the owner, “we will try the experiment,
if you wish it.” The preliminaries were again gone through with; and the
master said, “Go, sir!” The gigantic dog _did_ go with a vengeance. He
dashed off like an arrow; seized the manager by the nape of his neck,
threw him violently on the floor, and giving two or three tremendous
growls, seemed on the point of making mince-meat of his prey, who,
petrified with fright, was glad enough to be rescued, and to permit the
master to perform with his dogs, and on his own terms. He never was
quite satisfied, however, that there was not some _peculiarity_ in the
“Go, sir,” used on that particular occasion.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XII.
TAMING AND TRAINING ELEPHANTS—CAPTURE AND TREATMENT—ELEPHANTS AS
LABORERS AND AS CIRCUS PERFORMERS.

In telling how elephants are trained, so interwoven is our subject with
that of the capture of the animals, that perhaps our best plan will be
to take a hint from Mrs. Glass’s recipe for cooking the hare, viz.,
catch him first—and commence with the capture of the animals. Although
authentic instances are on record of elephants breeding in captivity, it
is of very rare occurrence, so that, practically, it may be said that
the entire supply of domesticated elephants has been obtained by
conversion from a wild state.

The device of taking them in pitfalls still prevails in India, but this
is a laborious operation, often unsuccessful, owing to the caution of
the animal; besides this, if caught, the great weight of the elephant,
and the inability of his legs to withstand any severe direct shock, too
frequently cause so much injury to the game as to render this mode of
capture unprofitable. A writer on Ceylon, nearly two hundred years ago,
describes another method which is still practiced. Describing the
captures of elephants for the stud of the king of Kandy, he says:

“After discovering the retreat of such as have tusks, unto these they
drive some she elephants, which they bring with them for the purpose,
which, when once the males have got a sight of they will never leave,
but follow them wheresoever they go; and the females are so used to it,
that they will do whatsoever, either by word or beck, their keepers bid
them. And so they delude them along through towns and countries, and
through the streets of the city, even to the very gates of the king’s
palace, where sometimes they seize them by snares, and sometimes by
driving them into a kind of pound, they catch them.”

Throughout the China-Indian peninsula the natives use female elephants
in approaching males detached from the herd, or selected as desired
captives on account of their beauty—the capture being effected by
casting a noose over the foot of the victim. Probably, however, the
Moormen of Ceylon are unexcelled in daring or adroitness in this
vocation. So fearless are these professional catchers, or panickeas as
they are termed, that two will, without aid or attendants, attempt the
capture of the largest sized elephant. Their only weapon is a flexible
rope of deer’s or buffalo’s hide. Stealing behind the animal when at
rest, or stealthily following in his footsteps if in motion, they attach
this rope to his hind legs. When at rest the elephant has a habit of
swinging his hind feet, which aids the catchers in slipping the noose
over the leg. Should the noosing be effected in open ground where there
is no tree to which to secure the prize, one man allows himself to be
pursued by the enraged elephant, and thus entices him to a more
favorable locality, where the other man seizes the trailing rope and
winds it around some convenient tree. The animal now turns upon his new
assailant, but the first provokes him with gesticulations and taunting
shouts of “dah! dah!” of which word the animal has a remarkable dislike.
Meanwhile, the man’s comrade has secured the first noose, entangles one
foot after the other until all are secured, and the capture complete.

Then a shelter of branches is put up for the men, and day and night they
remain encamped before their prisoner. The elephant, in a few days at
the farthest, becomes submissive, subdued by exhaustion and hunger, the
terror of the fire which he dreads, and the smoke which he detests. Then
an abundance of plantains and other dainties are given him, he is
supplied with plenty of water, of which he is very fond, and gradually
he becomes reconciled to his keepers, and finally they venture to start
with their huge prisoner for their own village, generally many miles
away, with forests and jungles intervening. Still too morose to permit
his captors to ride him, and too powerful to be led or driven, this
forced march taxes the ingenuity of the hunters to the utmost.
Alternately vexing and eluding him, they keep his attention constantly
attracted, and so induce him to move in the desired direction. The rope
with which the capture was effected is of some assistance, besides being
used to tie up the animal at night, and this is never removed from his
leg until he is sufficiently tame to be entrusted with partial liberty.

[Illustration: GROUND PLAN OF A CORRAL.]

[Illustration: METHOD OF FENCING A CORRAL.]

Frequently a whole herd, numbering from thirty to one hundred
individuals, is captured at once, but in this case a different plan from
the foregoing is adopted. The custom in Bengal is to construct a strong
enclosure (called a keddah) in the heart of the forest, formed of the
trunks of trees firmly secured by transverse beams and buttresses, and
leaving a gate for the entrance of the elephants. A second enclosure,
opening from the first, contains water (if possible a rivulet;) this
again communicates with a third, which terminates in a funnel-shaped
passage, too narrow to admit of an elephant turning, and within this the
captives being driven in line, are secured with ropes introduced from
the outside, and led away in custody of tamed ones trained for the
purpose. The keddah being prepared, the first operation is to drive the
elephants toward it, for which purpose vast bodies of men fetch a
compass in the forest around the haunts of the herds, contracting it by
degrees till they complete the enclosure of a certain area, round which
they kindle fires, and cut footpaths through the jungle, to enable the
watchers to communicate and combine. All this is performed in cautious
silence and by slow approaches, to avoid alarming the herd. A fresh
circle nearer to the keddah is then formed in the same way, and into
this the elephants are admitted from the first one, the hunters
following from behind, and lighting new fires around the newly enclosed
space. Day after day the process is repeated; till the drove having been
brought sufficiently close to make the final rush, the whole party close
in from all sides, and with drums, guns, shouts, and flambeaux, force
the terrified animals to enter the fatal enclosure, when the passage is
barred behind them, and retreat rendered impossible. Their efforts to
escape are repressed by the crowd, who drive them back from the stockade
with spears and flaming torches; and at last compel them to pass on into
the second enclosure. Here they are detained for a short time, and their
feverish exhaustion relieved by free access to water—until at last,
being tempted by food, or otherwise induced to trust themselves in the
narrow outlet, they are one after another made fast by ropes, passed in
through the palisade, and picketed in the adjoining woods to enter on
their course of systematic training. These arrangements vary in
different districts of Bengal; and the method adopted in Ceylon differs
in many essential particulars from them all; the keddah, or, as it is
here called, the corral or korahl (from the Portuguese curral, a
“cattle-pen,”) consists of but one enclosure instead of three. A stream
or watering place is not uniformly enclosed within it, because, although
water is indispensable after the long thirst and exhaustion of the
captives, it has been found that a pond or rivulet within the corral
itself adds to the difficulty of leading them out, and increases their
reluctance to leave it; besides which, the smaller ones are often
smothered by the others in their eagerness to crowd into the water. The
funnel-shaped outlet is also dispensed with, as the animals are liable
to bruise and injure themselves within the narrow stockade; and should
one of them die in it, as is too often the case in the midst of the
struggle, the difficulty of removing so great a carcass is extreme. The
noosing and securing them, therefore, takes place in Ceylon within the
area of the first enclosure into which they enter, and the dexterity and
daring displayed in this portion of the work far surpasses that of
merely attaching the rope through the openings of the paling, as in an
Indian keddah, and affords a much more exciting sport.

In Ceylon, in former times, the work connected with these hunts was
performed by forced labor extorted from the natives by their sovereigns
as a part of the feudal service termed “rajakaríya,” and this labor was
in succession demanded by the Portuguese, Dutch and English, as the
island passed successively into their possession. Since the abolition of
this compulsory duty, there has been no difficulty in securing all
required assistance voluntarily. From fifteen hundred to two thousand
men are required to construct the corral, drive in the elephants,
maintain the cordon of watch-fires and watchers, and attend to other
duties. Many weeks are occupied in putting up the stockades, cutting
paths through the jungle, and surrounding and driving in the elephants.

[Illustration: POSITION OFTEN TAKEN IN ATTEMPTING TO BREAK THE ROPE.]

In selecting the scene for an elephant hunt a position is chosen which
lies on some old and frequented route of the animals, in their
periodical migrations in search of forage and water; and the vicinity of
a stream is indispensable, not only for the supply of the elephants
during the time spent in inducing them to approach the enclosure, but to
enable them to bathe and cool themselves throughout the process of
training after capture. In constructing the corral itself, care is taken
to avoid disturbing the trees or the brushwood within the included
space, and especially on the side by which the elephants are to
approach, where it is essential to conceal the stockade as much as
possible by the density of the foliage. The trees used in the structure
are from ten to twelve inches in diameter; and are sunk about three feet
in the earth, so as to leave a length of from twelve to fifteen feet
above ground; with spaces between each stanchion sufficiently wide to
permit a man to glide through. The uprights are made fast by transverse
beams, to which they are lashed securely by ratans and flexible climbing
plants, or as they are called, “jungle ropes,” and the whole is steadied
by means of forked supports which grasp the tie beams, and prevent the
work from being driven outward by the rush of the wild elephants.

The space enclosed varies, but 500 feet in length by 250 wide is a fair
average. At one end an entrance is left open, fitted with sliding bars,
so prepared as to be capable of being instantly shut; and from each
angle of the end by which the elephants were to approach, two lines of
the same strong fencing were continued, and cautiously concealed by the
trees, so that the animals would be prevented from making their escape
at the sides while being forced forward to the entrance of the corral.

The corral being prepared, the beaters address themselves to driving in
the elephants. For this purpose it is often necessary to make a circuit
of many miles in order to surround a sufficient number, and the caution
to be observed involves patience and delay; as it is essential to avoid
alarming the animals, who might otherwise escape. Their disposition
being essentially peaceful, and their only impulse to browse in solitude
and security, they withdraw instinctively before the slightest
intrusion, and advantage is taken of this timidity and love of seclusion
to cause only just such an amount of disturbance as will induce them to
retire slowly in the direction which it is desired they should take.
Several herds are by this means concentrated within such an area as will
admit of their being completely surrounded by the watchers; and day
after day, by slow degrees, they are moved gradually onward toward the
immediate confines of the corral. When their suspicions become awakened
and they exhibit restlessness and alarm, bolder measures are adopted for
preventing their escape. Fires are kept burning at ten paces apart,
night and day, along the circumference of the area within which they are
detained. At last the elephants are forced onward so close to the
enclosure, that the investing cordon is united at either end with the
wings of the corral, the whole forming a circuit of about two miles,
within which the herd is detained to await the signal for the final
drive.

Suddenly the signal is given, and the silence is broken by shouts from
the guard, the banging of drums and tom-toms, and the discharge of
muskets. Amid this noise the elephants are driven forward to and through
the gate, which is instantly closed to cut off their retreat. In a
moment more they rush wildly about the enclosure, trampling the
brushwood beneath their ponderous tread, and charge against the
palisades, screaming with rage at each unsuccessful effort. By degrees
their efforts slacken, and in about an hour the whole herd, exhausted
and stupified, stand motionless.

[Illustration: SECURING CAPTURED ELEPHANTS WITH THE AID OF THE TAME
ONES.]

The next operation is to introduce the tame elephants into the corral to
aid in securing the captives. Cautiously the bars which secure the
entrance are let down, and the trained elephants, each mounted by its
mahout and one attendant, enter the corral. Around the elephant’s neck
is a strong collar composed of ropes of coconut fiber, from which hangs
on either side cords of elk’s hide prepared with a ready noose.
Gradually each trained animal approaches one of the wild ones, until
being sufficiently near, the nooser watching his opportunity, slips the
noose over one of its legs. Immediately the tame elephant retires with
its riders, drawing the rope tight, and hauling the captive toward some
large tree. In this the other tame animals lend assistance, pushing with
their heads and shoulders. The first tame one now winds the rope around
the tree, and the others crowd up to the wild animal, and keep him in
position while his other legs are being secured. The tame elephants in
all these proceedings appear to feel a sportsman’s interest, and are as
eager to secure the victim as are their human assistants. Of their own
accord they will perform any act which reason would naturally suggest
for overcoming any difficulty that arises, or which seems necessary
under any given circumstances. Thus Major Skinner relates an instance
where a wild elephant raised with her trunk the rope which had been
attached to her foot, succeeded in carrying it to her mouth, and would
have bitten it through and escaped, but was prevented by a tame elephant
placing his foot on the rope, and pressing it downward out of her jaws.
On another occasion, the same authority says a tame animal watched her
opportunity, and placed her foot under that of the wild one as he raised
it, so as to prevent his replacing it upon the ground, enabling the
nooser to attach the rope.

In all this though the tame elephants bend all their energies to
securing the captives, and seem to really enjoy what is going on, they
show no malignity, carefully avoid doing any injury to the prisoners,
and even when it is necessary in binding new animals to walk over those
already secured—usually sprawling on the ground struggling to get
free—they take the utmost pains not to tread on them.

When first secured, the elephant struggles fiercely to break his bonds,
writhing in a manner one would think impossible for so bulky and
unwieldly an animal. Failing in this, he seems to give way to despair,
and utters the most pitiable moans. Food is now placed within their
reach, which at first they spurn indignantly, the older ones frequently
trampling it under foot. The milder ones, as they become composed, allow
themselves to be tempted by the delicacies before them, and commence
listlessly chewing the juicy morsels. The mellow notes of a kandyan
flute sometimes aid in soothing and composing the captives. It may be
remarked that elephants are greatly influenced by music, being soothed
and quieted by soft plaintive melodies, while it is also recorded that
in the old wars in which they were used, their courage in battle was
excited by the martial strains.

The last operation of the corral is to slacken the ropes and march each
captive elephant down to the river between two tame ones. Both of the
tame elephants are furnished with strong collars, and a similar collar
is formed on the neck of the wild one, who stands between them, by
successive coils of coconut; then these collars are connected, and the
prisoner made secure between his guards. Then the nooses which have
confined his feet are removed, and the three animals march to the river,
where they are allowed to bathe. After the bath the captive elephant is
made fast to some tree in the forest, keepers are assigned to him, as
well as a retinue of leaf-cutters, whose duty it is to keep him supplied
with such food as he most relishes. These arrangements being made, he is
left to the care of his new masters, who will see that he is trained up
in the way he should go.

THE WAY THAT ELEPHANTS ARE TRAINED.

It is a very general impression that the training of these huge and
powerful animals is a work of great difficulty and tediousness. This is
a mistake. Elephants are naturally of a mild and docile nature, although
hunters and travelers, to add luster to their own exploits, have
represented them otherwise. Even the notorious “rogues”[3] are not such
wholly bad fellows as has been asserted by some of these writers, and
the Mayne Reid style of natural history must be taken with considerable
allowance. In their wild state it is very seldom that they attack any
person or animal, unless provoked or assailed, and even when some heroic
hunter sneaks up to shoot them unawares, or from some secure position
peppers them with his rifle, the animals usually appear only anxious to
escape from their aggressor.[4]

Footnote 3:

Most readers are familiar with the term “rogue” as applied to
elephants, but probably some are not aware of its exact meaning. A
_herd_ of elephants is a family, and not a group collected by accident
or attachment. The usual number of individuals in a herd is from ten
to twenty, though the latter number is sometimes exceeded. In their
visits to water-courses and migrations, alliances are formed between
members of different herds, thus introducing new blood into the
family. If an individual becomes separated from his herd, however, he
is not permitted to introduce himself into another. He may browse in
their vicinity, or resort to the same stream to bathe or drink, but
farther than this no acquaintance is allowed. An elephant who has lost
his herd, and is by this habit of exclusiveness made an outcast, is a
“rogue,” and this ban under which he suffers tends to excite that
moroseness and savageness for which rogues are noted. Another
conjecture is, that as rogues are almost always males, the death or
capture of particular females has led them to leave their herds to
seek new alliances. A tame elephant escaping from captivity, unable to
find his former companions, becomes of necessity a rogue.

Footnote 4:

We could never experience any other feelings than disgust at the
cruelty, and pity for the animals, at reading the sickening details
with which, with a slaughter-house gusto, certain heroes have graced
the narratives of their exploits. Gordon Cummings gives an account of
his pursuit of a wounded elephant which he had lamed by lodging a ball
in its shoulder blade. It limped slowly toward a tree, against which
it leaned itself in helpless agony, whilst its pursuer seated himself
in front of it, in safety, to boil his coffee, and observe its
sufferings. The story is continued as follows: “Having admired him for
a considerable time, I resolved to make experiments on vulnerable
points; and approaching very near I fired several bullets at different
parts of his enormous skull. He only acknowledged the shots by a
salaam-like movement of his trunk, with the point of which he gently
touched the wounds with a striking and peculiar action. Surprised and
shocked at finding that I was only prolonging the sufferings of the
noble beast, which bore its trials with such dignified composure, I
resolved to finish the proceeding with all possible despatch, and
accordingly opened fire upon him from the left side, aiming at the
shoulder. I first fired six shots with the two-grooved rifle, which
must have eventually proved mortal. After which I fired six shots at
the same part with the Dutch six-pounder. Large tears now trickled
from his eyes, which he slowly shut and opened, his colossal frame
shivered convulsively, and falling on his side, he expired.”

In another place, after detailing the manner in which he assailed a
poor animal, he says: “I was loading and firing as fast as could be,
sometimes at the head, sometimes behind the shoulder, until my
elephant’s forequarter was a mass of gore: notwithstanding which he
continued to hold on, leaving the grass and branches of the forest
scarlet in his wake. * * * * * Having fired thirty-five rounds with my
two-grooved rifle, I opened upon him with the Dutch six-pounder, and
when forty bullets perforated his hide, he began for the first time to
evince signs of a dilapidated constitution.” The disgusting
description is closed thus: “Throughout the charge he repeatedly
cooled his person with large quantities of water, which he ejected
from his trunk over his sides and back, and just as the pangs of death
came over him, he stood trembling violently beside a thorn tree, and
kept pouring water into his bloody mouth until he died, when he
pitched heavily forward with the whole weight of his fore-quarters
resting on the points of his tusks. The strain was fair, and the tusks
did not yield; but the portion of his head in which the tusks were
imbedded, extending a long way above the eye, yielded and burst with a
muffled crash.”

“Sport” is noble, but a butcher is not necessarily a sportsman, and a
useless destruction of life, where no more danger is incurred than in
a butcher’s shambles, is not an absolute proof of courage or heroism,
and the “noble hunters” have not the butcher’s excuse for the
bloodshed. Whatever of heroism there is in these encounters, we cannot
help thinking, is displayed by the elephants, and not by their
aggressors. For a hunter to put such achievements as we have just
quoted on record merely displays the egotism and cruelty of the man.

The training is simple, and the intelligence and obedience of the pupil
are developed with remarkable rapidity. For the first three days, or
until they will eat freely, which they seldom do in a shorter time, the
newly captured elephants are allowed to remain perfectly quiet; and if
practicable, a tame elephant is tied near them to give the wild ones
confidence. Where many elephants are being trained at once, it is
customary to put each new captive between the stalls of half-tamed ones,
thereby inducing it to more readily take to its food. The next stage of
the training process is commenced by placing a tame elephant on each
side of the pupil, with the “cooroowe vidahn,” or head of the stables,
standing in front, holding a long stick with a sharp iron point. Two men
are then stationed one on either side, each holding an iron instrument
furnished with both a sharp point and a hook. This is called a “hendoo”
in Ceylon, and a “hawkus” in Bengal, and is the principal weapon used in
guiding and controlling elephants, as it has been from very ancient
times. This instrument is held toward the animal’s trunk, while one or
two assistants rub their hands over his back, keeping up while doing so
a soothing and plaintive chant, interspersed with endearing epithets,
such as, “ho! my son,” or “ho! my father,” or “my mother,” as may be
applicable to the age and sex of the captive. At first the elephant is
furious, and strikes in all directions with his trunk; but the men in
front receiving these blows on the points of their weapons, the
extremity of the trunk becomes so sore that the animal curls it up
close, and seldom afterward attempts to use it offensively. The first
dread of man’s power being thus established, the process of taking him
to bathe between two tame elephants is greatly facilitated, and by
lengthening the neck rope, and drawing the feet together as close as
possible, the process of laying him down in the water is finally
accomplished by the keepers pressing the sharp points of their hendoos
over the backbone.

[Illustration: MEDAL OF NUMIDIA, GIVING A REPRESENTATION OF AN ANCIENT
HENDOO.]

For many days the roaring and resistance which attend the operation are
considerable, and it often requires the sagacious interference of the
tame elephants to control the refractory wild ones. It soon, however,
becomes practicable to leave the latter alone, only taking them to and
from the stall by the aid of a decoy. This step lasts, under ordinary
treatment, for about three weeks, when an elephant may be taken alone
with his legs hobbled, and a man walking backward in front with the
point of the hendoo always presented to the elephant’s head, and a
keeper with an iron crook at each ear. On getting into the water, the
fear of being pricked on his tender back induces him to lie down
immediately on the crook being held over him in terrorem. Once this
point has been achieved, the farther process of taming is dependent upon
the disposition of the creature.

[Illustration: MODERN HENDOO.]

The greatest care is requisite, and daily medicines are applied to heal
the fearful wounds on the legs which even the softest ropes occasion.
This is the great difficulty of training; for the wounds fester
grievously, and months and sometimes years will elapse before an
elephant will allow his feet to be touched without indications of alarm
and anger.

The observation has been frequently made that the elephants most vicious
and troublesome to tame, and the most worthless when tamed, are those
distinguished by a thin trunk and flabby pendulous ears. The period of
tuition does not appear to be influenced by the size or strength of the
animals: some of the smallest give the greatest amount of trouble;
whereas, in the instance of the two largest that have been taken in
Ceylon within the last thirty years, both were docile in a remarkable
degree. One in particular, fed from the hand the first night it was
secured, and in a very few days evinced pleasure on being patted on the
head. The males are generally more unmanageable than the females, and in
both an inclination to lie down to rest is regarded as a favorable
symptom of approaching tractability, some of the most resolute having
been known to stand for months together, even during sleep. Those which
are the most obstinate and violent at first are the soonest and most
effectually subdued, and generally prove permanently docile and
submissive. But those which are sullen or morose, although they may not
provoke chastisement by their viciousness, are always slower in being
trained, and are rarely to be trusted in after life.

But whatever may be his natural gentleness and docility, the temper of
an elephant is seldom to be implicitly relied on in a state of captivity
and coercion. The most amenable are subject to occasional fits of
stubbornness; and even after years of submission, irritability and
resentment will sometimes unaccountably manifest themselves. It may be
that the restraints and severer discipline of training have not been
entirely forgotten; or that incidents which in ordinary health would be
productive of no demonstration whatever, may lead, in moments of
temporary illness, to fretfulness and anger.

In his native country the first employment to which an elephant is put
is treading clay in a brick-field, or to draw a wagon in double harness
with a tame elephant. After this he is promoted to moving heavy stones
or other material, or in piling lumber. In these occupations he has an
opportunity to display that natural sagacity for which he is noted. It
is only necessary to make him understand the object desired to be
accomplished, and he will himself devise means to attain that result. In
the detail of the work it is seldom necessary to prompt him, and he will
even resent an attempt to compel him to adopt a different plan from the
one he has selected. His trunk is the instrument on which he principally
relies for moving timber and masses of rock; his tusks, if he possess
them, are also of service. Most persons entertain an exaggerated opinion
of the elephant’s strength. It is currently believed that with but
slight exertion he can uproot forest trees, and is in the habit of doing
so as a species of mild recreation. It is true he is of considerable
service in clearing paths through the jungle, but the removal of even a
small tree is a matter of both time and labor. Another common error is
the assumption that elephants are so thoroughly creatures of habit, that
their movements are purely mechanical, and that any deviation from
accustomed ways is excessively annoying and disconcerting to them. The
best informed authorities assert that changes of treatment, or of hours
of occupation, are as easily made as with a horse. Still another
mistake, derived no doubt from the intelligence and earnestness he
displays in work, is the idea that he actually enjoys his labor, and
will perform his task as faithfully in the absence of his keeper as when
he is present. The elephant, however, loves his ease, and unless his
attendant has a watchful eye upon him, he will, on completing the task
immediately in hand, stroll off to browse, or to enjoy the luxury of
blowing dust over his back.

The impulse of obedience is very strikingly manifested in the patience
with which, at the command of his keeper, he will swallow the nauseating
medicines of the native elephant doctors. The fortitude with which he
submits to excruciating surgical operations for the relief of ulcers,
would indicate that he comprehends in a measure the purpose of them.
Obedience to his keeper’s orders is not in all cases proof of a
perception of the object to be attained by compliance. This is shown in
the touching incident which took place at the slaughter of the elephant
at Exeter, England, when after receiving fully one hundred and twenty
balls in various parts of his body, and these proving ineffectual to end
his existence, he turned his face to his assailants on hearing the voice
of his keeper, and kneeled down at the accustomed word of command, so as
to bring his forehead within view of the rifles.

