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.

by W. H. Burroughs

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

PERFORMING BEARS.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.”

[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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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Book of Alphabets.—For Painters, Draughtsmen, Designers, &c. Including all standard styles and many new and popular ones. Among others, German, French, Old English, &c. A very handy book. 50 cts.

Book of Scrolls and Ornaments.—For Carriage, Fresco and other Painters. This book is now used in many prominent car shops and for ornamental work generally. While comprehensive enough for elaborate work, it also enables average skill to produce effective results. $1.

Horse Shoer’s Manual.—Includes preparation of foot, choice of shoes and their preparation, fitting, filing, nails and nailing, shoeing with leather, cutting, removing, &c. Also Youatt’s Treatise on Diseases of Horses’ Feet. 25 cts.

Soap-Maker’s Manual.—Plain and practical guide for the manufacture of plain and fancy soaps, washing fluids, medicinal soaps, etc., for families and manufacturers. Has best American, English, French and German formulas. 25 cts.

Taxidermist’s Manual.—A complete and practical guide to collecting, preparing, preserving and mounting animals, birds, reptiles, insects, &c. New and revised American edition, with many fine engravings. 50 cts.

Rapid Reckoning.—System of famous “Lightning Calculator,” whose exhibitions seemed almost miraculous; any can learn and apply; valuable to clerks, bookkeepers, teachers and all business men. 25 cts.

Guide to Authorship.—A complete, practical instructor in all kinds of literary work, and all business connected therewith. Useful to professionals, and invaluable to inexperienced writers desirous of getting into print. Also includes editing, proof reading, copyrights, value and disposal of Mss., &c. 50 cts.

Art of Training Animals.—A complete guide for amateur or professional trainers, giving all the secrets and mysteries of the craft, and showing how all circus tricks, and all feats of all performing animals—from elephants to fleas—are accomplished. It also has an improved system of horse and colt breaking, breaking and training sporting dogs, care and tuition of song, talking and performing birds, snake charming, bee taming, and many other things, making a large, handsome volume of over 200 pages, and over 60 illustrations. 50 cts.

Secrets Worth Knowing.—A guide to the manufacture of hundreds of useful and salable articles, including patent medicines, perfumery, toilet and dental articles, and many others easily made at trifling cost and selling readily at large profit. 25 cts.

Phonographic Handbook.—For self-instruction in the modern improved system, used by practical reporters in the courts of law and on the newspapers. It unites simplicity with thoroughness. 25 cts.

SELECT LIST OF VALUABLE BOOKS.

Bad Memory Made Good and Good Made Better.—Shows how a wonderful power of memory may be acquired by a simple art, readily learned, and enables its possessor to achieve feats incomprehensible to those ignorant of the secret. It will be of great assistance to teachers, pupils and professional men generally. Clergymen and speakers will save much time by its chapter on Speaking without Notes, as will students preparing for examination. 15 cts.

Handbook of Ventriloquism.—A practical self-instructor, with examples for practice and exhibition. 15 cts.

Slow Horses Made Fast and Fast Horses Made Faster.—System of increasing speed to which Dexter owes his supremacy, with much useful information for all horsemen. Endorsed by Robert Bonner, Esq. 50 cts.

Self Cure of Stammering.—Not an advertising pamphlet but a concise and plain exposure of the most approved and successful methods of Self Treatments, with exposure of empirical and dangerous devices. 25 cts.

Impromptu Speaker.—This is not a collection of set speeches, but guides the speaker in making his own. 25 cts.

Hunter’s and Trapper’s Practical Guide.—This book gives in compact form information otherwise obtainable only at ten times its cost, about care and use of arms; ammunition; making and using baits of all kinds; making and using traps, snares and nets; poisons; exposure of “charms” sold at high prices; bird-lime; preserving, stretching, dressing, tanning and dyeing skins and furs; fishing, &c. Illustrated with 50 engravings. 20 cts.

Manual of Hair Ornaments.—For Jewelry or Souvenirs. With over 80 illustrative diagrams. 50 cts.

Tricks on Travelers.—A little work exposing frauds practiced on travelers, and other information useful to strangers in great cities. Illustrated. 15 cts.

Houdin the Conjuror.—His wonderful, amusing and curious adventures, his marvelous feats, his startling magical contests with the famous Arabian jugglers, and other interesting matter. More fascinating than any fiction. Complete in one large double column octavo volume. Liberally illustrated. 50 cts.

Home Recreations, or How to Amuse the Young Folks.—Designed to afford fresh and agreeable entertainment for juvenile parties, holidays, and the home circle. Illustrated. 25 cts.

Spirit Mysteries Exposed.—A complete exposition for all the marvelous feats of the “spirit rappers” and “mediums,” Davenports, Hume, &c., so fully laid bare that any one can perform. Illustrated. 15 cts.

Self Cure of Debility.—Consumption, Dyspepsia, Nervousness, &c.—Advertises no doctor or medicine, but gives plain instructions for self cure by simple means within reach of all which will cost nothing, and are the surest, safest and quickest methods of cure. Dangers of advertised modes of treatment, quack nostrums, &c., are pointed out