The affection for his keeper is a great incentive to obedience on the
part of the elephant, but although this attachment is often great, there
is not that unwillingness to transfer his affection and obedience to a
new keeper, which has been very frequently asserted. If treated with
equal kindness he will obey readily and acquire an affection for a new
attendant as soon as he becomes familiar with his voice. He no doubt
often remembers an old friend and many of the anecdotes told of
elephants recognizing an old keeper from whom they have long been
parted, and being rejoiced thereat, are doubtless true. Founded on very
good authority is the story of an animal of particularly stubborn
disposition who, on the death of his keeper, refused to obey any other,
until some attendants bethought them of a boy some twelve years old in a
distant village where the elephant had been formerly picketed, and to
whom it had displayed considerable attachment. The child was sent for,
and on his arrival was immediately recognized with many manifestations
of pleasure and to him the elephant yielded obedience, until by degrees
he became reconciled to a new keeper.

HOW “HUNTING ELEPHANTS” ARE TRAINED.

Probably all readers are familiar with the fact that, in their native
countries, elephants are not only used to aid in the capture of their
own species, but also in the pursuit of various wild beasts of the
jungle. In tiger hunting especially is this the case, and this sport
furnishes one of the chief and most exciting amusements of the English
troops in India. In this sport the elephant is rather an unwilling
participant. In his wild state there is no occasion for any conflict
between himself and other dwellers of the forest. Living entirely on
vegetable food, and so under no necessity of preying upon other animals;
too peaceful to molest others, and too powerful to be molested by them,
in a state of nature each seems anxious to avoid rather than to provoke
any encounter. Should a tiger and an elephant meet in the jungle each
would probably be only anxious to get out of the other’s way as quickly
as possible.

The principal difficulty in training elephants for hunting is to
overcome the excessive antipathy, and even dread, they entertain toward
tigers. To accomplish this a tiger’s skin is stuffed and placed
partially concealed among the undergrowth skirting some road. Along the
road the elephant is then conducted; always observant, he quickly
detects the unwelcome neighbor and considerable urging is required to
induce him to pass it. After passing it several times he becomes more
indifferent to its presence and may be gradually induced to approach it.
Then he is made to turn it over and get thoroughly familiar with it;
this accustoms him to the tiger in a state of quietude. Then the stuffed
figure is thrown toward him and he is taught to receive it upon his
tusks. The next lesson may be to drive his tusks into the body. The last
operation is to teach the elephant to allow the stuffed tiger to be
placed upon his back; this is the most difficult part of all.

When the elephant is properly trained and ready for service the hunter
takes his place in the howdah—a sort of box-seat fastened on the
animal’s back—while the mahout sits astride the neck. Behind the hunter,
in the howdah, rides the shikaree, or native gun carrier, whose duty it
is to “play second fiddle” in the expedition. A number of natives are
also usually employed as “beaters” to start the game. These men go on
foot, seeking safety, in case of danger, by climbing trees or by being
lifted up by the elephant upon his back. The elephants are now formed in
line and the jungle beaten, in all parts if a small one, or if very
extensive in those portions only which appear most likely to contain
game. As soon as a tiger is started the line advances upon him, each
hunter watching for an opportunity to fire as his elephant charges.
Notwithstanding the most careful training instinct often proves an
overmatch for the elephant’s education and, he takes to flight in spite
of all the driver’s efforts to prevent him. One hunter relates an
incident of his elephant being seized with a panic and dumping hunter,
driver and all upon his back, into the very midst of a number of tigers
which the party were in pursuit of.

In taking a dead tiger home the elephant lies on his side until the body
is fastened to him, and then rises with it.

The liability to be seized with a panic at trifling circumstances is
probably due in a measure to the elephant’s limited range of vision, the
short neck preventing his looking much above the level of his head. An
anecdote illustrative of this is told by Sir J. E. Tennent: “In 1841 an
officer was chased by an elephant that he had slightly wounded. Seizing
him near the dry bed of a river, the animal had his fore foot already
raised to crush him; but its forehead being touched at the same instant
by the tendrils of a climbing plant which had suspended itself from the
branches above, it suddenly turned and fled, leaving him bodily hurt,
but with no limbs broken.”

Elephants seldom use their tusks as weapons unless they have been
trained to do so; their vertical position, and the structure of the neck
preventing their being effective unless the object of attack being
directly below them. The stories told of the execution of criminals by
elephants when Ceylon was under the rule of native kings, generally
describe the elephant as killing the victim by running its tusks through
his body. An eye-witness of one of these executions, however, says the
animal never used his tusks at all, but placed his foot upon the
prostrate man and tore off his limbs in succession by a sudden movement
of the trunk. Hunters have frequently described their escape from
elephants when the latter might easily have killed them by a thrust of
their tusks, but apparently did not even know how to use them for that
purpose.

The elephant’s dependence is really upon his trunk and his ponderous
feet. It is related that in an encounter between two elephants, one a
tusker and the other without tusks, the latter proved the victor,
breaking off one of the former’s tusks with his trunk.

PERFORMING ELEPHANTS.

From very early times elephants have not only been used in war, in
industrial pursuits, and to add to the pomp and display of powerful
rulers, but ages ago they were made to amuse the multitude by
performances not very dissimilar to those witnessed in our modern
circuses. An old Roman writer describes a number of elephants exhibited
in Rome by a nephew of the emperor Tiberius, who were taught “to twist
their limbs and to bend them like a stage dancer,”—Roman stage dancers
could not have been remarkable for grace or agility we should fancy—“the
whole troop came forward from this and that side of the theater, and
divided themselves into parties; they advanced walking with a mincing
gait, and exhibiting in their whole bodies and persons the manners of a
beau, clothed in the flowery dresses of dancers; and on the ballet
master giving a signal with his voice they fell into line and went round
in a circle, and if it were necessary to display they did so. They
ornamented the floor of the stage by throwing flowers upon it, and beat
a measure with their feet and keep time together.” Another feature of
the entertainment was a banquet prepared for the elephants; “tables were
placed then of sweet smelling wood and ivory very superb,” with goblets
“very expensive, and bowls of gold and silver.” When all was ready the
banqueters came forward, six male and an equal number of female
elephants; the former had on a male dress and the latter a female; and
on the signal being given they stretched forward their trunks in a
subdued manner, and took their food in great moderation. The last
exploit of these animals related by an old Roman was writing on tablets
with their trunks, “neither looking awry or turning aside. The hand,
however, of the teacher was placed so as to be a guide in the formation
of the letters; and while it was writing the animal kept its eye fixed
down in an accomplished and scholarlike manner.”

[Illustration: PERFORMING ELEPHANT.]

In addition to the training elephants receive immediately after their
capture, and which we have described, very little instruction is
required to prepare them for those performances which delight
circus-goers. The performances in question consist usually of lying
down, walking on their legs, standing on the head, walking up an
inclined plane formed of a narrow plank, standing on a pedestal, holding
a rope for a dancer or acrobat to perform upon, and similar feats. These
are nearly all but modifications of his labors when a captive in his
native country. Holding a line for a gymnast is not very different to
the elephant from doing the same thing to draw a load or raise a weight.

In compelling the elephant to perform these acts advantage is taken of
the fact that the feet of the elephant are peculiarly sensitive and he
dreads any injury to them. While a spear held at his head will cause him
little uneasiness, if the same be directed toward his feet it will cause
him to display evident symptoms of anxiety. So by threatened attacks he
may be induced to move in any desired direction. By tapping them gently
from below he may be made to raise them; and by persevering he is made
to raise both hind feet—lowering his head as a natural result of this
rear movement—and thus is accomplished the feat of standing on his head.
In the pedestal performance the pedestal is comparatively low, and with
the upper surface of just sufficient area to accommodate the elephants
four feet, placed close together. He is first made to place one fore
foot upon this, then the other, and then in succession the two hind
feet. The trainer must be watchful and prevent the elephant’s very
natural attempt to replace his fore feet on the ground when he places
his hind one on the pedestal. This is done by striking his toes whenever
he makes the attempt.

[Illustration: PERFORMING ELEPHANT.]

The delicacy of touch possessed by the elephant’s trunk enables him to
use it for many purposes with as much dexterity as a human being would
his hands. Thus he easily performs the amusing trick of opening and
drinking a bottle of soda water; holding the bottle with his feet while
he removes the cork with his trunk and then lifting the bottle in his
trunk and pouring the contents down his throat. Similar tricks are
readily acquired by the elephant without any particular training, all
that is necessary in the soda-water trick is to let him know there is
something in the bottle and his ingenuity may be depended upon to get at
the contents. We some years ago witnessed a novel feat at a circus. A
small table was brought into the ring and the clown seated himself on
one side of it. On the other side the elephant who had been performing
squatted on his haunches. The “supes” then brought in plates of apples,
bread, etc., and arranged them on the table. A large two-pronged fork
was now handed to the elephant, and with this he dexterously “speared”
his provender and conveyed it to his mouth. This appeared quite
wonderful, and was hailed with rounds of applause, but it was a trick
very easily taught. The animal had been first given apples on a fork,
and not being allowed to eat them except on taking them off the fork
with his mouth he soon learned to do so. Then he was given the fork, and
the apples placed before him, his trunk was guided by his trainer’s hand
to strike the fork into the apple and then he was allowed to carry it to
his mouth. If the apples be good ones he will soon learn to do all this
without prompting, and will very willingly perform the trick for the
sake of the “perquisites.”

We do not imagine that many of our readers will have occasion to train
an elephant; still there is often an opportunity afforded at traveling
exhibitions, should you desire it, to make an elephant go through a
little performance for you, such as picking up your hat, catching apples
or nuts thrown him, etc. A judicious outlay in ginger-bread and like
delicacies will induce his elephantship to be quite obliging, and if
your stock of edibles be purchased at the stand in the tent, probably
the proprietors will offer no objection to your feeding their elephant
with them.

Speaking of amateur elephant exhibitors recalls an adventure of our own
youthful days. Visiting a menagerie early one afternoon when
comparatively few visitors were present, and anxious to “show of” before
some less venturesome youths, we had, at the expense of all our pocket
money, caused one of the elephants to pick up our cap when thrown down
and hand it back to us, to insert his trunk in our pockets after cake,
and finally, as a crowning feat, to take bits of cake from between our
lips. Had we been contented with these achievements our performance
would have been a triumph; but, alas, our ambition was not satisfied,
and we thought it would be a still greater display to make the elephant
take the cake from the _inside_ of our mouth. So a piece was a placed
therein and the mouth held invitingly open. Mr. Elephant unhesitatingly
inserted his proboscis, but unfortunately our supply of cake had been
well nigh exhausted, and the piece used for the experiment was _very_
small, so either from inability to find it, a mistake in the article, or
as a punishment for reducing the rations, he got hold of our tongue, and
the first thing we knew he was attempting to pull it out. Luckily his
keeper came to our rescue at this critical moment, and we retired
uninjured but rather crestfallen.

CHAPTER XIII.
LIONS, TIGERS, LEOPARDS AND PANTHERS.

Unquestionably the lion in his native wilds, with his appetite keen from
forced fasts, is a fierce and formidable adversary to meet with, and
well worthy the title of “king of beasts.” But it is well established by
travelers and hunters that when his appetite is satisfied he will seldom
attack a man unprovoked, often passing harmlessly by; and will even
permit his best relished prey, the antelope, to come to his neighborhood
for water, without molestation. He is comparatively gentle in a state of
captivity, more to be depended upon, and less treacherous, than the
tiger, and has been preferred to the tiger by tamers in all ages.

When taken young he is tamed with little difficulty, and, while a cub,
may be handled and caressed like a great kitten. As he grows larger he
becomes so rough in his play that he is liable unintentionally to
inflict injury. Hunters who capture a family of cubs generally sell them
to individuals who make a business of buying up young animals in their
native countries, to be forwarded to correspondents in various parts of
the world. This is the way in which nearly all the wild animals on
exhibition are procured.

When an animal “on the road”—which is the technical term for moving with
a traveling exhibition—is so unmindful of the interests of his owners as
to die, the showman telegraphs to a dealer in wild animals, and often
within twenty-four hours another is on his way to supply the vacant
place. Sometimes, if the dead animal has acquired a reputation, the new
one assumes his name as well as his duties, and the public never
suspects there has been any change.

Until bought by the exhibitor lions are considered merely as articles of
merchandise, to be kept in good condition, and, when ordered, to be
packed and forwarded with due care and despatch. The dealer in wild
animals does nothing in respect to taming them, though a second-hand
animal which has been tamed sometimes comes into his hands. If it is
desired to tame a lion for the exhibition of the “lion king” he is
bought when young; if merely for ordinary exhibition this is not
essential.

The taming is accomplished mainly by mild measures. The young lion is
regularly and plentifully fed, his food being given to him by the tamer.
As we before remarked a cub may be handled with as much freedom as a
kitten, and if this be kept up regularly, the animal becomes so
accustomed to it as not to resent it when he grows older. Besides, all
animals of the cat kind are fond of having their heads scratched and
their fur stroked, and even such a trifling matter as this aids the
tamer in soothing and gaining the good will of the animal. Being fed
immediately after these familiarities the lion soon hails them with
pleasure, as the precursor of his meal. Any misbehavior, such as
scratching, biting, or defiance of the tamer is punished with a blow
from the butt of a heavy whip, and in extreme cases by the deprivation
of his supper.

[Illustration: THE “LION KING” PERFORMING.]

It is sometimes necessary to reduce an old lion to submission or to
inspire with more awe one which does not entertain sufficient respect
for the tamer. The animal is usually well fed; this dulls his anger at
the tamer’s intrusion, as well as makes his resistance more easily
overcome. Armed with a club, the tamer enters the cage, and standing in
such a position as to prevent the lion approaching from the rear, he
waits the animal’s onset. This is always a ticklish position, requiring
a cool head and steady nerves, but the captive animal with a full
stomach is not like a wild one ravenous for food, and he is pretty sure
to submit sooner or later. Watching the animal’s eye steadily, the tamer
can ordinarily detect his intention to spring, and be prepared to
receive him with a blow from the club. This he repeats at each approach
of the animal until the latter slinks to the farther end of the cage and
ceases his attacks. This is enough for one lesson; the next day the
animal will probably only gaze sullenly on the tamer upon his entering
the cage. As he becomes accustomed to the man’s presence he will permit
him to handle him, but these are not the ones in whose mouths the tamer
places his head. To place your head in the mouth of a lion who bears you
ill-will is a dangerous proceeding, and there is a probability that he
would seize such a favorable opportunity to pay off old scores.

Burning torches and heated irons are sometimes resorted to as aids in
subduing unamiable and obstinate animals. These are used more frequently
for tigers than for lions. More reliance may be placed upon a lion’s
affection than a tiger’s; the tiger must be made to fear the tamer so
much that he will not dare to commit any overt act.

The training of an animal of course adds very greatly to his value,
therefore great pains are taken with the lion’s education. The lion, if
gentle means have been adopted, often becomes attached to the tamer, and
will go through his performance with even a sort of pleasure. This
performance usually consists in the “lion king” entering the cage,
caressing the lions, and then proceeding to show the audience what he
dares to do with the animals. Opening the mouth, showing the teeth and
tongue, pulling out claws, and the more startling feat of putting his
head in the lion’s mouth, are the customary performances. Taking the
lion by the tail is a familiarity occasionally, though seldom, indulged
in.

When the man places his head in the lion’s mouth it will be noticed that
he holds the jaws with his hands. This is generally, but erroneously,
supposed to be done to prevent the animal closing his mouth; should he
feel so inclined, the man’s strength would avail but little against the
powerful muscles of the animal’s jaws; his real object in holding the
jaws is to prevent the exceedingly rough tongue of the lion coming in
contact with and lacerating his face. When this feat is performed in
private it is usual to protect the face with a sort of hood of stout
cloth. Most of the injuries, to lion tamers, which occur in the
performance of this feat, we believe to be purely accidental. An
incipient cough, a tickling in the throat or some other trifle is liable
to cause a spasmodic closing of the jaws, and the crushing of the
tamer’s head before he or the lion has any idea of what is going to
happen.

Some lions will permit strangers to enter their cages in company with
the tamer. Some will even permit little familiarities from visitors
under the protection of the tamer. Nero, a lion of peculiarly gentle
disposition belonging to a menagerie traveling in Scotland, seemed even
pleased to receive visits from persons whom his master saw fit to
introduce into his cage, and would treat them very graciously. When last
in Edinburgh a nightly exhibition was given of visitors riding and
sitting on his back, Nero the while preserving a look of magnanimous
composure, only slowly looking around at the entrance of a new visitor.
Another lion, in Amsterdam, would jump through a hoop and barrel; then
through the same covered with paper; and finally through hoop and barrel
with the paper set on fire. This last part he evidently disliked, but
with some coaxing would do it. When given meat in public he would show
his forbearance by allowing some of it to be taken from him, submitting
with only a short clutch and a growl; but his countenance lost its
serene expression, and he would probably not long have submitted to this
tampering.

A keeper of wild beasts in New York had provided himself with a fur cap
on the approach of winter. The novelty of this costume attracted the
attention of the lion who made a sudden grab at it, as the man passed
the cage, and pulled it off his head. As soon, however, as he discovered
it was the keeper’s he relinquished the cap and laid down meekly on the
bottom of his cage. The same animal hearing a noise under his cage put
his paw through the bars and hauled up the keeper, who was cleaning
beneath. Seeing it was his master he had thus ill-used, he immediately
laid down upon his back in an attitude of complete submission.

The temper of the female is generally milder than that of the male
previous to her having young. No sooner, however, does she become a
mother than the ferocity of her disposition becomes ten-fold more
vigorous, and though she will sometimes permit the keeper to enter the
cage and attend to her wants, too near an approach, or any interference
with the cubs would prove extremely dangerous. When disturbed by
visitors the lioness displays great anxiety for her young, carrying the
cubs in her mouth, apparently desirous of hiding them. This anxiety
begins to diminish when the young ones reach the age of about five
months. Lions are quite frequently born in captivity, but few of these
reach maturity, many dying at the time of shedding their milk teeth.

[Illustration: THE LIONESS AND THE DOG.]

There was at one time in the Jardin des Plantes, Paris, a lioness which
permitted a dog to live in her den, and to which she became strongly
attached. The dog was equally fond of her, gamboling with and caressing
her in the highest possible spirit. The lioness was most attentive to
all his wants, and when the keeper let the little creature out for
exercise she seemed exceedingly unhappy till he returned.

A lioness kept in the Tower of London in 1773 had for a considerable
time been so attached to a little dog who was kept in her den that she
would not eat till the dog was first satisfied. When the lioness was
near her time of whelping, it was thought advisable to take the dog
away; but shortly after, when the keepers were cleaning the den, the dog
by some means got into it and approached the lioness with his wonted
fondness, while she was playing with her cubs. She made a sudden spring
at him, and seizing the poor little animal in her mouth, seemed on the
point of tearing him to pieces; then, as if suddenly recollecting her
former kindness, she carried him to the door of the den and allowed him
to be taken out unharmed.

One of the most interesting cages in the Zoological Garden, London, is
that containing a family party consisting of a mastiff with a lion and
his mate. They were brought up together from cubhood, and agree
marvelously well, though the dog would prove little more than a mouthful
for either of his noble companions. Visitors express much sympathy for
him, and fancy that the lion is only saving him up, as the giant did
Jack, for a future feast. But this sympathy seems uncalled for, as Lion
(so the dog is named) has always maintained the ascendancy he assumed as
a pup, and any rough handling on the part of his huge playfellows is
immediately resented by his flying at their noses. Although the dog is
allowed to come out of the den every morning, he shows a great
disinclination to leave his old friends. It is, however, thought
advisable to separate them at feeding time.

The taming of wild beasts has not been confined to modern times. In the
palmy days of the Roman empire they were trained and led in the
triumphal processions so common at the time when Rome was almost master
of the world. Lions were even made, occasionally, to draw the chariots
of some victorious general, symbolical of his prowess. For many
generations, various powerful Indian sovereigns have had beasts of prey
tamed and kept near the throne on state occasions. More frequently,
however, they were employed in the execution of criminals or persons who
had offended the despot. King Theodore of Abyssinia possessed quite a
number of tamed lions. Of his four special favorites, one named Kuara
was the most docile and intelligent. When the king received an embassy
he gave audience to the messengers surrounded by a court of lions
instead of a crowd of courtiers and a guard of soldiers.

The couguar, or American lion, is one of the gentlest of the species,
easily tamed, becoming harmless and even affectionate, even toward
comparative strangers. This animal is frequently met with in menageries,
his docility and the ease with which he may be taught to leap and climb,
rendering him a favorite for these collections. He is much pleased with
the society of those persons to whom he is accustomed; lies down on his
back between their feet, toys with their garments, and acts very much
like a playful kitten. He has a great predilection for water, and, if
provided with a tub of that liquid, will jump in, souse around in it,
and jump out again highly delighted.

Tigers being more treacherous and less influenced by kind treatment than
lions, tamers generally prefer to have as little to do with as possible.
This rule, however, is not without an exception; the natives of India
tame tigers more frequently than lions, and the tame tigers of the
fakirs, the celebrated “royal tigers,” natives of Hindoostan, naturally
the most powerful and ferocious in the world, exhibit great gentleness
and confidence—attributable doubtless to the ample way in which they are
fed. In this country tigers are principally kept merely as objects of
curiosity and few efforts are made to tame them. When taming is deemed
desirable, resort is generally had to intimidation. An old tiger can
seldom be subdued except by brute force; a crowbar is more effective
with him than kindness, though when once rendered tractable, kindness
succeeds severity in his treatment.

Tigers are not, however, entirely destitute of affection, and this is
sometimes manifested toward the person who has reared them. An example
of this kind, a tigress in the town of London, may be familiar to the
reader. This animal on its arrival in London grew very irascible and
dangerous, from the annoyance of visitors and the bustle on the Thames.
After she had been here some time her old keeper visited the tower and
desired to enter the cage. So sulky and savage had the beast become that
the superintendent feared to grant this request, but was finally
prevailed on to do so. No sooner, however, did the animal catch sight of
her old friend than she exhibited the utmost joy and on his entering her
cage, fawned upon and caressed him, showing extravagant signs of
pleasure, and at his departure cried and whined for the remainder of the
day.

The cowardice of the tiger is well known. This characteristic is
illustrated in the contests between buffaloes and tigers exhibited in
India. The tiger seems to menace the spectators, swelling his fur,
displaying his teeth, and occasionally snarling and lashing his sides
with his tail. As soon as the buffalo enters the enclosure, the tiger
“sinks into the most contemptible despondency, sneaking along under the
palisade, crouching and turning on his back, to avoid the buffalo’s
charge. He tries every device his situation will admit, and often
suffers himself to be gored, or to be lifted from his pusillanimous
attitude by the buffalo’s horn before he can be induced to act on the
defensive. When, however, he really does summon up courage to oppose his
antagonist, he displays wonderful vigor and activity, although he is
generally conquered.”

Perhaps the cowardice of the tiger in the above instance is due to the
consciousness of his inability to cope successfully with his adversary,
and may be a specimen of “discretion being the better part of valor,”
but the following incident related of a tiger kept at the British
residency in Calcutta, gives an amusing example of absurd terror from a
most insignificant cause: “What annoyed him far more than our poking him
up with a stick, or tantalizing him with shins of beef or legs of
mutton, was introducing a mouse into his cage. No fine lady ever
exhibited more terror at the sight of a spider than this magnificent
royal tiger betrayed on seeing a mouse. Our mischievous plan was to tie
the little animal by a string to the end of a long pole, and thrust it
close to the tiger’s nose. The moment he saw it he leaped to the
opposite side; and, when the mouse was made to run near him, he jammed
himself into a corner, and stood trembling and roaring in such an
ecstasy of fear that we were always obliged to desist in pity to the
poor brute. Sometimes we insisted on his passing over the spot where the
unconscious little mouse ran backward and forward. For a long time,
however, we could not get him to move, till, at length, I believe, by
the help of a squib, we obliged him to start; but, instead of pacing
leisurely across his den, or making a detour to avoid the object of his
alarm, he generally took a kind of flying leap, so high as nearly to
bring his back in contact with the roof of his cage.”

Tigers will not submit like lions to the intrusion of idle strangers
into the cages, but any professional trainer can ordinarily enter the
cage and exhibit any properly broken tigers without special risk. There
are men ready to accept engagements for performing with animals whom
they may never have seen before the day of exhibition; fear being the
controlling influence with the beasts, it is only requisite that the man
shall show no timidity, and compel obedience by whatever severity may be
necessary. The statement that belladonna or the leaves of datura
stramonium are put in the food of tigers to act on their nervous system
and create hallucination and terror, is, we believe, unfounded; no
hallucination equals the simple reality of a heavy iron bar.

The tiger’s cage is not altogether without its dangers. A story told of
Tom Nathan, once well known in connection with circus exhibitions, gives
one illustration of the feelings attendant upon non-success. He began
public life as a clown. In his later years his hair was snowy white, but
he relates that it became so, not in consequence of his years, but from
an alarming accident which befell him during his career in the sawdust.
There was a tiger in the show with which he was connected, and the man
who bearded the tiger in his den having, on one occasion, struck for
higher wages, Nathan volunteered to take his place. Boldly he entered
the cage, but as soon as he did so, the animal resented the intrusion
and seized him by the fleshy part of the body immediately below the
small of the back. The fear of being chewed, the pain of the laceration
of his flesh, and disappointed ambition combined, blanched his hair in a
moment. He went into the cage a fair haired youth, and was taken out, as
soon as he could be secured, a white headed old man.

The following is a bit of experience, related to an English
correspondent, by an old English tamer named Norwood, long employed by
Jamrach, an extensive animal owner of London:

“Whenever I ’ave a few words with Mr. Jamrach, which I had a few not
many weeks ago, I takes to the show business, and am allers ready to go
in. This ’ere scar,” (baring an arm and showing a deep flesh wound,
recently cicatrized) “I got on the Kingsland road, on the 20th of this
month. A Bengal tiger it was, and I was a-performing with the same beast
as was at the Crystal Palace a short time arterwards. Me and Mr. Jamrach
’ad ’ad a few words, we ’ad, and I took up with the performing, which
I’d been accustomed to. Well, I see the tiger for the first time at four
in the arternoon; and I goes into her den, and puts her through her
anky-panky at eight. As a matter o’course I ’ad to giv’ her the whip a
bit, and she not knowing my voice, don’t you see, got fidgety and didn’t
like it. To make matters worse moresumever, this tiger bein’ fond of
jumpin’, they went and shortened the cage, so that when I giv’ the word
she fell short of her reg’lar jump, and came upon me. I don’t believe
she meant mischief; I only fancy she got timid like, and not being
accustomed to what she ’ad under ’er, she makes a grab and does wot you
see. The company got scared like; the ladies screamed, and the
performance was stopped for a time. What did I do?—why, directly they
came in with iron bars and made her loose her hold, I jest giv’ her the
whip agen, and made her go through the jump till she got more satisfied
like; but she was timid, very timid, to the last, and tore off the flesh
right to the elbow here. No, sir, I never stopped the performance after
the first time, though I was being mauled above a bit, while the people
was a clapping their ’ands, and ’ollering ‘angcore,’ It don’t do with
beasts to let ’em think you’re uneasy, so each time she tore me with her
claws, I just giv’ her the whip, till she saw it wouldn’ do.”

Leopards and panthers, although sometimes confounded even by
naturalists, are strictly different animals, though so near alike that
any statements in regard to the training of one will be equally
applicable to the other. They are both quite common in menageries, and
are often among the dwellers in the “den of beasts.” Leopards—and what
we say of the leopard’s character or training applies equally to the
panther—are of a comparatively gentle disposition, and, unless hungry or
annoyed, are generally harmless. Even in a wild state a person may come
across them without being harmed, though it is said they are more
dreaded at the Cape of Good Hope, than the lion, for they steal silently
and treacherously upon their prey while he gives warning of his approach
by terrific roarings.

Illustrative of the leopard’s peaceful disposition an amusing story is
told of a Cape farmer who once surprised a group of seven leopards
reposing on a clump of scattered rocks. In the excitement of the moment,
with scarcely a thought as to the probable consequences, he fired his
single-barreled gun at them. Instead of returning this attack, the
leopards seemed more surprised than angry at the report of the gun, and
instead of turning their attention to the imprudent intruder some of
them leaped on their hind legs, and pawed the air as if trying to catch
the bullet which had gone whistling by their ears.

The leopard is tamed easily, and is usually the animal selected to
perform the leaping and similar feats which form a prominent portion of
the “lion king’s” exhibition. Care is taken to select an individual who
shows an inclination and aptness for these exercises. In this case the
training is a mere trifle; the tamer corners the leopard up in one end
of the cage, and holding his whip in a horizontal position close to the
floor, he gently stirs the animal with his foot, giving at the same time
the command, “up!” or “hi!” To escape the annoyance the leopard will
spring over the whip, and the lesson is repeated until he does so
promptly, on its being placed in position and the order given. Then the
tamer may raise one of his legs and hold the whip at its side, and the
leopard will leap over the leg. The same plan may be adopted with other
articles such as poles, banners, etc., or even the trainer’s own head.
Jumping through a hoop is the next lesson; the hoop to be held in one
hand while the other hand holds the whip, with which the lower part of
the hoop is to be tapped when the command “up!” or “hi!” is given. The
hoop is at first held low down and close to the animal, but it may be
gradually elevated as the lessons continue until the leap is as high as
the cage will permit. Covering the hoop with paper adds a little to the
attractiveness of this feat, and, of course, the leopard experiences no
difficulty in going through a single thickness of paper.

It is a harder task to induce the animal to jump through a hoop in which
a number of small lights are arranged so as to form a fiery circle. The
animal’s natural dread of fire makes him dislike anything of which fire
forms a part, but if the hoop be at first of large size and the lights
few, he will, if perseveringly urged, by-and-by venture. Experiencing no
harm he will gradually become bolder, and the size of the hoop may be
decreased and the lights increased until a wreath of fire is formed
barely large enough for him to pass through; the rapidity of his passage
will prevent his being hurt by the flames. A similar mode is adopted for
teaching lions, though they are less frequently taught these tricks.

The large cage in which the tamer’s public exhibitions take place is
divided into several compartments by iron gates; each animal has his
allotted division and the gates prevent any intrusion by the other
animals. It is only when the tamer is in the cage that these-gates are
opened; then they swing back against the sides, forming one large cage.
The animals are very jealous of any encroachment of the others, upon
their accustomed space, and the tamer must be watchful to prevent
quarrels when they are thus all thrown together. It is easier to make
the beasts submit to a man’s presence than to the presence of one
another. It is seldom that the tamer is assailed, but many a time has
one of the animals been killed during these performances, without the
spectators having any suspicion of the fact. A sudden bite at the back
of the neck crushes the spine and the victim sinks upon the floor
without a sound, dead. The audience suppose he has lain down because his
part of the performance is over—and so it is.

Wild animals kept in confinement are subject to spells of sulkiness, at
which times their management requires great judgment and care on the
part of the tamer. These sulky moods are premonitions to the tamer of
danger, and he makes it a point whenever passing the cages to glance at
the animals’ eyes to detect any suspicious looks. It is during these
fits that most of the casualties occur.

Women have in several instances ventured to assume the rôle of “lion
queens.” Some years ago one of these was traveling with a show; through
the country, whose husband, we have been told, had been a lion tamer,
and had been killed by one of the animals. Before his death this man had
sometimes allowed his wife to enter the cage with him, thus accustoming
the animals to her presence—though with no thought, probably, of her
ever performing them professionally. Exactly how it came about we cannot
tell, but probably she saw no other means of support; at any rate, in
the very cage in which her husband met his death she set out to win her
daily bread. We cannot vouch for the story; we cannot now even recall
the name of our informant; but for all that it may be true. We only
remember that she was harsher toward her animals than are most masculine
members of the profession, and it is possible she was meting out to them
a sort of “poetic justice” for the murder of her husband.

Children have at times been introduced into these cages to make the
exhibition appeal more strongly to the sympathies of the audience. The
public always flock to see these scenes, however they may cry out
against the barbarity of exposing a child to the danger of being torn to
pieces by wild beasts. In one or two cases a little girl has entered the
cage entirely alone and performed the animals; but animals are often
more tractable with children than with grown persons, as probably many
of our readers have witnessed in the case of savage dogs. Mrs. Bowdich
says of a panther kept at Cape Coast, Africa, as the pet of an officer,
that he was particularly gentle with children, lying by them as they
slept. Even the infant shared his caresses without the slightest attempt
on the animal’s part to injure the child. Besides this docility with
children the tamer is always near at hand, sometimes in the guise of an
attendant, keeping a watchful eye upon the animals, and ready to lend
prompt assistance should it be required.

In Persia the leopard is trained to hunt gazelles just as a falcon will
hunt herons. The huntsman provides the leopard with a hood, which can be
drawn over his face and mouth, and seats him on his saddle-bow. The
moment a deer or gazelle is sighted the leopard’s head is uncovered, and
he is let down from the horse. In one or two bounds, according to the
distance, the leopard springs upon the back of his prey and seizing it
by the neck brings it to the ground. The huntsman then comes up, and
after caressing the leopard, who has already begun to feast upon the
prey, he gives him a piece of meat to divert his attention, and slipping
on the hood restores him to his place upon the saddle-bow. When the
leopard fails to bring down the prey, which rarely happens, he hides
himself and lies down, and can only be prevailed on to renew the chase
by repeated caresses.

CHAPTER XIV.
TAMING WILD ANIMALS IN GENERAL—SQUIRRELS—BEARS—BUFFALOES—WOLVES—HYENAS—
RHINOCEROSES—HIPPOPOTAMI—CROCODILES—ALLIGATORS.

All our present domestic animals having sprung from wild stock, it is
not very remarkable that many other animals now found in a state of
nature, may be rendered equally gentle and obedient under proper
treatment. As the taming of these animals answers no purpose save the
gratification of public curiosity, the number is comparatively small,
for as soon as a tame bear or buffalo ceases to be a novelty the most
profitable thing for his owner to do is to chop him up into steaks.
Whatever may be the ferocity of an animal that has reached maturity,
this characteristic is almost wholly lacking in his infancy,
consequently most of the tamed animals have been captured young, and
accustomed for the principal part of their lifetime to captivity.

All wild animals when captured, after they have reached an adult age,
display at first a passionate resistance to confinement and all efforts
to soothe them. While this lasts it is usual to keep them without food.
The exhaustion induced by this deprivation greatly aids in quelling
their rage, besides teaching them the hopelessness of resistance. With
cubs this is scarcely ever necessary; though they sometimes display
anger, they are so easily overpowered or restrained from mischief, that
it is hardly worth while needlessly to make them suffer hunger. As soon
as the old ones become quiet they are fed by the tamer, who thus lays
the foundation of their future good will. Animals in menageries are, as
a rule, fed one full meal each day, with the exception of Sunday, on
which day they get nothing to eat. This fast is intended to keep them in
health, and to rest their digestive organs, and is nothing to animals
who can go for days or even weeks without food if necessary.

Small animals, such as squirrels, etc., may be tamed without difficulty,
even if captured when arrived at a considerable age. Gentle treatment,
the avoidance of any teasing or aggravating, and a gradual increase of
the tamer’s familiarity with the captive, will be all that is requisite
in most cases. When tamed, the animals may be taught tricks of various
kinds in the same manner that we have elsewhere described for teaching
the same performances to other animals.

A squirrel, if captured when moderately young, can be tamed in a couple
of days by merely carrying him in your pocket. The warmth of the pocket
will be pleasant to him, and by giving him a nut occasionally you will
convince him that you mean well toward him, and so gain his confidence.
At first, care must be taken to prevent his escape, but by-and-by he may
be allowed to come out and go in at his pleasure, and he will run about
your lap with the greatest familiarity. With flying squirrels this
method of training is particularly successful.

Squirrels and many of the small wild animals can be made tame by any boy
who is willing to devote sufficient time and patience to the object. In
some cases it is not necessary to capture the animal. We have known
instances of animals, particularly squirrels, being made so tame that
they would of their own accord come to the tamer on hearing his voice.
There was no great mystery in their docility; food had been at first
placed in places frequented by them, the person so placing it retiring
to a distance. By-and-by the animal would come and eat the food, perhaps
glancing suspiciously at the distant figure, but if the person made no
motion to startle him, he would continue his meal.

This placing of food would require long continuance, the person each
time remaining a little nearer than before, until, in time, the animal
would have no fear even in his immediate vicinity. Then bits of food may
be gently dropped down for him, and if the tamer stands quietly they
will probably be picked up. Then the tamer may step backward and again
drop a morsel; the animal will advance to get it, and at last he may
even become so familiar as to eat from the hand. A squirrel who has been
so far tamed may then easily be taught to climb over the tamer’s person
by enticing him forward with some dainty. We have seen a squirrel
induced to go through quite a variety of little performances, standing
erect, leaping, and climbing wherever desired, lured on by a kernel of
corn at the end of a piece of string.

Of the larger animals, bears have always been favorite subjects with
trainers. Considerable difficulty and danger is encountered in securing
the cubs, owing to the ferocity and courage with which the mother bear
defends her young. The old bear is in most cases killed before the
capture of the young ones can be accomplished. During the infancy of the
cubs the old he-bear ungallantly deserts the partner of his bosom, and
takes up his quarters at a distance, to avoid annoyance by the cries of
his progeny; so the hunter often escapes trouble with the head of the
family. Bears are born blind, like puppies, and remain so for about
eight or nine days. With care they can be raised even if taken when only
four or five days old. The black bear attains his full size when eight
or nine years old.

Bears like many other animals have been called upon to lend their aid in
theatrical displays. A frightful scene occurred some twenty years ago at
the theater of Czerny, in Bohemia, during the performance of a
melo-drama, called the “Bear of the Mountains,” the principal performer
in which was a bruin of such wonderful docility and dramatic talent,
that for a long succession of nights he attracted overflowing audiences.
On this occasion, however, something had put this star out of humor, and
he was observed to be wanting in those brilliant displays of the
histrionic art which had previously overwhelmed him with applause. In
the third act, instead of coming down the mountains by a winding path,
with the slow and solemn step, as set down in the prompter’s book, he
alighted on the stage at one bound.

On his return behind the scenes he received reproofs, which, instead of
improving, made his temper still more sullen; and it was with difficulty
he could be prevailed on to go through his part. In the last scene he
was induced to commence a waltz with a young and beautiful peasant girl,
and seemed to take so much enjoyment in the dance, that the whole
audience were raised from their seats, and, standing on the benches,
drowned the sounds of a powerful orchestra with their acclamations of
praise and delight.

In a moment, however, the joyous spectacle was changed into one of
horror; a piercing shriek was heard above all the combination of noises;
the stage was one moment in the utmost confusion, and the next was clear
of every performer except the bear, who appeared with his muzzle,
unfastened, and hanging around his neck; and after making a wide display
of his tremendous gullet, leaped into the orchestra, which, as may be
easily imagined, was as vacant as the stage. The flight of the audience
was equally as quick, but the consequences more serious. Numbers were
severely crushed and bruised in the struggle at the doors, and several
were dreadfully injured by being thrown down and trampled upon. After a
pause, a platoon of soldiers went into the pit with fixed bayonets and
loaded barrels, and ordered to bring out the cause of all the evil, dead
or alive; but they found him, like other great actors who have performed
their parts and become exhausted by their exertions, taking his repose
on one of the benches, and incapable or unwilling to make any
resistance.

The performances of bears consist almost entirely of natural actions,
such as walking erect, climbing, leaping, and the like. These are
arranged to form a variety of feats; that of a bear riding around the
ring, in a gig drawn by a pony, is very simple, the bear being only
required to set erect, and hold the reins in his paws. Carrying
articles, as when acting waiter, is natural. Standing on their heads and
turning somersaults are probably feats not commonly indulged in in a
state of freedom; they are taught by rapping the hind legs until the
animals take the desired position or make the desired turn-over. The
most pretentious bear show within our knowledge was that of “Old Grizzly
Adams,” a hunter who managed to collect quite a number and variety of
bears, which were exhibited some years ago. Laughing, crying, singing,
and other bears were advertised as belonging to this collection; but the
laughing, crying and singing were the mere natural voices of the bears,
and all so nearly alike that only a vivid imagination enabled the hearer
to distinguish between the laughing, crying, and singing. Some gaudy
costumes tickled with their ridiculousness the fancy of the audience,
and the exhibition gave very fair satisfaction.

[Illustration: DANCING BEARS IN COSTUME.]

Little bears are intensely amusing, and they display a great fondness
for romping and playing. We have known of hunters bringing cubs home,
and adopting them, as it were, into their families, the bears becoming
exceedingly familiar, sleeping with the children, and eating from their
bowls of bread and milk, climbing into the hunter’s lap and licking his
face, and, in fact, making themselves perfectly at home. As they grow
old, however, they are liable to become enraged at teasing or other
provocation and to be dangerous.

Bears sometimes acquire a fondness for liquor, and this article is in
some cases used by trainers as an inducement or reward for performing.
Cake, candy, and like treats are also powerful incentives with bears. A
writer in one of the magazines describes a huge bear whose acquaintance
he made in New Orleans, belonging to a Spaniard who kept a public house
in the vicinity of that city. This bear had contracted so great a liking
for whiskey and sugar, that he became troublesome unless he had his
liquor and his spree, and no one could mistake the cause of his conduct
when “fuddled.” He rolled from side to side, leered ridiculously and
smiled foolishly, and was loving and savage by turns. He would wrap his
great paw around the tumbler containing “the poison,” go through the
ceremony of touching glasses with the gentleman who paid for the treat,
and then pour the contents down his capacious throat with a gusto that
made old topers “love that animal like one of themselves.”

[Illustration: PERFORMING BEARS.]

[Illustration: BEAR AND PONY ACT.]

Buffaloes have also been drafted into the service of the circus, but
their performances are in no way remarkable—except, perhaps, for the
very absence of anything remarkable. The fierce monster who, with
steaming nostrils and flaming eyes, is represented on the circus posters
as recklessly dashing over palisade-like fences, is usually found in
sober fact to be a dejected looking animal of very moderate proportions,
requiring vigorous punching to induce him to trot around the ring and
leap the low “hurdles” the “general utility” men hold for him. His
greatest aim in life appears to be to avoid hurting his shins while
going over these barriers.

Buffalo training is nothing but reducing the animal to submission, which
a few applications of the horse taming straps will usually accomplish.
Then he is driven around the ring until he learns to keep up a steady
trot, after which the hurdles are placed in his way and he made to leap
over, by the trainer’s assistants standing so as to cut off his retreat,
and the trainer goading him forward. In obstinate cases a ring is
attached to the animal’s nose in the same manner as with bulls.

[Illustration: THE IDEAL BUFFALO OF THE POSTERS.]

There are occasional examples recorded of the taming of wolves and
hyenas. A story, we believe well authenticated, of a pet wolf, is
related by M. Frederick Cuvier, and shows that even animals not usually
considered affectionate, are not without gratitude to their benefactors,
nor insensible of kind treatment. The wolf, who is the hero of this
story, had been brought up like a dog, and became familiar with every
one he was in the habit of seeing. He would follow his master, seemed to
suffer from his absence, evinced entire submission, and differed not in
manners from the tamest domestic dog. The master being obliged to
travel, made a present of him to the Royal Menagerie at Paris. Here,
shut up in his compartment, the animal remained for several weeks moody
and discontented, and almost without eating. He gradually however,
recovered, attached himself to his keeper, and seemed to have forgotten
all his old affection. His master returned after an absence of eighteen
months. At the very first word which he pronounced, the wolf, who did
not see him in the crowd, instantly recognized him, and testified his
joy by his antics and his cries. Being set at liberty, he overwhelmed
his old friend with caresses, just as the most attached dog would have
done after a separation of a few days. Unhappily, his master was obliged
to leave him a second time, and this absence was again to the poor wolf
the cause of profound regret, but time allayed his grief. Three years
elapsed, and the wolf was living very comfortably with a young dog that
had been given him as a companion. After this space of time, sufficient
to make any dog forget his master, the gentleman returned again. It was
evening, and all was shut up, and the eyes of the animal could be of no
use to him, but the voice of his beloved master was not yet effaced from
his memory; the moment he heard it he knew it, and answered by cries
expressive of the most impatient desire, and on the obstacle which
separated them being removed, his cries redoubled. The animal rushed
forward, placed his fore feet on the shoulders of his friend, licked
every part of his face, and threatened with his teeth those very keepers
to whom he had so recently testified the warmest affection.

[Illustration: THE REAL BUFFALO OF THE RING.]

A French nobleman was some years ago famous for having several tame
wolves; his method of taming being to confine each animal in a kennel by
himself until he became docile. The wolves were never struck, but if
when, little by little, they had become accustomed to the tamer’s
presence, they made any attempt to bite, they were seized by the neck
and a rough stick or knotty cane rubbed hard over their gums, which gave
them a great disinclination to ever again use their teeth in an
offensive manner.

The rhinoceros is frequently tamed in the east, the plan being to
confine the animal in a pen built around a small pond of water, and to
keep him without food until reduced by hunger. Food is eventually
supplied, and withheld again whenever any symptoms of fierceness are
manifested. Those in captivity have been captured, in most cases, when
young.

As early as 1685 a live specimen was carried to England from the East
Indies, while a few years later another was exhibited extensively in
Europe. Since then others of the species have been brought to Europe and
America. Their behavior is very like a huge docile pig, and they obey
some simple orders of their keepers, such as walking around the room on
command and exhibiting themselves to spectators, opening and shutting
their mouths as directed, and the like.

One of these animals, still young, habitually indicated a very mild
disposition, being very obedient to his keeper, whose caresses he
received with much satisfaction. He was subject, however, to violent
fits of passion, and at such times it was dangerous to approach him. He
then made prodigious efforts to break his chains and escape from his
bondage; but the offer of bread and fruits seldom failed to soothe his
most terrible convulsions.

Those persons found the most favor with him who ministered the most to
his gormandizing appetites; and, when they appeared, he exhibited his
satisfaction by opening his mouth and extending to them his long upper
lip. The narrow limits of the cage in which he was shut up did not allow
him to manifest much intelligence. The object of the keeper was to make
him forget his strength, or forego its exercise; hence, nothing
calculated to awaken his consciousness of power was required of him. To
open his mouth, to move his head to the right or left, or to lift his
leg were the usual acts by which he was required to testify his
obedience. His strength, and the fear that in one of his passions he
might break his cage, insured to him the most mild and soothing
treatment, and he was scrupulously rewarded for the least thing he was
required to do. The distinction he made of persons, and the great
attention he paid to everything which passed around, demonstrated that,
in more favorable circumstances, his intelligence might have been more
strikingly manifested.

Akin to the rhinoceros is the hippopotamus, a very fine specimen of
which was exhibited in this country some years since, and realized for
his Arab keeper quite a handsome sum, the Arab bringing him here on
speculation and hiring him out to museum and circus managers. Between
Hamet, the keeper, and Obaysch, the hippopotamus, considerable affection
existed, probably even more on the animal’s part than on the man’s. Side
by side they slept in Cairo, and during the first week of their voyage
to Southampton. But as the weather grew warmer, and Obaysch larger and
larger—he was quite young when captured and grew with the rapidity of
all members of the swinish race—Hamet had a hammock slung from the beams
immediately over the place where he had been accustomed to sleep; just
over, in fact, his side of the bed, his position being raised some two
or three feet. Assuring Obaysch, not only by words but by extending one
arm over the side so as to touch him, Hamet got into his hammock and
fell asleep, when he was suddenly awakened by a jerk and a hoist, only
to find himself close by the side of his “compagnon du voyage.” Another
experiment at separate sleeping was attended by the same successful
movements on the part of Obaysch, and, till they arrived at Southampton,
Hamet desisted from any farther trial, as he avoided in all ways any
irritation of the animal. On the voyage to this country he slept with
his huge charge, who at sea especially, seemed more content, and to feel
safer, when his keeper was at his side.

Another anecdote is related of this huge beast:

One morning during the voyage, Hamet, from some cause or other, absented
himself from Obaysch a little longer than usual, when he ran through his
octave of cries, from the most plaintive to the most violent, and then
was profoundly silent. “Hamet,” says the narrator, “thought his freedom
was achieved, and then, with the air of an emancipated serf, he opened
his wicket, and condescended to return to his tyrant—tyrant no longer,
as he hoped. Hippo awaited him with a twinkle of his infant eye—that
curious, prominent, versatile eye, which looks everywhere at once—as he
floated in the tank, so as to command the interior of his home. Hamet,
in his great fidelity, used to keep part of his wardrobe in an angle of
the roof, for convenience of making his toilet without annoying his
charge by unnecessary absence. The bundle in which these choice
vestments were secured had been pushed down by the revengeful infant,
rubbed open with his blunt nose during that ominous silence, and finally
left in such a state, that neither Hamet, nor any other being,
Mohammedan or Christian, could ever don them again. Hamet is a
well-conducted Mussulman, and not given to indulging in profane
language, but he addressed Hippo in terms of the strongest reprehension.
Hippo twinkled his eye and shook his head, blew a little trumpet through
his nostrils, and smiled in triumphant malevolence.”

Nothing among modern shows can compare with the old amphitheatrical
exhibitions of the Romans. For these, large numbers of animals were
collected from the shores of Africa and India; in the contests of the
arena they were slaughtered by wholesale. Eutropius states, and his
assertion is corroborated by other writers, that 5,000 wild beasts of
all kinds were slain at the dedication of the amphitheater of Titus.
Pompey, at the opening of his theater, exhibited a variety of games and
battles with wild beasts in which 500 lions were killed in five days;
and in another exhibition the tragedy consisted in “the massacre of 100
lions and an equal number of lionesses, 200 leopards, and 300 bears.”
Even if public taste at the present day would tolerate such butchery, it
would be rather too expensive with lions costing from $2,000 to $4,000
each. In those days, of course, the cost was much less; in fact, the
price of wild beasts in this country is usually ten times their price in
their native regions. This profit is necessary to cover the great cost
of transportation, feeding and the risks of death or accidents on the
passage. Insurance companies consider them too risky to insure. Prices,
however, fluctuate greatly, according to the demand, and an animal worth
to-day $1,000 may be worth only $200 next month, though he be in equally
good condition.

In the days when “ordeals” were used to prove the guilt or innocence of
accused persons, the Brahmin priests of Hindoostan made use of
crocodiles for this purpose. The accused was compelled to swim across a
river infested with these animals and his fate decided the question of
his guilt or innocence. There is good reason to believe that there was
trickery in these tests; that crocodiles were tamed and kept in one part
of the river while those of the other portions of the stream remained in
their savage state. The Brahmins could thus predetermine the fate of the
persons submitting to the ordeal, and doubtless had those whom they
desired to favor cross among the tame animals, while others whom they
feared or hated were placed at the mercy of the wild ones. Tame
crocodiles are by no means rarities; the Egyptian priests after
rendering them docile, placed bracelets upon their forefeet, and hung
rings and precious stones in the opercula of their ears, which were
bored for the purpose, and then presented them for adoration of the
people.

The means used in taming the crocodile seem to have been principally
kind treatment and tempting food. This plan is pursued even to the
present day in Egypt, India, and other countries. Several individual
cases are on record giving details of the taming process. Mr. Laing saw
at the house of the king of the Soulimas—a negro race occupying the
country near the river Joliba, on the coast of Sierra Leone—a tamed
crocodile as gentle as a dog; but this animal was confined a prisoner in
a pond in the palace. The Scheik of Suakem—a seaport in Nubia, on the
west coast of the Red Sea—having caught a young crocodile, tamed it, and
kept it in a pond near the sea. The animal grew very large, but did not
lose his docility. The prince placed himself upon the animal’s back, and
was carried a distance of more than three hundred steps. In the island
of Sumatra, in the year 1823, an immense crocodile established himself
at the mouth of the Beanjang; he had chased away all the other
crocodiles and devoured all of them who ventured to return. The
inhabitants rendered him divine homage, and respectfully supplied him
with food. “Pass,” said they to the English missionaries who relate the
fact, and who were afraid to approach the formidable creature; “pass on,
our god is merciful.” In fact he peacefully regarded the Europeans and
their boat, without giving any signs either of anger, fear, or a desire
to attack them.

The following account is given of a tame crocodile, in a private letter,
quoted in a review of the Erpètologie Gènèrale, and affords
corroborative proof of the foregoing statements. The writer, having
ridden a considerable distance to a village about eight miles from
Kurachee, in Scinde, and feeling thirsty, went to a pool to procure some
water. “When I got to the edge,” says he, “the guide who was with me
pointed out something in the water, which I had myself taken to be the
stump of a tree; and although I had my glasses on, I looked at it for
some time before I found that I was standing within three feet of an
immense alligator. I then perceived that the swamp was crowded with
them, although they were all lying in the mud so perfectly motionless
that a hundred people might have passed without observing them. The
guide laughed at the start I gave, and told me that they were quite
harmless, having been tamed by a saint, a man of great piety, whose tomb
was to be seen on a hill close by; and that they continued to obey the
orders of a number of fakirs, who lived around the tomb. I proceeded to
the village immediately, and got some of the fakirs to come down to the
water with a sheep. One of them then went close to the water with a long
stick, with which he struck the ground, and called to the alligators,
which immediately came crawling out of the water, great and small
together, and lay down on the bank all around him. The sheep was then
killed and quartered; and while this was going on, the reptiles
continued crawling until they had made a complete ring around us. The
fakir kept walking about within the circle, and if any one attempted to
encroach, he rapped it unmercifully on the snout with his stick, and
drove it backward. Not one of them attempted to touch him, although they
showed rows of teeth that seemed able to snap him in two at a bite. The
quarters of the sheep were then thrown to them, and the scene that
followed was so indescribable that I shall not attempt it; but I think
that if you will turn to Milton, and read his account of the
transformation of Satan and his crew in Pandemonium, you may form some
faint idea ‘how dreadful was the din.’ In what manner these monsters
were first tamed I cannot say. The natives, of course, ascribe it to the
piety of the saint, who is called Miegger Pier, or Saint Crocodile.”

The alligators of this country, though seldom tamed even for public
exhibition, might readily be, as they do not differ in any important
respect from the crocodiles.

CHAPTER XV.
EDUCATION OF CATS AND GOATS.

Cats do not appear to be favorite subjects of the trainer’s art, and it
is rare that they are met with among performing animals. Perhaps their
sly, treacherous nature inspires a prejudice, or perhaps their capacity
for learning is underrated. Certainly with proper and patient training
they may be taught nearly all of the simpler tricks performed by dogs,
and some which dogs cannot, from lack of equal agility. That cats
possess considerable intelligence is shown by the many well
authenticated stories related of them. A specimen is that told by Mr.
Crouch, of a cat who learned to unlock a door of her own accord. “There
was,” writes this gentleman, “within my knowledge, in the house of my
parentage, a small cupboard in which were kept milk, butter, and other
requisites for the tea table, and the door was confined by a lock, which
from age and frequent use could easily be made to open. To save trouble
the key was always kept in the lock, in which it revolved on a very
slight impulse. It was often a subject of remark, that the door of this
cupboard was found wide open, and the milk or butter greatly diminished
without any imaginable reason, and notwithstanding the persuasion that
the door had certainly been regularly locked. On watching carefully, the
cat was seen to seat herself on the table, and by repeated pulling on
the side of the bow of the key, it was at last made to turn, when a
slight pull of the door caused it to move on its hinges. It had proved a
fortunate discovery for puss, for a long time before she was taken in
the act.”

Cats may easily be taught to jump through hoops, climb poles, fetch and
carry, and many similar performances, by adopting pretty nearly the same
means as for instructing dogs. As cats are passionately fond of fish,
this article will be found a valuable incentive to induce them to comply
with your wishes. A small morsel should be given as a reward for each
instance of obedience, while refractory conduct may be punished by a
slight box on the ear.

Cats may be taught to turn the handles of little organs—either real or
mere silent imitations—or music boxes, to turn a little spinning-wheel,
to pull a bell-rope, to fire a pistol and a multitude of similar tricks.
These are all, indeed, but modifications of one another. To instruct the
cat, it is well to commence by teaching her to give her paw, like a dog.
When this is learned, place the paw on the handle of the organ, which
may have a loop of tape or ribbon attached to keep the paw in place, and
give it a few turns. Let go, but continue the circular movement of your
hand near her paw, as an encouragement for her to move her paw in the
same manner. Should she not do so after a few moments, take hold of her
paw again and repeat the movement as before. As soon as she turns the
handle even in the slightest degree without your holding her paw, reward
her. It will not be long before she makes a more perceptible turn, and
will be more prompt to do so. Eventually she need only to be shown the
organ to understand what is desired of her.

When she turns the organ satisfactorily other articles may be
substituted, such as a miniature model of a spinning-wheel, and a single
lesson will be sufficient to show her that her duties are the same as
with the organ.

To ring a bell, a pulling instead of a circular movement is required,
but this is easier to teach. A bit of cloth may be attached to the
string communicating with the bell, to afford the cat something
convenient to seize hold of. It will be easy to induce her to seize it
by holding it near her, or by aggravating her a little with it. When she
does so, and causes the bell to ring, reward her. She will soon learn
that the ringing of the bell is a signal for her to be fed, and that
pulling the string causes that signal. Should you wish her to ring the
bell only when ordered to do so, you should call her away, after she
fully understands pulling the string, and then order her to “ring the
bell.” If necessary, take hold of the string to show your meaning. When
she has pulled it, reward her, call her away again, repeat the order,
and so on until she understands your command. Should she ring then
without orders, call her away and wait a few minutes before you again
order her to ring.

Firing off a pistol may follow this, taught in the same way, a piece of
cloth being attached to the trigger, and the pistol being secured in a
stationary position. Merely snapping the trigger will do at first, then
caps may be used, and finally powder.

A story is recorded of Cecco d’Ascoli and Dante on the subject of
natural and acquired genius. Cecco maintained that nature was more
potent than art, while Dante asserted the contrary. To prove his
principle, the great Italian bard referred to his cat, whom, by repeated
practice, he had taught to hold a candle in her paw while he supped or
read. Cecco desired to witness the experiment and came not unprepared
for his purpose. When Dante’s cat was performing her part, Cecco lifted
up the lid of a pot which he had filled with mice. The creature of art
instantly showed the weakness of a talent merely acquired, and dropping
the candle, immediately flew on the mice with all her instinctive
propensity. Dante was himself disconcerted, and it was adjudged that the
advocate for the occult principle of native faculties had gained the
cause.

To make a cat a good ratter she must not be handled by children, or any
other person; must be fed rather sparingly at regular times, and as much
as possible on fresh meat, and usually by the same person. She will soon
become accustomed to such circumstances, will answer the call of this
person who can change her about to different parts of the house, as a
night in the cellar, and so on. When treated in this way she will become
shy and wild, but will soon be a terror to rats.

Valmont de Bomare saw at the fair of St. Germain cats turned musicians;
their performance being announced as the “mewing concert.” In the center
was an ape beating time, and some cats were arranged on each side of
him, with music before them on the stalls. At a signal from the ape,
they regulated their mewing to sad or lively strains. Mons. Bisset
having procured three kittens, commenced their education, with his usual
patience. He at length taught these miniature tigers to strike their
paws in such directions on the dulcimer as to produce several regular
tunes, having music-books before them, and squalling at the same time in
different keys or tones, first, second, and third, by way of concert. He
was afterward induced to make a public exhibition of his animals, and
the well known “cats’ opera” in which they performed, was advertised in
the Haymarket theater. His horse, dog and monkeys, together with these
cats, went through their parts with uncommon applause to crowded houses;
and in a few days Bisset found himself possessed of nearly a thousand
pounds to reward his ingenuity and perseverance.

[Illustration: GOAT TRICK OF HINDOO JUGGLERS.]

Another story of a cat we cannot refrain from giving: A lady who had a
tame bird was in the habit of letting it out every day, and had taught a
favorite cat not to touch it; but one morning as it was picking up
crumbs from the carpet, the cat seized it on a sudden and jumped with it
in her mouth upon the table. The lady was much alarmed for the safety of
her favorite, but on turning about, instantly discovered the cause. The
door had been left open, and a strange cat had just come into the room.
After the lady had turned the strange cat out, her own cat came down
from her place of safety, and dropped the bird, without doing it any
injury.

Goats may be taught many tricks heretofore described. It is best to
commence their instruction when they are quite young, as when older they
are apt to develop an obstinate disposition, besides not being so apt
pupils as when young. Goats not being very fastidious as to what they
eat—asparagus or brown paper being devoured with about the same apparent
relish—almost anything in the shape of fruit, vegetables, or bread, will
do as a reward for good conduct. Harshness seems only to arouse their
obstinacy or increase their stupidity, and we doubt whether it ever does
any good. If we did not really believe severity would only defeat the
aims of the trainer, we should almost be tempted to leave goats to take
their own chances for kind treatment; for ever since a venerable
specimen of the animal butted us, in our youth, down a steep bank,
merely because in stooping to pick up something, we furnished a
temptation too strong for him to resist, we have felt an unconquerable
prejudice against the whole tribe. But after all the trainer will find
bribes better than blows.

Many of the common tricks taught horses and dogs can be taught goats. As
we have fully described the methods of teaching those animals it would
be merely repetition to give minute details here; the method is
substantially the same with goats as with horses or dogs, for the same
tricks.

The Hindoo jugglers use the goat in dexterous feats of balancing. The
sure-footedness of the animal enables him to stand on the end of a
section of bamboo cane whose surface barely affords room for his four
feet. Sometimes this stick is placed upright, the lower end being
secured in the ground. At other times the bamboo stick, with the goat
standing on its end, is balanced on the hand, chin or nose of the
juggler.

CHAPTER XVI.
EDUCATED HOGS AND THEIR TRAINING.

Hogs are not very intellectual animals, but, fortunately for the
trainer, what they lack in intelligence is made up in appetite, and by
appealing to their stomachs their education is accomplished. “Learned
pigs” and “educated hogs” are more common in England than in this
country, though, probably, like the opera, they will in time become an
acclimated institution. We had the pleasure of seeing the performance of
quite an excellent artist in the pork line, who was traveling through
the eastern states under the title of “Wicked Will,” as a side show to a
circus.

Will traveled in a cage very similar to those used in menageries, except
that it was smaller. This cage at the exhibitions was placed upon a
platform with the grated part facing toward the audience. It was rather
higher than was necessary to accommodate the hog, the upper part
containing a number of compartments about six inches in depth, in which
were kept corn, curry-combs, and other toilet articles. The exhibitor
lifts the lid which covers these receptacles, takes a few grains of corn
in his hand and drops them quietly on the carpet; then he opens a door
at one of the small ends of the cage and Will emerges, grunting and
sniffing around. The cage door is now shut, and while Will hunts for
kernels of corn that have been scattered around, the exhibitor gives a
little dose of natural history, hog characteristics, etc.

[Illustration: EDUCATED HOG.]

The performance commences by the exhibitor placing ten cards, on which
the numerals from one to naught are printed, in regular order across the
front of the platform. Then he asks Will a number of questions, such as
the number of days in a week, in a month, in a year—it is of no
consequence _what_, so long as the answers can be given in numbers. The
hog goes slowly from card to card, with his nose down, commencing at the
figure 1. When he comes to the right number he takes it in his mouth and
brings it to his master.

“Now,” says the exhibitor, “if any lady or gentleman will tell the hog
the year they were born in, he’ll tell them their age.”

Somebody in the crowd gives the date of his birth, and at his master’s
command Will selects the figures showing the man’s age. This is repeated
a number of times for different individuals, to the wonder of the crowd.
Then a watch is borrowed and the hog tells, in the same manner, the hour
and minutes.

A suit of thirteen cards are substituted for the numbers, and the hog
selects them as required to reply to various questions. After these have
served their turn they are replaced by a number of cards on each of
which is printed a single word in large type. Then the exhibitor
continues in something like this manner:

“Now, Will, I suppose you are very much obliged to these ladies and
gentlemen for their attendance this evening; [Will selects cards, on
which is printed Yes; and now, Will, I want you to tell these ladies and
gentlemen what day this is [hog dues so]; and what are you going to give
the ladies that come to see you? [Kiss.] Well, that’s very gallant! And
what reward do you want for amusing these people? [Corn.] And what
induces me to exhibit you? [Money.] So you think I am fond of money, do
you? [Yes.] And I wonder if there is anything else I’m fond of? [Rum.]
And what happens when I get a little too much of that article? [Drunk.]”

And so on with a multitude of other questions which would be tiresome to
repeat, but which it is quite amusing to see the hog answer. The card in
each case would be brought to the exhibitor, who in all cases where the
correct card was selected, dropped a few kernels of corn as a reward.
Occasionally a wrong one would be brought, in which case a sly kick, or
hit on the nose, was administered. Sometimes the hog seemed in doubt and
would pick up a card and replace it, taking another; once or twice he
stopped midway between two cards, turning his nose first toward one and
then toward the other, squealing dismally, a very picture of perplexity.
He had sense enough to know what he would get in case of a mistake. His
mistakes, however, were very few.

The whole performance really consists in the hog selecting the card
under the direction of his master. If the latter be watched narrowly, it
will be seen that he changes his position from time to time, as the hog
passes from one card to another. If the hog stops before he reaches the
proper card the trainer moves his foot in the direction in which the hog
should go; if he passes it the foot is moved in the other direction.
When no movement is made the hog knows he is before the right card and
picks it up. When the hog becomes confused and frightened this movement
of the foot is quite obvious to a close observer, for at such times the
hog does not so readily take the cue. This signaling is the secret of
the performance; but before the hog can understand these signals, or
will pick up the cards, a regular system of training must be pursued.

The pig—for the education begins when the animal is young—is first
taught to come to the trainer when called. This is readily done by
rewarding him when he obeys and thrashing him when he fails to do so. He
is then taught to pick up articles in pretty much the same manner as in
teaching dogs, and which we have already fully described. During the
lessons the pig is rewarded with corn for obeying, and he is also fed
immediately after his lesson, being kept a trifle hungry at other times.
At first an ear of corn may be used in teaching him to pick up articles.
He will naturally pick this up when placed on the ground. Instead of
letting him keep it, however, call him to you, and on taking it away
recompense him with some kernels of corn. He will soon learn that it
pays better to bring you the ear over and over again, and be rewarded
each time, than keep it himself. Then a cob without corn may be
substituted. By-and-by cobs may be arranged in a row some foot or two
apart, and the pig required to bring some one of them you have in mind.
This is the difficult part; the pig will be inclined to pick up
whichever comes handiest. This must be prevented by gently hitting his
snout, and ordering him to “go on.” Always start him at the left of the
line; you will be able thus to guide him better than when he goes
hap-hazard. Keep on his left side, moving your foot toward him to keep
him moving in the direction of the desired article. Avoid coming between
him and the article. When he comes to it make no movement. If he picks
it up, call him to you, take it from his mouth, reward him with corn,
apple, or some other dainty, and replace the article in the row. If,
however, he passes by it, change your position to his right side, and
move your foot to urge him back.

These movements of the foot, during tuition, are, of course, more
vigorous than those used at public exhibitions. At first they merely
threaten him and drive him in the required direction, but by-and-by he
learns to observe them and to understand and profit by them. It is
possible sometimes during the lessons to help the pig’s selection by
pointing out the card or article, but this is not desirable, as it is of
course unavailable in public, and the trainer must compel the animal to
do his duty so soon as he is out of the “rudiments,” with no more help
than can be used in public.

Pigs are very fond of having their backs scratched, and this will often
attach them to their instructor, make them more docile, and consequently
more easily instructed. They are not very apt pupils, and though they
_may_ be taught several tricks performed by dogs, it is very seldom
their education extends beyond what we have described. We have known an
exhibitor advertise a hog who would “go through the multiplication
table,” but this proved to be a catch; a hoop being covered with paper
on which the multiplication table was printed, the hog was made to jump
through it. The humor of the “sell” saved the exhibitor from the
indignation his deception might otherwise have aroused.

In Holland, quite a number of years ago, a hog ran a race against a fast
trotting horse. The training adopted to prepare the hog for this novel
contest was a good illustration of “educating through the stomach,” and
the performance sufficiently curious, we think, to warrant insertion
here. Somewhat condensed the story is substantially this:

A member of a sporting club at the Hague was bragging of the speed of a
certain horse possessed by him. Another member asserted that he had a
hog which he should not fear to match against him, and this proposal,
though at first laughed at as a jest, ended in a match of six English
miles, for one thousand guilders; fourteen days being allowed the owner
of Nero, the hog, for training; and the horse to carry two persons. The
course selected was the avenue leading from the Hague to the sea shore
at Scheveningen; the hour, eleven o’clock.

The first day’s training consisted in giving Nero nothing to eat. On the
second day, at eleven o’clock, his master appeared, and fastening a rope
securely to one of Nero’s hind trotters, drove him, with many a kick and
forcible persuasion all the way over the course of Scheveningen. Here
Nero received two herrings, which he ravenously devoured. It is said
that hogs—or at least Dutch hogs—prefer fish to any other food. On this
scanty meal Nero had to tramp home.

The third day the hog was ravenous, but had to bide his time till, at
eleven o’clock, his master presented himself for another trip to the
course. After a liberal and energetic application to the booted foot,
and a little loud and angry discussion between the two parties, they
arrived at their journey’s end, where Nero was regaled with three
herrings, being one extra, which he dispatched voraciously in double
quick time, looking for more, but in vain. He was then, with much
coaxing and kicking, persuaded to resume the return trip homeward, and
which was safely accomplished, although not without considerable
opposition, accompanied by vigorous squealing and determined grunting on
the part of Nero.

On the fourth day, when his master presented himself, Nero seemed to
understand somewhat the object of his calling; he walked off, not only
without compulsion, but with considerable alacrity, at a good round pace
to get to his journey’s end, where his master regaled him not alone with
his coveted dinner of three herrings, but, as a reward, yet another
herring extra. On the fifth day Nero was fully up to the game, and his
master experienced considerable difficulty to keep up with him. At
Scheveningen the usual allowance—now of four herrings—was placed at his
disposal, and disposed of by him in short meter.

On the days following, and up to the time of the race, his master had no
farther difficulty with Nero, but to keep up with him, Nero invariably
taking the lead, although on the return trips the same difficulties
always recurred. A vigorous application of boots was in such cases the
only convincing argument with Nero, who never could see the point nor
comprehend the necessity, of this back-track movement, and ever
obstreperously squealed or grunted his objections. On the ninth day Nero
had become perfectly trained, and having grown extremely thin upon his
scanty meals, he now ran like a race-horse, invariably distancing his
master, who followed with a fast trotting horse in harness. Both
exercise and spare diet were, however, strictly adhered to up to the day
preceding the one on which the race was to come off. On that, the
thirteenth day, as on the first day, poor Nero was again starved. At the
usual hour of eleven his master appeared, but Nero was doomed to
disappointment—no trot, no herrings on that day. With eager eye and
impatient grunt he signified his desire to be released from his pen;
but, alas, it was not to be.

On the fourteenth day both horse and hog appeared at the starting post,
eager for the race. It was a beautiful day, and the road was lined the
entire distance, on both sides, with anxious and delighted spectators
eager to see the sport. Punctually at eleven o’clock, at tap of drum off
they started, amidst the shouts and hurrahs of the multitude. The first
two miles were closely contested—it was emphatically a neck and neck
race; but Nero, light as feather, and having in his mind’s eye,
probably, his delectable meal, now fairly flew over the course,
gradually leaving the horse behind, keeping the lead the entire
distance. Amidst shouts and hurrahs, the waving of handkerchiefs, and
the wildest excitement, he reached the winning post, beating the horse
by half a mile, and winning the race triumphantly.

For this extraordinary performance, Nero was rewarded with a pailful of
herrings, which, having feasted upon to his heart’s content, he waddled
back to the Hague, in the care of his master, “the admired of all
admirers.” His master, pocketing the purse of one thousand guilders,
generously spent one hundred guilders for Nero’s portrait, which is now
preserved at the sportsman’s club at the Hague.

It is said that hogs may be taught to destroy thistles. The tuition
consists only in trampling them down, mashing the buds, and sprinkling
salt thereon. The hogs eat these at first on account of the salt, but in
so doing they acquire a relish for the thistles themselves, and this
taste once acquired the thistles are eagerly sought for and devoured. It
is claimed that one hog that has been taught in this way will teach all
others in the drove. Possibly seeing him eat they imagine they are
losing a treat and so eat too. If this statement proves true, the hint
may be useful to farmers.

CHAPTER XVII.
PERFORMING MONKEYS—MONKEY EQUESTRIANS—THE “WONDERFUL
CYNOCEPHALUS”—MONKEY ACTORS, ETC.

In training performing monkeys the instructor is greatly aided by that
imitative faculty which is a characteristic of the whole monkey family.
The intense passion a monkey has for mimicking the actions of persons is
well known, and to such an excessive degree is this passion sometimes
possessed that several instances are on record of their cutting their
own throats while attempting to shave themselves, having observed some
man performing that operation. It is this imitative instinct which is
taken advantage of in preparing monkeys for public exhibition. Indeed,
their instruction consists mainly in the teacher performing the act
himself, for the monkey to copy. This is the case with such tricks as
taking off the hat, fencing with a little tin sword, sweeping with a
little broom, and the like.

During his instruction the pupil has a small leather belt around his
body, to which is attached a cord several yards in length, which the
trainer holds. The first thing taught is usually standing on the hind
legs; this is done by holding the cord taut and the gentle application
of a switch under the chin. This is not a natural position, still the
animal can maintain it with comparative ease. Walking the tight rope is
also easily accomplished, and furnished with a light balancing pole, he
will go back and forth under the guidance of the “leading string” before
mentioned. Jumping barriers or leaping through hoops held in the
trainer’s hand, is taught by jerking the string and giving the monkey a
slight cut with the whip. Hoops covered with tissue paper, or balloons,
as they are technically called, may be substituted for the open ones
after a few lessons, and add to the attractiveness of the performance.

Dressed in male or female apparel, the monkey’s naturally comical
appearance is greatly hightened. Thus, one may be dressed to represent a
lady of fashion, while another personates her footman, who, dressed in
gorgeous livery, supports her train. This is elaborated into quite a
little scene at some exhibitions. A little barouche, drawn by a team of
dogs, is driven on the stage, a monkey driving while a monkey footman
sits solemn and erect upon his perch behind. A monkey lady and gentleman
are seated inside, she with a fan and parasol, and he with a stovepipe
hat. Around the stage several times the equipage is driven, until
by-and-by one of the wheels comes off and a sudden stop results. Down
the footman comes, opens the carriage door, assists gentleman to hand
out lady—who has fainted in gentleman’s arms just as she ought under
these trying circumstances, and in a style that would do credit to any
belle in a similar accident at Central Park—gets chair from side of
stage for her to sit in, while gentleman fans her till she gradually
recovers. Coachman meantime gets down and goes after the lost wheel,
which he rolls to the vehicle and places therein; then mounting his box,
drives off, for repairs it is presumed. By this time the lady has
recovered, takes the arm of her escort and follows after the carriage,
while the footman brings up the rear, carrying the chair.

[Illustration: MONKEY “MUSICIANS.”]

This is apparently quite a complicated performance, but is not
particularly difficult. Each performer is taught what he is to do, the
most intelligent monkey being generally assigned the footman’s
character. The dogs are taught to run around until the wheel comes off;
this is their signal to stop. In teaching the monkeys their parts a
portion only of the scene is taught at first; thus some days may be
consumed in merely making the actors occupy their appointed positions
properly—such slight improprieties as the footman jumping down upon the
heads of the lady and gentleman, or the gentleman pulling the driver off
his seat by the tail, or the lady banging her cavalier over the head
with her parasol, and like exhibitions of playfulness, being checked by
applications of the whip. Gradually the “business” of the scene is built
up—each lesson including all performed up to that time and a little in
advance; nuts, bread and an occasional bit of candy, being the rewards
for success, and whip for failure therein. Each monkey knowing his name,
and being called upon by name when his turn comes, he by-and-by learns
the proper time to perform his assigned work without any prompting.

The equestrian performances on pony or dog-back, styled “steeple
chases,” and like tricks usually exhibited, scarcely require notice
here. However amusing they may be it can hardly be said that the
monkey’s part of the exhibition requires much of either intelligence or
training, as he is usually strapped upon his steed and cannot very well
help staying there. Sometimes, however, instead of tying the monkey in
the saddle, a perch is erected on the fore part of the saddle, to which
he clings frantically as the dog or pony rushes around the ring. This is
no great improvement upon the strap, and the only training the monkey
gets is a cut from the whip whenever he permits himself to be dislodged.
For a trainer to break a monkey so as to ride a horse, carry a miniature
flag, and hold on by the reins, is commonly considered a remarkable
achievement. Occasionally though a monkey rider has been exhibited who
has really performed in a manner not merely absurd. The most notable
example of this kind was a huge ape of the cynocephalus or dog face
family, exhibited in the winter of 1867–8 at Lent’s New York Circus,
under the title of the “Wonderful Cynocephalus.”

Monsieur Olivier, a French circus manager, had taken a troupe to India
on speculation a short time previous to the Sepoy mutiny, on the
breaking out of which his company disbanded, many joining the English
troops. The manager then wandered in search of an opening for
professional speculation, and while so doing attempted the training of
several varieties of the monkey tribe. His success was by no means
encouraging until, after years of failure, he came across the individual
who is the subject of this sketch. The Cynocephalus was captured in
Zanzibar, on the east cost of Africa, and from the first exhibited
unusual intelligence, and after many months of patient training he was
prepared to shine among equestrian stars. His débût was made at the
Cirque Napoleon, where he immediately achieved celebrity. His
performances afterward repeated in New York were equally successful, and
a brilliant career was anticipated for him. Preparations had been made
for his exhibition throughout the country, with the circus to which he
was attached, but a week or two previous to starting on the summer tour
the Cynocephalus was attacked with inflammation of the bowels, and
though he rallied, and hopes were entertained of his recovery, he died
some days before the time appointed for the start.

[Illustration: THE “WONDERFUL CYNOCEPHALUS.”]

Of his achievements in the ring it is only necessary to say that he went
through all the feats usually displayed by a circus-rider, jumping upon
the horse, standing on one leg, then holding the other in his hand, then
standing on his head, following this by somersaults, and finishing off
with the customary vaulting through balloons and over banners. There was
all the while a gravity of demeanor and seriousness of countenance
contrasting favorably with the self-satisfied smirks and meaningless
grins of his human compeers.

As regards his tuition, each act had been taught separately, the ape
with a cord attached to a collar around his neck and the other end held
by his master, being placed in the required position, the horse was then
started, and in each instance where the ape quitted his position before
the horse was stopped, a cut from the whip was administered; every time
the ape retained the position till the horse had gone a certain number
of times around the circle, he was rewarded with a sweetmeat. Each time
a change of position was to be made, which was always after a particular
number of “rounds,” the horse was stopped and the ape made to take the
new posture. These attitudes followed one another in regular sequence,
and soon a mere change in the music was substituted for the stoppage
each time the horse had been around the customary number of times. A
hint from the whip was sufficient to remind the ape that he was to make
a change. The banner and balloon tricks were readily taught by making
him first leap them, when offered, while the horse was standing still,
and afterward when in motion. The system of reward or punishment for
success or failure was always kept up, and in his public performances a
close observer would have noticed at any failure a frightened look from
the ape and a sly cut of the whip, while after each successful feat a
little sweetmeat was received from the pocket of the ring-master.

A very popular scene at exhibitions of performing animals is that in
which a number of monkeys are seated around a table, spread for a feast.
Two or three monkeys personate waiters and bring in, first candles, and
then in succession the various courses, really consisting of things
suited to monkey stomachs, but considered by theatrical license to be
the customary viands of a grand feast. Bottles of water-wine conclude
the repast. This is actually one of the simplest things for the trainer
to accomplish. The guests being tied in their high chairs, their little
bibs pinned around their necks, the only farther trouble with them is to
keep them from fighting or stealing each other’s rations. The waiters
bringing in the things, especially the lighted candles, look very pretty
and very intelligent. This part is taught by having two strings attached
to the monkey. The end of one of these strings is held by the trainer,
the end of the other by an assistant off the stage. The assistant places
an article in the monkey’s paw and slacks up his line, while the trainer
hauls in on his, and by this very simple arrangement, first one and then
the other hauling, the monkey learns to make the passage to and from the
stage. Should he drop his load before reaching the person to whom he is
traveling, a long whip-lash reminds him of his mistake, and the article
is replaced in his hand, or he kept by it until he picks it up. It
doesn’t take long to teach him that when he is given an article by one
of his “workers” he is to take it to the other, and then the strings may
be dispensed with, though a fine but strong twine is sometimes used even
in public exhibitions, and we recall one occasion at a New York theater
where the waiter got the twine entangled in some impediment and was held
midway till released by the exhibitor. Though the twine could not be
seen by the audience, the cause of the difficulty was too obvious to be
mistaken, and some rather sarcastic applause was bestowed. On another
occasion, in a neighboring city, we witnessed a squabble among the
monkey guests, a general clawing and biting, ending with the upsetting
of the chairs and the scampering off of the monkeys with chairs “hitched
on behind.”

The “drill exercise,” performed with a little musket, which the monkey
fires off at the close, is a common but always popular exhibition. Any
one who has seen a green recruit “put through” by the drill-sergeant can
form a pretty correct idea of the method of training pursued in the case
of the monkey. The instructor takes the required positions himself,
using his whip in lieu of a musket, giving the word of command as he
does so. Until the monkey understands these orders the trainer places
his musket in the right position for him whenever he fails to do it
himself. In case of willful disobedience or obstinacy, the whip is
restored to its primary use, while good conduct is rewarded with equal
promptness.

Sham fights are sometimes arranged for a number of monkeys. In this
performance each monkey is taught his particular part, and rehearses it
with the trainer till thoroughly familiar with it; then each monkey
rehearses with the one with whom he is to act, until, as all become
perfect in their parts, the whole act together. In rehearsing the
monkeys perform each action at the word of command, being called by
name. The mimicry natural in monkeys has here to be checked, otherwise
the performance would be thrown into confusion by each copying the
other’s acts. The monkeys are, therefore, punished for any movement
without orders, or for responding when another’s name is called.

To be trained successfully, monkeys must be taken when young, and the
degree of docility and intelligence varies greatly with different
species. The entellus monkey, a slender and graceful native of the
Indian Archipelago, whose light fur makes a strong contrast with its
black face and extremities, exhibits great gentleness and playfulness
when young, but these traits change, as it becomes older, to distrust
and listless apathy, and, finally, it becomes as mischievous as others
who have never displayed any particular indications of good temper.

Some varieties seem to possess the ability to actually plan and carry
out quite complicated operations, which, in a state of nature, are as
remarkable as any of their performances in captivity. The mottled
baboons display this in their robberies of the orchards of their native
country. A part enter the enclosure, while one is set to watch, and the
remainder of the party form a line outside the fence, reaching from
their companions within to their rendezvous in the neighboring woods.
The plunderers in the orchard throw the fruit to the first member of
this line, who throws it to the next, and so it is passed along until it
reaches headquarters, where it is safely concealed. All the time this is
being done the utmost silence is maintained, and their sentinel keeps a
sharp lookout. Should any one approach he gives a loud cry, at which
signal the whole company scamper off, though always taking a load of
fruit in their retreat, if possible, in their mouths, under their arms,
and in their hands. If hotly pursued this is dropped piecemeal, but only
when absolutely necessary to enable them to escape.

As the disposition varies with different species, so also must the
system of training. While one will require considerable severity,
another can be made to perform only by being well treated and liberally
rewarded. Once at the old Broadway theater, in New York, a very
celebrated monkey stopped in the middle of a tight-rope performance and
refused to continue. His master threatened, scolded, and finally flogged
him very thoroughly, but he only jabbered and howled, and could not be
made to finish his performance; his master ending by taking him in his
arms and carrying him off the stage.

Many monkeys have a great liking for strong drink, and this weakness is
frequently taken advantage of by other trainers to induce them to
perform; a bribe of a little liquor often proving a more powerful
incentive than anything else. A mandril, who, at one time, created
considerable excitement in London, where he was exhibited under the
title of “Happy Jerry,” was a remarkable example of monkey devotedness
to the rosy god. Gin and water was his besetting weakness, and to obtain
it he would make any sacrifice or perform anything within the bounds of
possibility. In some instances sugar brandy-drops are used in public
exhibitions as rewards, though this is done sparingly.

Besides these weaknesses of appetite, to which their trainers appeal,
monkeys have a fondness for petting. Jardine mentions one of the
shooloch species who was particularly pleased with caresses. He would
lie down and allow his head to be combed and the long hair of his arms
to be brushed, and seemed delighted with the tickling sensation produced
by the brush on his belly and legs. Turning from side to side, he would
first hold out one limb and then the other.

[Illustration: BABOON FINDING WATER ROOTS.]

It is rare that any of the monkey tribe have been made available for any
really useful purpose. Occasionally, we believe, they have been made to
turn spits, and one case is recorded of a monkey on shipboard who was
taught to wash dishes and perform several other of the minor duties of
the culinary department, under the supervision of the cook. Among the
Kaffirs of Africa a particular species of baboon, the chacma, is trained
for a somewhat novel purpose. These chacmas will eat anything a man
will, and torment the natives grievously by pillaging their gardens. The
tables are, however, in some cases turned, and the chacmas made to
provide food for the Kaffirs instead of deriving it from them.

The ordinary food of the chacma is a plant called babiana, from the use
which the baboons make of it. It is a subterranean root, which has the
property of being always full of watery juice in the driest weather, so
that it is of incalculable value to travelers who have not a large
supply of water with them, or who find that the regular fountains are
dried up. Many Kaffirs have tame chacmas which they have captured when
very young, and which have scarcely seen any of their own kind. These
animals are very useful to the Kaffirs, for if they come upon a plant or
a fruit which they do not know they offer it to the baboon, and if he
eats it they know that it is suitable for human consumption.

On their journeys the same animal is very useful in discovering water,
or, at all events, the babiana roots, which supply a modicum of moisture
to the system, and serve to support life until water is reached. Under
these circumstances, the baboon takes the lead of the party, being
attached to a long rope, and allowed to run about as he likes. When he
comes to a root of babiana he is held back until the precious vegetable
can be taken entire out of the ground, but, in order to stimulate the
animal to farther exertions, he is allowed to eat a root now and then.

The search for water is conducted in a similar manner. The wretched
baboon is intentionally kept without drink until he is half mad with
thirst, and he is then led by a cord as before mentioned. He proceeds
with great caution, standing occasionally on his hind legs to sniff the
breeze, and looking at and smelling every tuft of grass. By what signs
the animal is guided no one can even conjecture; but if water is in the
neighborhood the baboon is sure to find it. So, although this animal is
an inveterate foe of the field and garden, he is not without his uses to
man when his energies are rightly directed.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XVIII.
RATS—MICE—FROGS—TOADS—FLEAS, ETC.

Rats generally are not favorites. There seems to be born in the human
race a natural antipathy to these animals, and the preference with most
persons would be rather to exterminate them than to attempt to tame
them. Still rats _may_ be tamed, though it must be confessed they are
rather unattractive subjects, their odor being disgusting and their bite
poisonous, probably from particles of putrid flesh adhering to their
teeth—in many recorded cases fatally so.

Probably most readers have heard the story of the Frenchman, we forget
his name, who was doomed to expiate some political offense in a dungeon
cell; and how, to relieve the dreary loneliness and torturing monotony
of his solitary existence, he strove to win the confidence of a rat
which stole timidly forth from some crevice to pick up the crumbs
dropped by the prisoner from his frugal meals. By slow degrees he
labored to achieve his purpose, dropping a few crumbs on the floor and
waiting motionless till the animal had come from his retreat and taken
them; then, as the rat’s timidity gave way under the influence of this
kindness, the man enticed him to eat from his hand, to climb up his leg
into his lap, and by-and-by to permit himself to be handled, until at
last the rat would nestle in the man’s bosom, come at his call, and in
many ways display his affections for his master.

Mice are less ferocious than rats, more easily managed, and also make
better performers, if it is desired to teach them tricks. The process of
training is the same with both. In securing your captive, a trap which
does it no injury should be used. To say nothing of the cruelty, an
animal that is partially disabled or suffering pain, is not in a
condition to learn well. The best traps are those in which wires are so
arranged as to permit an easy entrance while they present an array of
sharp points to prevent an exit.

The first thing after the capture is to tie a piece of fine but strong
twine to the captive’s tail. This may be done without removing from the
trap, or a wire or tin cage; he should be kept until so far tamed that
he will not attempt to gnaw the string and escape when taken from his
prison. During this time he should be well treated, supplied with food
and water, and in no way irritated or alarmed. At the end of a day or so
he may be allowed to come out upon a table, while the string which
retains him is held securely. He will, probably, run around to examine
the locality and then make an attempt to escape. At this point he must
be gently but firmly drawn back, and we would advise that the first
lesson consist merely in teaching him the uselessness of these attempts.
At the next lesson a light wand, of willow or other wood, about twenty
inches long, should be provided. Shortening the confining string so as
to have your animal “well in hand,” you make him travel back and forth
across the table in a straight line several times, guiding him by
placing your wand in his way whenever he swerves from the correct
course. Then make him go in a circle, then along a piece of board, or
books laid on an edge, and any other convenient exercises to habituate
him to follow your guidance. Remember, in doing this, that your object
is to teach him—not to torment him. This wand is the real key to the
performances of rats and mice. Though, these animals, doubtless, possess
considerable sagacity, nearly all the tricks we have ever seen them
perform have been mere obedience to the guidance of the exhibitor; so
that when your pupil will go in the desired direction at the slightest
hint with your wand, the main part of his training is accomplished, and
you have only to arrange various little tricks in which the obedience
will come in play.

By placing an obstacle in his way of such a shape as he cannot readily
climb over, and urging him forward, he may be taught to leap; soon
little hoops of wire or wood may be held for him to jump through, and
these may be raised gradually with successive lessons until he will
spring a considerable distance into the air to go through them. During
all the time of training it should be your object to tame your pupil and
inspire him with confidence in you; this will enable you eventually to
remove the string which secures him, and so add to the credit of your
exhibition. He should also be accustomed to take food from your hand or
from the point of a bit of stick. This will serve as the foundation of
many amusing tricks. Thus a small piece of cheese may be placed on the
end of a string or wire so arranged that the removal of the cheese will
cause a little bell to ring or produce some other pleasing effect. After
the first few lessons with this arrangement, in which the mouse will
have become accustomed to securing his food in this way, the cheese may
be simply _rubbed_ on sufficiently to induce him to bite at it. He
should at first be guided up to it with the wand and tapped gently under
his chin to induce him to rise and seize it. A variation of this is the
trick of carrying articles in his mouth. First give him some article
thoroughly smeared with cheese; the desire to secure the cheese will
make him take it; then by urging and guiding him with your wand you can
make him carry it about; being loth to relinquish the cheese, he will
retain the whole. The amount of this bait used may be gradually
diminished. By-and-by he may be made to convey little articles to and
fro between two persons seated at opposite sides of the table. To do
this, as well as for general convenience, it is well to accustom your
pupil to come to you at some particular sound. This may be either the
snapping of the finger nails or some slight noise of the mouth. It is
easily done by making the noise, and, at the same time, pulling him
toward you by the string attached to his tail. When he reaches you
reward him with a morsel of cheese or bread, and repeat from day to day
until he will come upon hearing the call.

Rats or mice may be used as motive powers to operate little models of
machinery. This requires no training, as they are merely placed in a
tread-mill contrivance, and being kept there their weight causes the
works to move and compels the animal to keep up the motion.

[Illustration: RAT AS A MOTIVE POWER.]

A little performance, a la Blondin, may be arranged for your mouse by
stretching a piece of wire sufficiently stout to afford him a firm
foothold, from two posts, about a foot in hight, fastened into a board.
The ends of the wire may be at an angle, and also be secured to the
board. Being guided by your wand up the slanting wire upon the main one,
the dexterity with which he will run about upon it is quite surprising.
If he has been already taught to hold things in his mouth he may be
given a piece of wood, about the thickness of an ordinary friction match
and twice its length, to represent a balancing pole, and this may be
adorned at each end by a balancing flag or bit of ribbon. The _real_
“balancer,” however, is the animal’s tail, which he will wriggle from
side to side to preserve his equilibrium.

In the summer of 1867 one of the most attractive of the outdoor shows
exhibited in Paris was that of “the man of rats,” well known to the
inhabitants of the Quartier Mont Parnasse, where he has held his
headquarters for the last thirty years. The name of this Rarey of the
rat race is Antoine Leonard. If the former succeeded in breaking in the
worst tempered brute ever created, Leonard in three weeks certainly
accomplished the difficult task of cultivating habits of obedience in
the biggest rats that ever ran. His favorite scenes of action are some
cross alleys in the 14th and 15th Arondissement. His sole theater is a
sort of perch which he sticks into the ground, and then he takes his
corps de ballet out of his pocket. At his word of command the rats run
up and down the perch, hang on three legs, then on two, stand on their
heads, and in fact go through a series of gymnastic exercises that would
put Blondin himself to the blush. His crack actor is a gray rat that he
has had in his troupe for eleven years. This old fellow not only obeys
Leonard, but is personally attached to him. It is a most curious sight
to see Leonard put him on the ground, and then walk away. The creature
runs after him, and invariably catches him however many turns he may
make to avoid him. An Englishman offered fifty francs for him about two
years ago, but Leonard would not separate from his old and attached
friend.

Some time ago, in passing through Beekman street, in this city, our
attention was attracted by quite a large crowd gazing intensely at the
telegraph wires which pass through the street. Following the example of
the rest, we at last discerned, high up on the topmost wire, a mouse,
that was running along evidently in search of some safe descent from his
novel position. It seems that some boy had caught him, and the fact that
the wires in that vicinity pass close to the windows of the buildings,
had, doubtless, suggested the idea of placing him thereon. Whether the
mouse would have persevered and traveled on to Albany, thus furnishing
an example of sending articles by telegraph, it is impossible to say,
for some person at a window within reach of the wire, by vigorous
shaking, succeeded in dislodging him, and he fell to the ground among a
crowd of boys who were eagerly waiting to receive him. In the scramble
that followed he was captured, and borne off in triumph by a newsboy.

A shrewd dodge is related by a New York paper of a certain saloon
keeper, who has been greatly annoyed by persons who sit about in chairs
to sleep off the effects of bad whiskey. He has caught and tamed several
rats, and trained them to run across the floor. A sitter wakes up and
sees the rats running, and calls attention to the fact, when he is told
there are no rats there. This frightens the man, who thinks he has got
the tremens, and he quickly disappears from the saloon.

Frogs are made pets of in some countries. In Vienna may be seen gilt
cages containing small frogs of a pretty green color, which are kept in
drawing rooms, and amuse by their gambols. Curious stories are told of
the domestication of the tree-frog, which is a native of warm countries.
It is said of Dr. Townson, that he had two pet frogs of this variety. He
kept them in a window, and appropriated to their use a bowl of water, in
which they lived. They grew quite tame; and to two which he had in his
possession for a considerable time, and were particular favorites, the
doctor gave the names of Damon and Musidora. In the evening they seldom
failed to go into the water, unless the weather was cold and damp; in
which case they would sometimes abstain from entering it for a couple of
days. When they came out of the water, if a few drops were thrown upon
the board, they always applied their bodies as close to it as they
could; and from this absorption through the skin, though they were
flaccid before, they soon again appeared plump. A tree-frog, that had
not been in the water during the night, was weighed and then immersed;
after it had remained half an hour in the bowl, it came out, and was
found to have absorbed nearly half its own weight of water. From other
experiments, it was discovered that these animals frequently absorbed
nearly their whole weight of water, and that, as was clearly proved, by
the under surface only of the body. They will even absorb water from
wetted blotting-paper. Sometimes they will eject water with considerable
force from their bodies, to the quantity of a fourth part or more of
their weight. Before the flies had disappeared in the autumn, the doctor
collected for his favorite tree-frog, Musidora, a great quantity as
winter provision. When he laid any of them before her she took no notice
of them, but the moment he moved them with his breath she sprang upon
and ate them. Once, when flies were scarce, the doctor cut some flesh of
a tortoise into small pieces, and moved them by the same means; she
seized them, but the instant afterward rejected them from her tongue.
After he had obtained her confidence she ate from his fingers dead as
well as living flies. Frogs will leap at the moving of any small object;
and, like toads, they will also become sufficiently familiar to sit on
the hand, and submit to be carried from one side of a room to the other,
to catch flies as they settle on the wall. This gentleman, accordingly,
made them his guards for keeping the flies from his dessert of fruit,
and they performed their task highly to his satisfaction.

Another, yet more remarkable frog, is told of by a Virginia gentleman:
“Concerning this frog,” says he, “it has lived many years with us and is
a great favorite, and the greatest curiosity is its becoming so
remarkably tame. It had frequented our door steps before our hall door
some years before my acquaintance commenced with it. My father had
admitted it for years on account of its size and color, and he visited
it every evening, when it would come forth at his summons, and by
constant feeding he brought it to be so tame that it would come to him
and look up as if expecting to be taken up and brought to the table and
fed on insects of all sorts. On presenting living insects it fixes its
eyes intently and remains motionless for a while as if preparing for a
strike, which is an instantaneous throwing of its tongue to a great
distance, upon which the insect sticks fast to the tip by a glutinous
matter. I can’t say how long my father had been acquainted with it; from
my earliest recollection he spoke of it as ‘Old Tom,’ ‘the old frog.’ I
have known it for a great number of years—I can answer for fifty-seven
years. It makes its appearance (always a welcome visitor) with warm
weather and remains with us till fall, appearing morning and evening to
our great amusement, having been trained to do many things, such as
leaping, turning somersaults holding alternately by its feet and hands
to a small rope, swinging and whirling, after the manner of a slack rope
performer, marching erect oh its hind legs, and at the word of command
going through the manual exercise. It seems perfectly good natured, and
never shows temper, but is dreadfully afraid of a cat, on whose approach
it will often leap four feet from the floor, with the utmost precision,
plump into the mouth of a large stone water pitcher, and thus secure a
safe retreat. Yet it is in no wise alarmed or disturbed by the presence
of dogs, of which we have many about the premises. They all seem to
regard it as one of the household and a ‘privileged character.’”

Were not this story apparently well attested we might doubt some of the
details, as our own experience has shown that, while frogs are easily
tamed, and may be taught quite readily to perform such simple feats as
leaping, clinging to a string while swinging, and the like, they yet
seem to possess no aptitude for learning any more elaborate feats. Some
of our readers may, perhaps, be as successful as this gentleman was, and
in that case we should be pleased to have them let us know of it.

It may easily be imagined that the capture and training of fleas would
require a patience almost rivaling Job’s, and a skill which, in its
particular way, might almost be called a triumph of genius. Yet that has
been done, and some years ago a man gave exhibitions of what he termed
“educated fleas,” which were quite popular and successful. This man was
a German, who, at the time we speak of, was somewhat more than sixty
years of age, and had been, with true Teutonic steadfastness, about
twenty years engaged in his strange vocation. Fortunately he was endowed
with a sharp pair of eyes, which not only enabled him to keep track of
his little performers, over three score in number, but also to make the
minute “properties” used in the exhibition.

This “artist in fleas” took considerable pains to secure choice
specimens for his collection, and had arrangements whereby they were
forwarded to him by mail, carefully packed in cotton, from localities
noted for their superior breeds. When not in use the fleas are packed
away in pill-boxes between layers of cotton. They are fed twice each
day; the manner of feeding being to allow each to suck one drop of blood
from the trainer’s bare arm. This would be an ordeal few of our readers
would probably care to submit to, but the hero of the sixty fleas had
become so accustomed to it that he didn’t mind it in the least, and, for
aught we know, rather enjoyed it.

The intelligence of fleas is not of a very high order, and their
“education” is really very limited; the seeming marvels they perform
being mainly clever management on the part of their exhibitor. When
first received they are secured with a halter of the finest imaginable
silk to prevent escape. The first thing they are taught is _not_ to
jump. For this purpose the end of the halter is secured to a pin in the
table, and each jump naturally results in the prisoner being upset with
a sudden jerk, with, no doubt, a rather unpleasant sensation about the
neck. Sometimes a sharp pressure upon certain muscles is resorted to for
checking this jumping propensity. Being well fed and well treated, when
it behaves itself, even a flea will become tame. Punishment, too, for
rebellious conduct is also practiced. As fleas are not well adapted for
being flogged a new device is resorted to, a piece of burning charcoal,
or heated wire, is held over them until they are subdued.

The usual performances consist in little coaches being drawn about by
fleas harnessed up, while others of the troupe personate riders,
coachmen and footmen. Then there is the ball-room scene, where fleas
waltz around to the imaginary music of an orchestra of fleas, furnished
with minute imitations of various instruments. There are also quite a
variety of other tricks, but they are all pretty much the same in
principle. The main secret in these performances is a piece of very thin
wire, some ten or so inches in length, which the exhibitor holds in his
hand during the entertainment. The end of this wire is greased with
butter, which appears to possess a strong influence upon the fleas, for
they will eagerly follow the wire in whatever direction it is moved. The
audience, ignorant of this fact, attach no importance to the exhibitor’s
directing with it the movement of his performers, and may even consider
their following it a proof of superior training. By this means the fleas
may easily be made to go through the desired movements.

Where the fleas occupy a stationary position a trick is resorted to
which if on a large scale would be clumsy, but which in this instance
defies the sharpest eyes to detect. The insects are fastened in their
positions. Aided by the costumes with which they are encumbered, this is
not difficult to accomplish. Natural movements are also made to pass for
seemingly wonderful effects. Thus the performance of the musicians is
nothing but the customary wriggling of the fleas. Any insect in a
confined position will seize hold of a light article whether it be
shaped like a fiddle or not, and twirl it about. With the fleas it is
impossible for the spectator to distinguish exactly what the motion
is—it is so rapid and everything is so small—and imagination makes up
for a good many deficiencies.

We have seen boys amusing themselves impaling a fly, belly upward, upon
the point of a pin, the head of which was inserted in a cork standard,
and giving him a little dumb-bell composed of pieces of cork connected
by a piece of hog’s bristle. The fly would grasp this in his agony, and
his convulsive movements would have a very exact resemblance to a
dumb-bell performance, and be irresistibly ludicrous, however much one
might sympathise with the victim’s suffering. It almost rivaled the
professor and his fleas.

Once upon a time this troupe of fleas were exhibited at Berlin before
the king and queen. The professor was suddenly seen to exhibit signs of
great consternation. “What is the matter, Herr Professor?” inquired his
majesty, on seeing that the performance had come to a stand still.
“Sire, I perceive that one of my very, best performers, the great
Napoleon, has got loose and disappeared.” “Let search be made at once
for the great Napoleon,” replied the king, good humoredly. “Ladies and
gentlemen, let the Herr Professor have your best help in recapturing the
great Napoleon. In what direction, Herr Professor, do you imagine the
runaway to have gone?” “If I may venture, sire, to reply frankly,”
returned that personage, “I suspect the great Napoleon to have secreted
himself about the person of her serene highness, the Princess F——.” The
“highness” thus named, feeling anything but “serene” at the thought of
affording quarters to such an intruder, made a hasty retirement to her
own apartments, whence, after a brief retirement with her cameriste, she
smilingly returned to the royal presence, bringing some object held
delicately between her thumb and finger, which she cautiously made over
to the professor. “Alas! sire,” exclaimed the latter, after a moment’s
glance at what he thought was his discovered treasure, “this is a wild
flea and not the great Napoleon!” And the exhibition was brought to an
ignominious conclusion.

We once heard of a performance somewhat akin to our professor’s. At a
certain boarding school that we attended years ago, we noticed our
room-mate one morning examining the bed in a manner to indicate beyond
doubt that he was in search of an insect which is not usually a subject
of conversation in polite society. Fortunately for the credit of the
school he found none. In answer to our expression of surprise at his
evident disappointment at there being none, he explained that he wanted
to show us a splendid trick he had invented at home; and he went on to
describe how he had often amused himself by gluing one end of a string
to the back of an unfortunate bug, while to the other end was hitched a
miniature model of a cart, made of paper. This, he said, was capital
sport, especially when he made two of these teams race, and pricked the
steeds with a needle to make them lively. This is the only example of
bed-bug training we are able to record.

A very useful thing for farmers is the power of handling bees without
liability to be stung. Many persons imagine this to be some gift or
mysterious influence possessed by the successful operator, while others
suppose it to be derived from some wonderful secret possessed by him.
Though this “secret” is really quite a simple matter, the fact that a
speculator has been selling it to bee keepers at the modest price of ten
dollars, shows that it is an interesting subject, and we propose to give
it to the reader without exacting any fee.

Let us suppose you have a particularly irritable colony in one of the
modern hives, from which you desire to obtain the honey. The treatment
must vary a trifle according to the particular design and arrangement of
the hive, but the following directions, with very slight modifications,
will answer for all. First confine the bees in the hive, and rap on the
side of it with the palms of your hands or a small stick. The first
efforts of the bees will be to escape from the hive; finding this
impossible they will rush to their stores and fill themselves with
honey. Should the rapping prove insufficient to frighten them and cause
them to fill themselves with honey, smoke from rotten wood, which is the
best, cotton rags, or tobacco, may be made to enter the hive which will
have the desired effect. Bees will never sting of their own accord when
gorged with food, and in this condition may be handled with impunity.

When swarming, or out of the hive for any reason, they may be “tamed” by
placing water well sweetened with sugar within their reach. Bees can
never resist the temptation and after they have gorged themselves with
this preparation they are as harmless as when their sacks are filled
with honey.

CHAPTER XIX.
“HAPPY FAMILIES”—ENEMIES BY NATURE MADE FRIENDS BY ART.

One of the most entertaining and popular features of Barnum’s Museum,
during the many years of its existence, was that miscellaneous
collection of minor birds, beasts, and reptiles, denominated the Happy
Family. Here in a huge cage are mingled many varieties of the animal
kingdom which are, in a state of nature, deadly enemies to one another.
Exhibitions of this kind are very rare in this country, though more
common in Europe. Probably the first one ever seen here was that
imported by Barnum in 1847, and which was the foundation of the present
collection; though, like the boy’s jack-knife which first had a new
blade and then a new handle, and then a new blade again, it would be
difficult to find any of the original importation in the collection of
the present day. It seems that Barnum, at about the date we have
mentioned, was in Scotland “working” Tom Thumb, who was then on a grand
exhibition tour. In the neighborhood of Edinburgh he accidentally
stumbled across the Happy Family, which was then, though an excellent
collection of animals, a rather one-horse affair as an exhibition by
itself. The shrewd showman, ever on the lookout for novelties or
curiosities, genuine or otherwise, fancied he saw a good speculation and
bought the whole concern for $2,500, and brought it in triumph to his
museum in New York.

[Illustration: THE “HAPPY FAMILY” AT BARNUM’S OLD MUSEUM.]

Curious and wonderful as this peaceable living together of animals of
such diverse natures appears, there is really very little mystery in it.
Many persons, noticing the sleepy and listless appearance of most of the
animals, have quite naturally come to the conclusion that they were
under the influence of some drug, which stupified them and rendered them
harmless. We believe that in no case is this the fact, because it is not
necessary. The main secret is to feed the animals to satiety; never
allowing them to feel the pangs of hunger, the great incentive for
preying upon other animals is taken away. Animals, unlike men, will
never eat unless they are really hungry. We have frequently observed boa
constrictors at public exhibitions, in whose cages rabbits or pigeons
had been placed to gratify the public with the sight of the huge snake
swallowing his food alive. Unless the snake is hungry the miserable
little victims remain for days cooped up with the hideous monsters
without the latter taking the slightest notice of them. It is a well
known fact that cats which are fed plentifully cease to be good mousers,
however excellent in that respect they have previously been, and will
permit a house to be overrun with these pests without molesting them.
Besides the plentiful feeding there is one other thing requisite to make
the animals live together peaceably. Many animals have an instinctive
desire to worry or kill others which are smaller or weaker than
themselves. Between many particular animals a kind of natural antipathy
exists. So natural does it seem that a dog should torment a cat that “a
cat and dog life” has become typical of a very uncomfortable state of
existence. There is on the part of all animals a feeling of suspicion
and antagonism toward strange animals, even if they are of their own
species. We are almost every day witnesses of exhibitions on a smaller
scale almost as wonderful as the Happy Family, were it not that their
frequency renders them common place. In thousands of households cats and
dogs live together, not only without quarreling but on really friendly
terms. Frequently have we seen cats and dogs feeding from the same dish,
and recollect one instance where a diminutive kitten, in the innocence
of feline infancy, seized upon one end of a bone which a monstrous watch
dog was busily gnawing, without being molested by the dog. It is just as
natural for cats to devour birds as for _any_ beast or bird of prey to
devour _its_ victims, and yet we have been familiar with more than one
instance of canary birds being allowed to fly around a room in which was
the household cat, without the cat showing the least disposition to
attack them. Had a strange bird came within her reach we doubt not that
same cat would have indulged in a feast at his expense without
hesitation. City dogs would make sad havoc among the inhabitants of any
poultry yard if allowed admission therein, but let any one of those same
dogs become a resident on a farm, let him understand that chickens and
turkeys are sacred from his touch and he will soon walk among them as
unconsciously as though there were no such things in existence. An
instance is on record of a cat who had been deprived of her kittens,
capturing a brood of young rats and suckling them with all the
tenderness of a mother. In this case, however, it would appear that
affection for the baby rats was not the motive for this strange act, for
as soon as the cat was eased of the inconvenience of her milk, she
disposed of her adopted family in a pleasant and effective manner—she
ate them up.

In preparing animals for Happy Families it is usual to keep them in
small cages, in the vicinity of each other. Occasionally two animals of
different dispositions are placed together, the keeper preventing any
fighting and punishing any symptoms of it. When the keeper thinks they
may be safely left together he retires to a short distance to wait
results. On the least sign of a quarrel he is down upon them, poking and
punching and stirring them up generally. If they show no disposition to
quarrel they are treated kindly, fed plentifully and permitted to enjoy
themselves as much as their restricted quarters will permit. When an
animal has thus learned to keep within the bounds of politeness and good
breeding he is introduced into the large cage with the grand collection.
In this large cage the principal disturbing elements are the monkeys,
who frequently obstinately insist upon _not_ being happy, and slinging
the mice around by their tails, pulling out the birds’ feathers and
other little acts of playfulness. The stout wire very soon reduces them
to quietness, and it very seldom happens that any serious disturbance
occurs. Doves and vultures roost calmly side by side, mice nestle
confidingly in the cat’s soft, warm fur, and so natural does it all
seem, that, for a moment one scarcely realizes of what incongruous
elements the whole is made up.

The origin of this novel idea of the Happy Family was probably this:
Francesco Michelo was the only son of a carpenter who resided in Tempio,
a town in the island of Sardinia. He had two sisters younger than
himself, and he had only attained his tenth year when a fire reduced his
father’s house to ruins, and at the same time caused the death of the
carpenter himself. The family were thus reduced to beggary, and the boy
in order to provide for the necessities of his mother and sisters took
up the occupation of catching birds for sale. Constructing a cage of
considerable dimensions from laths he proceeded to the woods to secure
the nests of young birds. Being active and industrious he succeeded
tolerably well, but the prices he obtained were not adequate to the
maintenance of the family. In this dilemma the boy conceived a new and
original method for increasing his income; necessity is the mother of
invention, and he meditated no less a project than to train a young
Angora cat to live harmlessly in the midst of his favorite songsters.
Such is the force of habit, such the power of education, that by slow
degrees he taught the martial enemy of his winged pets to live, to eat,
to drink, and to sleep in the midst of his little charges without once
attempting to devour or injure them. The cat, whom he called Bianca,
suffered the little birds to play all manner of tricks with her; and
never did she extend her talons or harm them in any way.

He went even farther, and taught the cat and the birds to play a kind of
game, in which each had to learn its own part. Puss was instructed to
curl herself into a circle, with her head between her paws, as though
asleep. The cage was then opened and the birds rushed out upon her and
endeavored to awaken her with repeated strokes of their beaks; then
dividing into two parties they attacked her head and her whiskers,
without the gentle animal appearing to take the least notice of their
gambols. At other times she would seat herself in the middle of the
cage, and begin to smooth her fur; the birds would then settle upon her
back, or sit like a crown upon her head, chirruping and singing as if in
all the security of a shady wood.

The sight of a sleek and beautiful cat seated calmly in the midst of a
cage of birds was so new and unexpected that when Francesco produced
them at the fair of Sussari he was surrounded instantly by a crowd of
admiring spectators. Their astonishment scarcely knew bounds when they
heard him call each feathered favorite by its name, and saw it fly
toward him with alacrity, till all were perched on his head, his arms,
and his fingers. Delighted with his ingenuity the spectators rewarded
him liberally, and the boy returned joyfully to his home with sufficient
money to last the family many months.

Not only do animals sometimes lose many of their natural characteristics
by association with human beings or with other animals, but they even in
some cases have been known to acquire the habits of animals of an
entirely different species from themselves. One of the most remarkable
instances of this was observed by La Malle. This gentleman had a kitten
which had attained the age of six months when his live stock was
increased by the arrival of a terrier pup, Fox, that was only two months
old. The dog and the cat were brought up together, and for two years Fox
had no association with other dogs, but received all his education from
the three daughters of the porter, and from the cat. The two animals
were continually together and acquired a great affection for one
another; the cat, however, as the senior taking the lead. Soon Fox began
to bound like a cat, and to roll a mouse or a ball with his fore paws
after the feline fashion. He also licked his paw and rubbed it over his
ear as he saw the cat do; nevertheless, owing to his native instinct, if
a strange cat came into the garden he chased it away. La Malle brought a
strange dog into the house, who manifested the utmost contempt and
indignation for all Fox’s habits. M. Andouin, too, had a dog which
acquired all the habits of a cat.

It has probably been remarked also, by most readers, that domestic
animals almost always imbibe something of the disposition of their
masters or mistresses. Thus, a plodding easygoing man will have a horse
of much the same characteristics if it has been long in his service,
whatever may have been the horse’s original disposition. Many similar
instances will no doubt suggest themselves to the reader. It would seem
that even mankind is not exempt from this influence, and that when men
have not the energy or mental force to exert this molding power over the
minds of their brute companions, the animals will exert it over them. At
the risk of wandering from our subject it may interest some to have
attention called to the testimony to this assertion, afforded by all
uncivilized countries. Dr. Virey, who has given considerable attention
to this rather queer subject, remarks: “Behold those men who pass their
lives among animals, as cowherds, shepherds, swineherds, grooms, and
poachers, they always acquire something of the nature of the animals
with which they associate. It is thus that man becomes heavy and rude
with the ox, filthy and a glutton with the pig, simple with the sheep,
courageous and an adept hunter with the dog. In like manner the Arab is
sober with his camel, the Tartar rough and blunt as his horses, the
Laplander timid as his reindeer, the mountaineer active as the goat, the
Hindoo somber as his elephant, because it is man’s fate to take the
nature of his animals when he cannot form their nature to his.” Without
recommending the adoption of this writer’s opinions entirely, for much
that he has stated is no doubt due to climate and local causes, his
theory is worthy of consideration by those who have a fancy for this
kind of speculation.

A correspondent of the Agriculturist relates an amusing instance of a
sort of “happy family” originated by the animals themselves: “About a
month since two cats had a ‘family’ within a few days of each other. All
the kittens were drowned except two of each set, which with their
respective mammas were snugly settled in a couple of boxes in the same
room. On the following day both families entire—or rather what remained
of them—were found coiled up together in the same box. They were not
disturbed and thenceforward the two mothers ceased to recognize any
difference between the two pairs of kittens. They would alternately
nurse the whole lot, or both affectionately entwined together divide
this ‘labor of love’ just as the kittens, lying snugly between them,
would happen to turn to the one or the other. But this is not all. Eddie
brought a couple of young squirrels from the woods, which soon became
very gentle. In less than two days _both_ were found in the box among
the cats and kittens, drawing from either or both the maternal fonts,
upon a like footing of equality and community with that previously
enjoyed by the kittens. The old cats seemed to acquiesce fully in the
arrangement, and so it proceeded for a couple of weeks, until one of the
squirrels was accidentally killed. The other having the freedom of the
house is now a romping playmate of both cats and kittens, who continue
uniformly to treat him as ‘one of the family.’”

CHAPTER XX.
EDUCATED SEALS—TAME FISH, ETC.

At the Zoological Gardens in London, and at several places on the
continent, seals have been exhibited which had been taught to perform a
number of tricks. The first “learned seal” which appeared in this
country was one exhibited first at Barnum’s old Museum, on the corner of
Broadway and Ann street, and afterward in various parts of the country.
Ned, as he was called, was quite a philosopher in his way, and submitted
gracefully to the change from his secluded haunts on the icy shores of
Greenland, to the excitements of a public life.

Seals are naturally docile and intelligent, but skill in grinding a hand
organ is scarcely a gift which comes by nature, and even in the case of
Ned it was necessary to stimulate his musical taste before he became an
adept on that instrument. This stimulus was the same as that to which we
owe the curb-stone performances of modern Romans—hunger.

He had before this learned of his own accord to come up out of the water
on the appearance of his keeper. He was kept in a large tank, or box,
one half of which held the water, while the other half was floored over
forming a platform on which he was exhibited. From this platform an
inclined plane, formed of planks, led down into the water. Around the
edge of the tank and platform a wooden railing extended, and in one
corner of this enclosure was kept a tin box containing the fish with
which the seal was fed. When the seal was first exhibited his keeper was
in the habit of taking a fish from this box at each half-hourly
exhibition, and tossing it to the seal who would come partly out of the
water and open his mouth to catch it when he saw it in the keeper’s
hand. This box had a lid to prevent Ned helping himself, and the seal
soon learned that the noise of opening the box was followed by his
getting a fish; so before long it was only necessary to tap on the lid
to make him come up on the platform.

There was one trick which Ned invented himself, and used to perform to
his own great satisfaction. He always liked to be able to see his
keeper, but visitors often crowded around the tank so much as to
obstruct his view. When this happened, Ned had a way of beating
vigorously about in the water and splashing the offending spectators so
that they were glad to withdraw to a more respectful distance. This
afforded considerable fun to the attachés of the museum, who had
discovered Ned’s little game, while, we believe, visitors never
suspected that their ducking was anything more than mere accident.

The first feat he was taught was to sit up on his hind quarters. This
was easily accomplished by holding a fish in the air as an encouragement
for the seal to keep an erect position. More difficulty was experienced
in teaching him to play the organ. Day after day his paw was placed on
the handle, while the trainer industriously turned the crank and held
Ned’s paw in position at the same time. Ever and anon the man would
remove his hand to see if the seal continued the motion, but down would
flop Ned’s paw and he would gaze vacantly at the instrument without the
least apparent consciousness of what was to be done. But by-and-by there
was a little hesitation in the paw and it did not drop quite so promptly
on the trainer’s hand being removed. Then Ned got a little fish. The
next time the paw lingered quite perceptibly on the handle, and there
was just the faintest movement toward turning the crank. Then Ned got a
bigger fish, which he undoubtedly relished exceedingly, for all this
time he had been on short allowance. So it went on, the seal grinding a
few notes, increasing their number each time and being rewarded with
fish, until he had learned to roll out the full supply of tunes the
instrument afforded, though his “time” would have puzzled a musician,
his efforts being to grind at the greatest possible speed, and we feel
safe in asserting that his “Old Hundred” was the fastest thing on
record. After every exhibition he was rewarded with fish.

[Illustration: NED, THE “LEARNED SEAL.”]

Quite a number of instances are recorded where seals have been tamed
without any design of public exhibition. A writer in the London Field
gives some curious details of his own experiment. He says:

“When a boy, I was presented by some fishermen with one apparently not
more than a fortnight old, which in a few weeks became perfectly tame
and domesticated, would follow me about, eat from my hand, and showed
unmistakable signs of recognition and attachment whenever I approached.
It was fond of heat, and would lie for hours at the kitchen fire,
raising its head to look at every new comer, but never attempting to
bite, and would nestle close to the dogs, who soon became quite
reconciled to their new friend. Unfortunately the winter after I
obtained it was unusually rough and stormy. Upon that wild coast boats
could seldom put to sea, and the supply of fish became scanty and
precarious. We were obliged to substitute milk in its place, of which
the seal consumed large quantities, and as the scarcity of other food
still continued, it was determined, in a family council, that it should
be consigned to its own element, to shift for itself. Accompanied by a
clergyman, who took a great interest in my pet, I rowed out for a couple
of miles to sea, and dropped it quietly overboard. Very much to our
astonishment, however, we found that it was not so easy to shake it off.
Fast as we pulled away it swam still faster after the boat, crying all
the time so loudly that it might easily have been heard a mile away, and
so pitifully that we were obliged to take it in again and bring it
home.”

A somewhat similar story is told in Maxwell’s Wild Sports of the West,
where may be found a very interesting and touching narrative of a tamed
seal, which lived for several years with a family, and which, although
it was repeatedly taken out to sea in a boat and thrown overboard,
always found its way back again to the house which it loved, even
contriving to creep through an open window and to gain access to the
warm fireside.

In the Jardin des Plantes, in Paris, there was, for some time, a
specimen of the marbled seal. Two little dogs, in the same enclosure,
amused themselves by mounting on its back, barking, and even biting
it—all of which the seal took in good part. Sometimes it would pat them
with its paw; but this seemed intended more to encourage than to repress
their gambols. In cold weather, they warmed one another by huddling
together. If the dogs snatched a fish from the seal’s mouth, it bore the
loss patiently; but it generally had a fight with another seal, the
sharer of its mess, until the weaker one sounded a retreat.

Some few years ago a “talking fish” was profitably exhibited in London
and the principal provincial towns, at a shilling a head. The fish was a
species of seal, and the “talking” consisted of a free translation of
its natural cry into the words ma-ma, or pa-pa, according to the fancy
of the showman or spectator.

Gold and silver fish are frequently kept as ornaments in glass globes or
aquaria; those vessels which present the largest surface to the air
being preferable. Fish kept in the flask shaped, or narrow mouth globes,
so often used by thoughtless persons, can never be kept healthy, and
their spasmodic efforts to get breath are a sufficient indication of
their sufferings.

These fishes may be easily tamed. Gentleness is the all-essential
requisite. They can be taught to eat from their owner’s hand by first
dropping morsels of food in the water while your finger is placed on the
outside as near it as possible. For a little while they will be afraid
to approach the food, restrained by the sight of the finger, but
by-and-by they will approach and seize it. After they have ceased to
fear your fingers on the outside, attach a bit of the food to your
finger and cautiously insert it in the water; if hungry they will
presently muster courage to come and take it, and in due time will take
their food in that manner as a matter of course. If fed at stated hours
they will learn to distinguish the approach of the customary feeding
time and will signify the fact by floating up to the surface shaking
their fins, and sticking their heads out of the water. In this same
manner they recognize their master or mistress and express their
pleasure at his or her approach.

A lady writer thus describes some fish kept in her family as pets: “They
knew a wonderful deal more did these little fishes. They would come to
the top of the water to be fed and take their food from my fingers. When
they wanted fresh water they could call for it by making an odd,
clicking noise. They would remain perfectly still while being talked to,
and wink with evident satisfaction at the compliments lavished upon
them. When, after a prolonged absence, their lawful owners returned to
them, these little fishes would wriggle about and indulge in wonderful
demonstrations of joy and welcome. Oh, the learned seal was nothing in
comparison to them.”

It is not alone gold and silver fish that admit of being tamed. A
correspondent writing from Franklin, Indiana, says of the fishes in a
pond on his grounds that they will approach on hearing his whistle, eat
from his hands, and allow him to take them from the water. A little girl
in one of the New England states rendered some trout, which inhabited a
brook near her father’s house, so exceedingly tame, that, when feeding
them, she was obliged to check the impetuosity of the more voracious
ones by a little stick armed at the point with a needle.

Mr. C. L. Vallandigham, of Ohio, is our authority for the following
story: “While upon the Island of Bermuda, in traveling from one portion
of the island to the other, I passed by a stone enclosure, perhaps a
hundred feet in diameter. The islands are coral in their formation.
There was a pool of water full of fish inside the enclosure. I paid an
English shilling for admission inside, where I saw perhaps a hundred
fish, thoroughly tamed, each one having a name, and each one answering
to the name by which he was called. One of them, I recollect, was called
Dick. I spoke to him as I would to a dog, and he came and lifted up his
head and allowed me to rub his back, just as you would a cat. Now, as I
told you, if any body else had told me that I wouldn’t have believed it.
But it is nevertheless true. There is just such a pool there, and they
are so intelligent that they recognize their names.”

[Illustration: THE HIPPOCAMPUS.]

Possibly some of our readers remember the queer little fishes Barnum
exhibited some years ago, and which he called “seahorses” on account of
the great resemblance of the heads to those of miniature horses. These
were labeled as coming from the Gulf of Mexico, though in reality caught
in New York Bay. They were what are known to naturalists as the
short-nosed hippocampus, and being peculiar we give an illustration
which will convey a better idea of their appearance than any mere
description. They are commonly about five inches in length, and are to
be found on many parts of our coast. When swimming about they maintain a
vertical position, but the tail is ready to grasp whatever it meets in
the water, and this is the means by which the creature appears to obtain
rest. The tail will quickly entwine in any direction around weeds, or
other supports; and when fixed the animal watches the surrounding
objects intently and darts at his prey with great dexterity. They raise
themselves to higher positions on their supports by the aid of the
hinder part of their cheeks, or chins, when the tail entwines itself
afresh. We do not think those at the museum performed in public but
their keeper to while away leisure time made them very tame and taught
them several little tricks, among others to perch in a row on his
finger. The four little fellows, each only about four inches in length,
presented a most comical appearance. The system of training in this case
was very similar to that which we have described as having been
practiced in the case of the “learned seal.”

We cannot say that we ever had any personal experience with oysters in
the capacity of pupils, but in at least one case has a bivalve been made
subject to the tamer’s art. In an English paper of 1840 we find a
curious account of a gentleman at Christ Church, Salisbury, England, who
kept a pet oyster of the largest and finest breed then known. It was fed
on oat meal, for which it regularly opened its shell, and was
occasionally treated to a dip in its native element; but the most
extraordinary trait in the history of this amphibious was that it proved
itself an excellent mouser, having killed at least five mice, by
crushing the heads of such as, tempted by the luscious meal, had the
temerity to intrude their noses within its bivalvular clutches. On one
occasion two of these little intruders suffered together.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXI.
THE ART OF TAMING BIRDS.

Although birds are naturally of a timid disposition, very easily
alarmed, and from their delicate structure unable to endure any but the
most gentle handling, they may be made very tame and become quite
attached to their trainer. We propose to tell our readers how to tame
their birds, but to make these instructions successful they must be
carried out with the greatest gentleness and patience. The utmost pains
should be observed not to frighten the bird, as a single fright may
render him so shy as to defeat all your efforts to gain his confidence.
The following plan is the simplest and most uniformly successful that we
have seen tried: The trainer opens the door of the cage and teases the
bird gently with a soft feather. This he does till the bird pecks at the
feather, then at his finger, and at last comes out of the cage and
perches upon his hand. He then smooths his feathers down, caresses it,
and offers it some favorite article of food, which it soon learns to
take from his hand. He then begins to accustom the bird to a particular
call or whistle; carries it upon his hand or shoulder from room to room,
in which all the windows are carefully closed, lets it fly and calls it
back. As soon as the bird becomes obedient to the call in the presence
of other persons and animals, the same experiment is cautiously repeated
in the open air, till at last it is rewarded with complete success. This
process is well suited for nearly all young cage birds, especially
linnets, bullfinches, and canaries, but it is dangerous to take these
tame birds into the open air during pairing time, as they are liable to
be enticed by the cries of wild birds.

Birds that are caught in winter often take to the cage more kindly than
would be expected, but after their capture some days should be allowed
them to become accustomed to their new situation, before expecting them
to respond to your kindness. Newly caught birds should be put into a
quiet place, shaded with a green woolen cover, so that the innate may
not see persons moving about the room, and it should be supplied with
abundance of whatever is supposed to be its favorite food. Hemp seed
generally fulfills this requirement. It is an immense advantage to have
a large cage made like the “trap” or store cages in which canaries are
generally sold. The wooden bars are less liable to hurt new comers than
those made of wire.

Whatever the cage, the food and the shading are essential points; and
the bird will often become familiar with his mistress’ voice before the
cover is removed, and he able to see her. After the first day or two do
not leave the seed tin always in the cage, but take it away after each
meal for a little while, taking the opportunity of having a talk with
the bird when you give it back, and gradually bring the cage a little
nearer to you as it gets more tame. The water, of course, is always in
the cage, and this must not be understood to imply a starving system,
the only object in taking away the seed is to obtain the chance to talk
with him and make friends when you bring it back. A single bird in a
cage tames more quickly than when there are two or three.

A New York paper, speaking about the importation of canary birds from
Germany, says the following sight was seen in Florence, Italy, in 1861,
by a lady and gentleman belonging in New York. In walking in the
principal street they overtook a man with a long whip in his hand, which
he was moving from one side to the other in what they thought a strange
manner. When they came up with him they found he was driving a flock of
canary birds, as in England they drive a flock of turkeys. A carriage
came along, and the man waved his whip in a peculiar manner, when the
little birds all went to the sidewalk until the carriage passed, when
they took the street again. A woman wanted to buy one, when the man
sprinkled some canary seed at his feet and half a dozen of them came to
him, when he took one up in his hand and delivered it to the woman, who
paid him one franc. The man then went on again.

Elihu Burritt, the learned blacksmith, gives an account of Mr. Fox, of
Tregedna, near Falmouth, England, who, by persevering kindness, has won
the affection of a large number of birds—so much so that they fly to
meet him when he calls them, and hop about him, eating the crumbs with
which his pockets are well filled. When digging in his garden if is no
common sight to see little birds hopping on the handle of the spade or
rake used by the gentleman, thus showing their confidence in him.
Sometimes they enter his bedroom early in the morning, through the
window, and in their way call out, “It is time to get up.” On Sunday,
when Mr. Fox goes to his place of worship, some of the birds are
frequently seen to accompany him along the road chirping and singing all
the way.

The following is a new and approved method where it is desired to tame
birds in a very short time, and is applicable to all kinds of cage
birds, proving efficacious in one or two hours: A portion—larger or
smaller in proportion to the wildness of the bird—is cut off from the
inner plume of the pen feathers, so that the bird cannot hurt itself if
it attempts to leave the hand, and the external appearance of the wing
is not impaired. The nostrils of the bird are then touched with bergamot
or any other odorous oil, by which it is for the time so stupified as to
perch quietly on the finger or to hop from one finger to another. It may
attempt to fly away once or twice, but this is not often repeated,
especially if the experiment be conducted in a dark place—for example,
behind a curtain, which offers the further advantage that if the bird
fall it is not likely to hurt itself. As soon as it sits quietly on any
one finger another must be placed in such a position as to cause the
bird to step upon it. As soon as it is accustomed to hop quietly from
one finger to another the main difficulty is overcome, for if when the
bird is gradually aroused from its state of stupefaction it perceives
that its teacher does not use it roughly, it may by degrees be taught to
manifest perfect obedience to his commands. To teach it to eat from its
master’s mouth it should be kept in the cage without food for some time.
If it be then taken upon the finger and its favorite food be presented
to it on the outstretched tongue hunger will soon teach it to feed. A
story is told of a favorite magpie that had been accustomed to receive
dainty bits from the mouth of its mistress. One day it perched as usual
on her shoulder and inserted its beak between her lips, not, as it
proved, to receive, for as one good turn deserves another, the grateful
bird dropped an immense fat green caterpillar into the lady’s mouth.

Birds tamed by the preceding process may be taught to sing while perched
upon the hand. To effect this it is only necessary to coax them by
chirping to them and using encouraging tones. The chaffinch may be made
to sing by whistling “yach! yach!” and stroking it on the neck; and the
bullfinch by speaking to it in a friendly manner, accompanied by a
backward and forward motion of the hand.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXII.
SONG BIRDS—THEIR MANAGEMENT AND TUITION.

What is called the song of birds is always expressive either of love or
happiness; thus the nightingale sings only during the pairing season,
and the period of incubation, and becomes silent as soon as required to
feed its young; while on the contrary the canary and others sing except
when dejected by molting. The males are usually the best singers, in
fact the females of several varieties have hardly what could be called a
song. Female canaries, bullfinches, robins, and some others may be made
to sing to a considerable extent by keeping them in cages by themselves
and paying attention to their food and management. All birds should be
kept clean, their cages washed out often enough to prevent the
accumulation of filth, a supply of sea or river sand furnished, and also
fresh water for bathing and drinking. The food of each species varies,
but the following will be found adapted to nearly all cage birds:

“UNIVERSAL PASTES.”—_Number One._—Thoroughly soak in cold water a well
baked stale loaf of wheaten bread; press the water out and pour milk
over the bread, sufficient to moisten thoroughly; then mix with it
two-thirds of its own weight of barley or wheat meal, ground fine and
sifted.

_Number Two._—Grate a carrot and mix it with a moderate sized slice of
bread which has been thoroughly soaked in water and the water carefully
pressed out. While mixing add two handfuls of the above mentioned barley
or wheat meal. The whole is then to be pounded in a mortar.

The above quantities are sufficient for quite a number of birds and must
be reduced to suit requirements, as no more than one day’s supply should
be prepared at one time. Careful washing of all utensils employed is of
course essential to prevent sourness. Canaries should be furnished with
a mixture of canary, summer rape, and crushed hemp seed. Goldfinches
like poppy seed, with the addition occasionally of a little crushed hemp
seed. They also eat thistle seed. Linnets and bullfinches rape seed
alone. A little green food, as chick-weed, lettuce, cabbage or
water-cress, is desirable about once a week. Quails are fond of bread
crumbs and wheat. Larks prefer barley meal mixed with finely cut
cabbage, or poppy seed and crumbs of bread, and oats in winter.

Varying the food of song birds has a tendency to make them sing. The
very common practice of giving pet birds cake, sweetmeats, or sugar, is
unadvisable; they prefer more simple food, and their health and musical
qualities are impaired by this kindly meant but really unkind practice.
A bit of cuttle fish bone is the best dainty. Too much hemp seed is
injurious to all birds in confinement, often producing blindness, less
of voice, and pulmonary disease.

The songs of cage birds are of two kinds, the natural and the
artificial. The natural song is peculiar in each species. The artificial
is that which the bird acquires by association with other birds, or
which is purposely taught it. A bird is said to “warble” or “quaver”
when it always repeats the passages or single notes of its song in
precisely the same order. It “sings” when it utters the chirping or
twittering interspersed with distinct notes without observing any
regular succession. It “whistles” or “pipes” when its song consists of
distinct round flute-like notes. Birds to sing well must enjoy good
health, be well fed and be placed in a bright, cheerful, situation. The
glaring rays of a hot sun can, however, be endured by but few birds.
Birds are naturally endowed with a spirit of rivalry, and if placed
where they can hear the song of other birds, will often sing better than
they otherwise would. Varying their food slightly will often encourage
them to sing. A German writer gives the following rules for canaries by
which a good singer may be secured: “The first and chief thing is that
while young the bird should hear none but a good song, and so not be
tempted to intermix the notes of other birds with his own. Care must be
taken to attain this object, not only at first, but at the first and
second molting seasons, as the bird is then obliged to re-learn his
song, and might introduce into it some foreign admixture. It should also
be noted whether the bird prefers to sing alone or in company. Many
birds are so self-willed as never to sing except they can display their
vocal powers alone, while the song of others is always soft and low
except when excited to rivalry by hearing the performance of a neighbor.
Another very important particular to be attended to not only in the case
of canaries but of all cage birds, is to give them their allotted
portion of food every day, for if too much be given them at once they
pick out the best at first and leave the rest for another day, which
impairs their vocal powers.”

The canary is a very imitative bird, indeed its song is mainly
artificial, being derived from the birds with which it has associated,
many of the original stock of the Canary Isles not singing at all. This
fact renders its tuition comparatively easy. If several notes are
repeated in succession on any instrument, and this is continued
perseveringly, the bird will gradually try to copy them, and will
finally succeed if both teacher and pupil possess the requisite talent.
Canaries are capable of learning two or more distinct tunes. The tunes
must be taught bit by bit and each piece thoroughly mastered before
advancing farther. A flute is the best musical instrument to use. If
desired that the bird should learn the song of another bird, a good
singer of that variety may be placed near its cage. The weavers of
Cheshire, England, are noted for possessing canaries of rare musical
ability, who are the descendants of birds originally taught by a
nightingale; the young birds of each successive generation learning the
song of their parents. Loss of voice, which in the male is sometimes the
consequence of molting, may be cured by feeding with a little lettuce
seed.

Some years ago, for several days a pure canary attracted considerable
attention while hanging in the publication office of the New York
Tribune, on account of his singing Hail Columbia, and other patriotic
airs, without mistake or loss of a single note.

If it is desired to teach a canary to whistle, it should be removed from
its companion when about two weeks old, at which time it will be able to
feed and also to begin to twitter. The pupil is put in a small cage,
which should be at first covered with a linen cloth, and afterward with
something thicker. A short air should then be either whistled or played
on a flute or bird organ within its hearing, five or six times a day,
especially in the morning and evening, and repeated on each occasion
half a dozen times. In from two to six months, according to the memory
and docility of the bird, it will have acquired its lesson perfectly.
Unless this training is commenced when the bird is very young it is
likely to mar its performance by intermixing parts it has learned from
the parent bird.

Though the natural song of the bullfinch, including both sexes, is harsh
and disagreeable, very much like the creaking of a door or wheelbarrow,
they may be taught to whistle many airs and songs in a soft, pure,
flute-like tone, and are capable of remembering two or three different
tunes. They are best instructed by means of a flute or by the whistling
of the teacher. Slow learners do not, during the molting season, lose so
quickly what they have acquired as those who learn more readily. The
bullfinch will also learn the songs of other birds, but usually this is
not considered desirable.

In Germany great attention is paid to the training of these birds, which
is made a regular profession. We are indebted to Dr. Stanley for the
following description of the mode pursued:

“No school can be more diligently attended by its master, and no
scholars more effectually trained to their own calling, than a seminary
of bullfinches. As a general rule they are formed into classes of about
six in each, and kept in a dark room, where food and music are
administered at the same time, so that when the meal is ended if the
birds feel inclined to tune up, they are naturally inclined to copy the
rounds which are so familiar to them. As soon as they begin to imitate a
few notes the light is admitted into the room, which still farther
exhilarates their spirits, and inclines them to sing. In some
establishments the starving system is adopted and the birds are not
allowed food or light until they sing. When they have been under this
course of instruction in classes for some time, they are committed
singly to the care of boys whose sole business is to go on with their
education. Each boy assiduously plays his organ[5] from morning till
night for the instruction of the bird committed to his care, while the
class teacher goes his regular rounds, superintending the progress of
his feathered pupils, and scolding or rewarding them in a manner which
they perfectly understand, and strictly in accordance with the attention
or the disregard they have shown to the instructions of the monitor.
This round of teaching goes on unintermittingly for no less a period
than nine months, by which time the bird has acquired firmness, and is
less likely to forget or spoil the air by leaving out passages, or
giving them in the wrong place. At the time of molting the best
instructed birds are liable to lose the recollection of their tunes, and
therefore require to have them frequently repeated at that time,
otherwise all the previous labor will have been thrown away.”

Footnote 5:

A small barrel organ, called a bird organ, made for this purpose.

The goldfinch is a handsome, lively bird, uttering his sonorous song at
all periods except when molting. It consists, in addition to several
intricate and twittering notes, of certain tones which resemble those of
the harp, and it is valued in proportion to the number of times the
syllable “fink” recurs. The goldfinch may also be taught to whistle
certain airs and to repeat the song of other birds, though in this
respect it is not so docile as the canary.

Ducks are not commonly numbered among song birds, but a French paper, La
France Chorale, gravely relates that an old trumpeter living in the
department of the Meuse, knowing that it was possible to teach speech
and music to parrots, starlings, blackbirds, magpies, and others of the
feathered tribe, operated lately on a duck in his court. He obtained his
pupil when a duckling, adopting it, and set about its education. In a
secluded corner he would sing to it an air a hundred times over, till
the intelligent biped had grasped the melody. Soon the interesting
creature commenced to quack little tunes, and at the end of six months
could correctly repeat a considerable portion of the “Femme a Barbe.”
The owner of the feathered songster is going to Paris to exhibit his
bird.

Mocking birds are valued highly for their power of acquiring the notes
of almost every other bird, imitating various sounds and even learning
to talk. They should be taken when very young; birds old enough to be
caught in traps either never sing at all, or only in an inferior manner.
Their tuition consists merely in giving them the opportunity to hear
whatever it is desired to have them learned. They usually begin to sing
when two months old, and some bird fanciers think they improve in
strength and fullness of tone when kept some years. It is less difficult
to keep mocking birds than is generally supposed. A correspondent of
Haney’s Journal gives the following as the best method of capturing and
rearing these birds:

“Take the trouble about the first of May to take a tramp through the
woods and along the hedges until you find a nest, and be sure it is the
right kind. Do not touch the nest, but visit it every few days, and when
the young are hatched and can open their eyes and mouths, take the nest
and birds home with you and set them in a cage. You then prepare some
corn meal very soft, by scalding, and feed them every half hour by
putting it in their mouths; when hungry they will open their mouths and
cry if you approach them, then is the time to feed them; when they
become strong enough to hop about the cage you may then put water and
the meal in the cage and they will soon learn to feed themselves. The
cage should be cleaned out at least every other morning, and fresh dry
clean sand put on the floor. The regular feed of the birds should be
corn meal and hard boiled eggs mashed together with a little water;
scalded fresh beef is very fine for them, also a few polk berries
occasionally, all kinds of fruits, bread that is not ‘short,’ meat not
salt; never give them anything sweet. I nearly lost a fine bird by
allowing it to get some sour molasses. The best medicine for the mocking
bird is two or three spiders. Be sure to put a pan of fresh water in the
cage every day, and as he is a great washer and invariably sings better
if you give him plenty of water and spiders. The bird should never be
let out of the cage, and he then does not know what liberty is. I now
have one five years old, who will not come out of the cage if the door
be left open all day; he can not be bought for $100. He has been reared
according to the above method, and, besides this, I guarantee it to be
the easiest and unsurpassed. So soon as they are old enough those which
do not sing should be turned out that they may gain their living before
the winter comes on. Never keep two in one cage after they commence to
sing; they will fight until one dies. Summary: plenty of water, clean
cage, no sweet or salt food, fresh meats, flies, grasshoppers and house
spiders as medicine; polk berries as a cathartic; don’t expect them to
sing during molting period.”

CHAPTER XXIII.
TALKING BIRDS AND THEIR TRAINING.

Many of the larger beaked birds may be taught to speak words or even
sentences, or will learn them of their own accord from overhearing them.
This power is principally possessed by the even tailed parrots, in which
the tongue is large, broad, and fleshy at the tip. Their articulation
does not possess that accuracy and exactness of modulation
characteristic of the human voice, but to a certain extent this is
mimicked. Usually there is a harshness and crudeness in their speech,
though in this respect they greatly vary.

All birds possessing the _power_ of learning to talk are gifted with a
great imitative faculty, and therein lies the secret of their tuition.
Parrots will often pick up words, or odds and ends of sentences, but
usually it is desired that they shall learn some particular phrases, to
suit the fancy of their owner. In this case a little drilling is
required. The trainer should take the bird alone where there will be
nothing to distract his attention; caress and pet him a little, then
repeat the word in a distinct tone, and repeat at intervals of a few
moments. Soon the parrot will attempt to repeat the word; caress him and
reward him with a bit of cracker. Repeat this until he has learned the
word thoroughly; when he has done so an alteration may be made in the
method of training. On all occasions when he desires anything, make him
repeat his lesson before his wishes are gratified. Gradually his lesson
may be increased in length, new words or phrases being added. A lady
relative of the writer possessed, some years ago, a parrot which was
always anxious to be allowed to come from the hall, where he was usually
kept, into the sitting room. Before he was permitted to enter he was
always made to repeat a long string of nonsense, something like the
following: “Pretty little, darling, sweet, beautiful, adorable Polly
wants to come in.” This task he was rather inclined to shirk, and would
commence with: “Pretty Polly wants to come in,” in hopes that would
suffice. The door remaining closed, however, he would in a minute or two
commence with: “Pretty little Polly wants to come in,” and so on, each
time going away back to the commencement, and each time adding one of
the previously omitted words until the whole were given and the door
opened to admit him.

Usually there is no sense in a parrot’s expression; he “Polly wants a
cracker” on all occasions, however inappropriate. He _may_ be taught to
use his language in a manner which is almost startling to one
uninitiated into the secret of the matter, so apparently is it the
action of reasoning powers. We have shown above how the bird can be
taught to repeat any required set of words (within reasonable limits) to
accomplish a desired result. The bird knows nothing about any meaning to
these words, he only knows that by making certain sounds he receives a
reward. Ordinarily a parrot will persistently assert that “Polly wants a
cracker” when Polly doesn’t want anything of the kind, but _does_ want a
drink of water. The owner does not take the parrot’s statement as the
expression of the actual want expressed, but merely that the bird wants
_something_. The parrot consequently uses any phrase he has learned to
express any desire. He is capable of associating certain phrases with
certain results, without knowing anything of the _meaning_ of the
phrase. Thus, if he be taught the phrases: “Polly wants a cracker,” and
“Polly wants a drink,” he will be just as apt to express either one by
either phrase as he will to do so correctly; but if he receives cracker
_only_ when he asks for it, and a drink only when he asks for _that_, he
will learn to associate the different sounds with the different results.
This may be extended beyond this simple illustration as much as
individual ability is capable of.

A story is told of a dweller in some eastern country who trained a
parrot for sale. The bird’s education comprised only one phrase: “There
can be no doubt of that!” To market the parrot was taken, and exposed
for sale. Attracted by his beautiful plumage a certain rich man inquired
the price. “One hundred sequins,” replied the owner. “Is he really worth
all that?” inquired the customer; whereupon the bird exclaims, “There
can be no doubt of that.” Charmed by the appropriateness of the reply
the man buys the bird and takes him home in triumph, which triumph is
changed to a disgust when the limited powers of his prize are
discovered. Enraged at having paid so extravagant a price for so poor a
talker the man one day exclaimed in the presence of the bird: “What a
fool I was to buy such a stupid thing!” Again the parrot’s single
sentence comes in quite appropriate as he repeats, “There can be no
doubt of that!”

A bird show was held at a museum in New York several years since, to
which a parrot was sent that had been taught to repeat the Lord’s
Prayer. This was advertised extensively, and hundreds of persons went to
hear the wonder, but to their disappointment and the vexation of the
owner, Poll would not utter a word during the exhibition, although fully
able to do what had been expected. After the show, the parrot was taken
home, and upon reaching its place it exclaimed—probably an accustomed
phrase—“I suppose I can talk now,” and became as voluble as ever.

The bird’s silence was not remarkable, as song birds will seldom sing
freely for some time after being taken to a new place; the speech on
going home certainly seemed to indicate intelligence. A gentleman had
taught his parrot to say, “Get your gun, John,” which was well
remembered one night by the bird, for burglars entered the house, and
Poll, hearing a noise, screamed out at the top of her voice, “Get your
gun, John,” awakening her owner, and at the same time putting the
robbers to flight.

An Englishman describing another wonderful parrot hanging in a cage from
the window of a house which he often passed, said: “It cries ‘Stop
thief’ so naturally that every time I hear it I always stop.”

It is very essential that the trainer should be on good terms with the
parrot, in order to secure success, as they will not readily learn for
one for whom they entertain any dislike. Under favorable circumstances
not only do they copy the words of their trainer but even his
peculiarities of voice. Buffon mentions a gray parrot which was taught
to speak by a sailor during a voyage from Guinea, and acquired so
exactly his harsh voice and cough as to be frequently mistaken for him.
It was afterward instructed by a young man, and although it then heard
no voice but that of its new teacher, the former lessons were never
forgotten, and it often amused the bystanders by suddenly passing from a
soft and agreeable voice to its old hoarse sea tone.

Not only do parrots learn to imitate the human voice but also that of
animals. This is more difficult to teach owing to the difficulty of
securing the sounds for the bird to copy. A bird of good powers will
usually pick up this knowledge if it has an opportunity of frequently
hearing the animals. The blue and yellow macaw, though it does not
readily learn words (except “Jacob,”) seems to have a talent for
imitating the bleating of sheep, the mewing of cats, and the barking of
dogs, with great exactness.

It not only has the power of learning but often shows a desire to do so.
It continually repeats the syllables which it has heard, and in order
not to be misled in memory, endeavors to cry down all sounds which
disturb it. So deep an impression do its lessons make that sometimes it
dreams aloud. When young its memory is so good as to retain whole verses
and sentences. Rhodiginus mentions a gray parrot which could repeat the
Apostles’ Creed without a slip, and was on that account bought by a
cardinal for a hundred crowns.

In Scotland a species of parrot is employed to call the names of the
stations on the railway. Each bird is taught the name of the station at
which it is placed, and this name it shouts on the approach of the
train.

Several birds besides parrots possess the power of talking. Magpies are
taught in Germany to imitate not only the human voice but many striking
sounds. They are taken from the nest when quite young, otherwise this
cannot be accomplished. A clergyman in Paris is said to have had two
sparrows which were able to repeat the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh
commandments. It produced a highly comic effect when, in their quarrels
over their food, one of them would gravely admonish the other—“Thou
shalt not steal.”

Ravens often talk with considerable fluency. In Thugaingia the traveler
on entering an inn is frequently saluted with the appellations, “thief,
rascal,” uttered by one of these birds. Some trainers with a view to
facilitate the utterance of articulate sounds, are accustomed to cut
what is called the string of the tongue, an operation which certainly
attains its end in some measure, though ravens often speak on which it
has not been performed.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXIV.
PERFORMING BIRDS—THEIR TRICKS AND THEIR TRAINING.

Birds may be taught a number of amusing feats, although some we shall
explain require so much time, labor, and skill, as to render them rather
more difficult than most amateurs will care to undertake, but there are
many which any suitable bird may be taught, with reasonable pains. A
person with a faculty for invention can arrange various little
mechanical contrivances in the cages of his birds, more or less
elaborate according to the skill and fancy of the inventor. A very neat
arrangement consists of an inclined plane outside the cage upon which a
little wagon may run, or a little tray slide, containing bird seed. To
this vessel is attached one end of a string, the other end leading up
the plane and being secured inside the cage. This is so arranged that
when the string is pulled the vessel is drawn up to an opening in the
cage sufficiently large for the bird to secure the seed, but not large
enough to permit his escape. To teach the bird to draw this vessel up he
must be kept without food until he becomes quite hungry. When hungry he
will peck at anything in his cage.

The string should be so arranged that he can seize it without trouble,
and the apparatus should work smoothly and require little strength. The
seed vessel should be in sight of the bird so that he may be tempted by
the seed. At first he will peck at the string as he would at anything
else, and will naturally pull it without any idea of the result. When he
sees this result almost every bird will persevere until he brings his
“commissary department” within his reach, and instinct will teach him to
retain it in place and prevent its sliding back by placing his foot on
the string while he eats.

Houdin, the French conjuror, when a youth, was employed as errand boy in
a lawyer’s office. In this office was a large cage of birds, the care of
which was one of his duties. This afforded him an opportunity for
exercising that talent which he in after years applied so successfully
to the manufacture of automata and conjuring apparatus. He thus
describes his labors: “I began by setting up in this cage a number of
mechanical tricks I had invented at college under similar circumstances.
I gradually added fresh ones and ended by making the cage a work of art
and curiosity, affording considerable attraction to our visitors. At one
spot was a perch near which the sugar and seed-glass displayed their
attractions, but no sooner had the innocent canary placed its foot on
the fatal perch than a circular cage encompassed it, and it was kept a
prisoner until another bird, perching on an adjoining piece of wood set
loose a spring which delivered the captive. At another place were baths
and pumps; further on was a small trough, so arranged that the nearer
the bird seemed to draw to it the further off it really was. Lastly,
each denizen of the cage was obliged to earn its food by drawing forward
with its beak small pasteboard carts.”

We have known the following arrangement to be used for bullfinches,
which might be applied to other birds: The apparatus for drawing up its
food and water consisted of a band of soft leather one-sixth of an inch
in breadth, in which were pierced four holes, through which the feet and
wings of the bird were put, and the ends united to a ring on the belly.
To this ring was attached a small chain fastened at the other end to the
seed and water vessel. When the bird is hungry it pulls the chain up a
little way with his beak, puts his foot on it to retain the length
already gained, then pulls again, and so continues. Sometimes the two
vessels are attached to a pulley in such a manner that when one descends
the other rises, so that the bird has to pull up each as he wants it.

Canaries may be taught to come and go at command. To accomplish this the
cage should be provided with doors which open only _inward_, and which
close of themselves. When the male and female have been paired the
former is let fly in some garden where there are trees; the cage is then
hung outside the window, that his mate may lure him back. This is
repeated five or six days, always letting the male go again without
touching him, so he may not be terrified. After a time the female too
may be set at liberty, the door of the cage being left permanently open
that they may go and return at will.

The European sparrow, which is becoming acclimated here, and will no
doubt soon become as common here as there, is often taught to leave home
and return at call. All that is necessary is to keep it a month in a
large cage at the window, plentifully supplied with good food, such as
millet, bread, etc. Winter is the best time for this purpose. An inmate
of the Hôtel des Invalides, at Paris, is said to have made a sparrow so
tame as to leave it perfectly at liberty without any fear of losing it.
It was ornamented with a small bell fastened by a ribbon around its
neck. It would not allow itself to be touched by any one but its owner,
and was so fond of him that it could not be induced to leave him when at
last he became bed-ridden. On one occasion it was caught and deprived of
its bell. It was, however, melancholy and refused to eat until another
bell had been provided.

It is said that crushed hemp seed fed to linnets takes away their love
of liberty, and that it may be used advantageously when it is desired to
teach them to come in through the open window without danger of their
flying away. It is advised that they should be confined in a large cage
placed in a window looking into a garden, for a considerable time before
they are allowed to go out. Robins are often permitted to go away during
the summer, and instances are often reported of their returning to take
up winter quarters in the warm dwelling-house.

[Illustration: TAMED BIRDS PERFORMING VARIOUS FEATS.]

Several individuals have made a regular profession of exhibiting
performing birds. Uniting a peculiar skill and an exhaustless patience,
these men labor ceaselessly in instructing their charges, and the result
is that the birds learn to perform many surprising tricks. They are even
taught to perform little dramatic scenes together; representing, for
instance, the trial, condemnation and execution of a spy, in which the
characters are all maintained by birds, and the action of the scene very
cleverly represented. There is however a little trickery in this, the
birds, although apparently acting without human agency, are in reality
constantly under the direction of their trainer, who is usually
concealed from the audience. Each bird is carefully instructed in his
particular duties, and performs his part at certain signals or
particular commands. While performing, the trainer carefully “works” the
performers, keeps them up to their duties, and thus makes everything
pass off smoothly in its regular order.

The method of training is merely an elaboration of what we have already
given. The birds are first made perfectly tame, and then gradually
encouraged to perform such little tricks as jumping over the trainer’s
finger, seizing articles presented to them with their beak or claw, and
other trifles. By-and-by the bird will wheel a little pasteboard
wheelbarrow with the aid of a string attached to the handles, which he
takes in his beak. Another bird is taught to take things in his claw by
first having articles of food presented to him which he is only allowed
to have when he takes them in that manner. Then some other article is
offered him and when he takes _that_ in like manner he is rewarded. When
he will take an article at the command of the trainer all that is
required for his performance is that the article desired should be
offered him; thus the bird will take a miniature basket, gun, or any
other article with equal readiness. A small lighted candle may even be
used if managed carefully.

When a bird has learned to pull a string, or seize with his beak what is
presented to his notice, this accomplishment may be applied to many
tricks, apparently very different. He may be made to fire off a pistol
by pulling a string attached to the trigger; to draw a little bucket
from a diminutive well; to ring bells; and an almost unlimited number of
like actions. Walking on a tight rope, or wire, and carrying a little
flag is readily accomplished after the foregoing training. The bird is
either lifted or guided upon the rope, and the flag then given him. Many
tricks consist in the bird merely retaining a position given him, as in
a little swing, cradle or at a little table. A very tame bird may be
placed in an upright ring, around the margin of which are candles or
jets of fire. There was a sparrow at one exhibition which performed the
seemingly wonderful feat of selecting from a shuffled pack, a card
previously chosen by any of the audience. A dirty pack of cards was
handed to one of the company, who selected a card, and gave it back to
the exhibitor, who shuffled the pack after replacing the card; he then
put the pack upright in a kind of card-case, which so held them as to
leave about half an inch above the brim. The Java sparrow hopped on one
of the cards, and finally drew the identical one that had been drawn.
The explanation became easy on examining the cards. At one end, each
card had a thin layer of sweet-wafer paste; the selected card was taken
by the exhibitor and placed in the pack; all the rest of the cards had
the paste end downward, while the card alone was placed back in the pack
with the opposite end upward. And the bird naturally looked at the end.

The greatest humbug in Vienna is a school of trained goldfinches, which
a woman has taught to draw numbers from a bowl, without, however,
_selecting_ any particular one, but merely taking them hap-hazard. All
the superstitious lottery ticket buyers go thither for an augury, and
the owner of the finches is reaping a rich harvest.

In a work entitled Pratt’s Gleanings, for many years out of print, and
now almost out of existence, we find the following description of an
exhibition given by a bird tamer at a fair in the town of Cleves:

“The canary was produced, and the owner harangued him in the following
manner, placing him upon his forefinger: ‘Bijou, jewel, you are now in
the presence of persons of great sagacity and honor; take heed you do
not disappoint the expectations they have conceived of you from the
world’s report. You have got laurels; beware, then, of erring.’

“All this time the bird seemed to listen, and indeed placed himself in
the true attitude of attention, by sloping his head to the ear of the
man, and then distinctly nodding twice when his master left off
speaking.

“‘That’s good,’ said the master, pulling off his hat to the bird. ‘Now,
then, let us see if you are a canary of honor. Give us a tune.’ The
canary sang.

“‘Pshaw! that’s too harsh; ’tis the note of a raven, with a hoarseness
upon him; something pathetic.’ The canary whistled as if his little
throat was changed to a lute.

“‘Faster,’ says the man—‘slower—very well—what a plague is this foot
about, and this little head? No wonder you are out, Mr. Bijou, when you
forget your time. That’s a jewel—bravo! bravo! my little man!’

“All that he was ordered or reminded of did he do to admiration. His
head and foot beat time—humored the variations of both tone and
movement.

“‘Bravo! bravo!’ re-echoed from all parts of the room. The musicians
declared the canary was a greater master of music than any of their
band.

“‘And do you not show your sense of this civility, sir?’ cried the bird
catcher with an angry air. The canary bowed most respectfully, to the
delight of the company.

“His next achievement was that of going through the martial exercise
with a straw gun, after which, ‘My poor Bijou,’ says the owner, ‘thou
hast had hard work and must be a little weary; a few performances more
and thou shalt repose. Show the ladies how to make a curtsey.’ The bird
here crossed his taper legs and sank and rose with an ease and grace
that would have put half the belles to the blush.

“‘That will do, my bird; and now a bow, head and foot corresponding.’
Here the striplings for ten miles around London might have blushed also.

“‘Let us finish with a hornpipe, my brave little fellow; that’s it, keep
it up, keep it up.’

“The activity, glee, spirit, and accuracy with which this last order was
obeyed, wound up the applause to the highest pitch of admiration. Bijou
himself seemed to feel the sacred thirst of fame, and shook his little
plumes and carolled an “Io paean” that sounded like the conscious notes
of victory.”

A curious trick is performed by a particular kind of pigeon, quite
common in India. These birds are called “tumbling pigeons” from their
peculiarity which consists of tumbling on the ground, instead of in the
air. When required to tumble they are taken in the hand, and the head
slightly rubbed or “filliped” with the finger, and then they are put on
the ground, when they continue to tumble until taken up. They are not
left on the ground until their tumblings are completed, being invariably
taken up after they have tumbled about a dozen times; probably they
would injure or exhaust themselves, if left longer. The pigeons are
always white, and though their wings are long and pointed, they seem to
have small powers of flight.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXV.
SNAKE CHARMING AND SNAKE CHARMER.

On the subject of snake charming, a wide diversity of opinion seems to
exist. While it is vouched for by many apparently creditable and honest
citizens, that the exhibitions of the East Indian snake charmers show
that they really do possess some mysterious power over the reptiles to
which they owe their safety in freely handling the most venomous
serpents, on the other hand, persons apparently qualified to express an
opinion, declare the whole system of snake charming to be but some
clever impositions. There is said to exist a species of snake of large
size, and so closely resembling the deadly cobra, as to be easily
mistaken for it by ordinary observers, but which is perfectly harmless.
May not this be used in some of these performances? Again, snakes of
really poisonous species appear, on good authority, in many instances,
to have been tampered with by the charmers by having their fangs
removed, or by being made to strike them into cloth or other substances
until the present supply of poison was exhausted. Where this has been
done, and new fangs have grown, or more poison secreted, numerous
charmers have lost their lives by their ignorance or carelessness of the
fact. An officer in a French regiment stationed in Africa, relates that
what were represented by an Arab juggler to be scorpions, were actually
nothing but harmless lizards, and that the man’s feat of thrusting his
naked hand into the bag containing them was no feat at all. Upon the
officer offering to do the same act, the juggler slunk away.

Music is often referred to as a probable secret of snake charming. This
may be, in a small measure, the case, as snakes appear to like music. A
story is told by the Gipps Land (Australia) Guardian, which may be
entirely true, or, probably, _founded_ on truth:

“We have all heard of the charms of music,” says the paper, “and many
have, no doubt, been treated to stories which described its influence
when brought to bear upon snakes; but we are informed of an occurrence
during the past season which surpasses all that we heard before. When
Mr. S—— was one day coming from Traralgon towards Rosedale, he was
indulging himself in whistling a melodious air, while his horse was
taking it easy at a walk. At no great distance in front he espied a good
sized snake, with its head elevated about twelve inches from the ground,
as if listening to the tune of the equestrian. Upon seeing it Mr. S——
was about to dismount to arm himself with a weapon to dispatch it, but
presently he bethought himself that it might be under the influence of
his sweet notes, and accordingly resolved to discover. He, keeping in
his saddle, continued as before, and when he neared the admiring reptile
it set its sinuous form in motion, and moved along rapidly till it got a
considerable way ahead of the pipes. Then it halted, and again raised
the region of its intellect to sip in the strains of the harmony in its
rear. After a repetition of this scene for several times Mr. S——
determined on pushing his experiment further, and for this purpose set
out in a slow trot, when, to his astonishment, the snake went double
quick, still keeping ahead of the music, and regulating its pace by Mr.
S——’s pace, ‘pulled up’ whenever he pulled up. At length Mr. S—— ceased
his melody, and the snake, finding that the strain was ended, wound its
way off into the forest. We may as well add that the tune which is
reported to have thus charmed was no other than ‘Patrick’s Day,’
whistled by a son of the sod.”

[Illustration: SNAKE CHARMER PERFORMING.]

The fact that many spectators of the exhibitions of the snake charmer
failed to detect any deception does not prove that there _was_ no
deception. While the detection of imposition by others, in similar
performances, would seem to argue the _probable_ existence of it in the
other cases. Even poisonous snakes can, by kindness and ample food,
undoubtedly be rendered sufficiently tame to permit handling, and where
charmers pretend to operate on strange serpents, it is suspected that
the reptiles used are really tame ones, surreptitiously introduced
beforehand into the places whence the charmer proposes to bring them
forth by his charms. One case is recorded where a strange snake happened
to be in the place so chosen; he destroyed the tame snake, and, on
emerging, being mistaken by the charmer for his own snake, struck his
fangs into the man when he attempted his usual jugglery with it, causing
his speedy death.

That dexterity and coolness enable men who, in eastern countries, make a
profession of capturing dangerous snakes, which often intrude into
dwellings, to capture these reptiles seems unquestionable; but the
_familiarities_ described by travelers, we believe to be attempted only
with snakes which the performer has tamed and trained, or else rendered
harmless, for the purpose. We will, however, give the opponents of this
theory a chance to be heard, and so present a splendid account, which is
given by an English officer in India, of the capture, by one of their
professional snake catchers, of a cobra which had found its way into the
room of a sick fellow-officer, and was discovered by the narrator on
paying his friend a visit. After the alarm had been given, the usual
confusion outside the door, and the various expedients proposed for
expelling the unwelcome “squatter,” the narrative goes on to describe
the arrival and doings of the snake catcher:

“He came, a tall, muscular native, a slip of cloth around the waist, his
hair long and matted, except on the centre of his head, which was shaved
close in a circle, and a turban covering it, bearing over his shoulders
two baskets and a musical instrument made out of a gourd, with a single
bamboo pipe coming from its upper end, and two smaller ones from its
lower, like a flute, whilst the breath is blown through the upper and
single one. Before he was allowed to enter the room he was searched, and
his baskets and instruments taken from him. Nothing could have been
concealed, for his clothing was reduced to its minimum, and he carried a
short iron rod.

“He was shown a hole in which we supposed the snake to be, for the
reptile had disappeared. He lay down on the floor, and placing his face
close to the hole, exclaimed, ‘Burra sap; sabit babut burra.’ (Big
snake, your honor, very big.) Without any more preparation, he commenced
digging around the hole, and removed some of the brickwork. In a few
minutes he showed the tail of the reptile, and with sundry incantations
in Hindostanee and curious contortions of his body, seized hold of the
tail, and gradually drew forth the snake. It proved to be a fine
specimen of the cobra—a black, shining, wriggling, hissing, deadly
cobra, about five feet long, at the thickest part eight inches round,
with a hood measuring, when extended, five inches across. The reptile he
handled freely, whilst it was hissing and darting its tongue out every
second. Taking it in the yard or ‘compound,’ he released it. The brute
wriggled itself toward him, and when within a foot or so reared itself
up, spread out the enormous hood, and prepared itself to strike at its
captor. But the charmer was not to be wounded. He seized his primitive
instrument, and commenced very slowly to produce low and soft tones,
very harmonious, but unconnected. The snake seemed astonished; his hood
gradually collapsed, his head and about a foot of his body that was
raised from the ground commenced to sway from side to side in perfect
harmony with the music, and slower and quicker as the time was decreased
or increased. As the man played louder, the snake got more excited,
until the rapid and unusual movements had quite exhausted it, and it
subsided.

“Again the charmer seized it, and quick as lightning ran his hand up its
body, holding it firmly by the throat. By pressing on its back the
cobra’s mouth opened, and he disclosed the fangs, poison bags, and
apparatus complete, thus proving beyond a doubt that it was not a
trained or tame reptile he had been treating like a plaything. Doubts
still arose in my mind, however, about the genuineness of the
performance, for I could not bring myself to believe that a man would
willingly place himself in such close proximity to certain death.

“A fowl was obtained and placed about a foot from the reptile, which was
again set free. With the same movements it raised itself a foot from the
ground, spread out its hood, and with a loud hiss, apparently of
satisfaction, darted upon and seized the fowl by the back of the neck.
Hanging there for a few seconds it let go its hold, and the man at the
same instant seized it, as he had formerly done, by the head. The fowl
almost instantaneously became drowsy, its head falling forward, and the
beak striking with considerable force into the ground. The convulsive
movement lasted ten seconds, and then the bird lay down as if completely
comatose and powerless. In fifteen seconds it gave a sudden start and
fell back quite dead.

“As no deception could have been practised in this instance, I was most
anxious to see the reptile killed; but the charmer said he would not
have it destroyed; that if it were injured the power he had over snakes
would be interfered with, and the next one would no doubt bite and kill
him. He accounted for his easy capture by saying this was a great
holiday for the snakes, and that they had been enjoying themselves.
‘This one,’ said he, ‘is not living in this house. He has come from his
home visiting, and has lost his way. On this account he got down a wrong
hole, and I was enabled to pull him out. Nasty neighbors, and abominable
visitors, these cobras! I will take this snake home, and feed him and
make him tame.’

“However, we insisted upon having the animal made harmless, or
comparatively so, and directed the man to remove the fangs. This he
agreed to do, and performed it in this manner—a piece of wood was cut an
inch square, and held by the charmer to the head of the snake. The
reptile seized it as he had done the fowl, and with a dexterous twist of
the hand, the most primitive performance of dentistry was accomplished.
The four fangs sticking into the wood were extracted by the roots and
given to me. I have them now, and look upon them as more suicidally
pleasant than a pint of prussic acid or a cask of white arsenic.

“Another fowl was brought and attacked by the snake as before, but
without any effect; it shook itself, rustled its feathers, and walked
away consequentially. It is alive still, unless some enterprising
culinary agent has converted it into curry or devil. So it was proved
beyond any doubt that an Indian snake charmer was not a humbug and a
swindler, as many suppose, but a strong-minded, quick-eyed, active,
courageous man. The cool determination and heroism of the charmer in the
present instance was rewarded by the sum of two rupees (two shillings,
sterling), and he left the compound with an extra snake in his basket,
thankful to the preservers of his children, as he styled us, and to
whom, he said, he owed his life and existence.”

The snakes used in performances at circus or “side shows” in this
country are not poisonous, though their bite causes a painful wound,
which it is very difficult to heal. The snakes are fed to satiety, and
the only thing necessary to constitute a “snake charmer” of this kind is
the overcoming of the natural repugnance to these reptiles. What was
exhibited as a wonderful example of affection between a child and a
snake some years ago, was a hideous humbug. The story told by the
exhibitors of the little girl meeting the snake, sharing her bread and
milk with it, and becoming violently attached to it (which attachment
was claimed to be returned), before the child’s parents knew of it at
all, and how these strong friends refused to be parted, was a tissue of
lies. The snake had been caught and tamed, and the little girl then
compelled by her unnatural parents to fondle the repulsive thing, from
which she instinctively shrunk, and these stories were started in the
papers about this wonderful “love.” When curiosity had been aroused,
public exhibitions were given, but we believe the enterprises proved a
deserved failure, as few persons could endure to witness this outrage on
nature, though many, doubtless, believed the story told.

[Illustration: THE END.]

------------------------------------------------------------------------

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Moved advertisements on the cover p. 2 to just before the cover p. 3
2. Table of Contents added by transcriber.
3. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
4. Anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as
printed.
5. Footnotes have been re-indexed using numbers.
6. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
7. Enclosed bold font in =equals=.

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Haney's Art of Training Animals - A Practical Guide For Amateur Or Professional Trainers. - Giving Full Instructions For Breaking, Taming and Teaching - All Kinds of Animals Including an Improved Method of Horse - Breaking, Management of Farm Animals, Training of Sporting - Dogs; Serpent Charming, Care and Tuition of Talking, Singing - and Performing Birds; and Detailed Instructions For Teaching - All Circus Tricks, and Many Other Wonderful Feats." ***

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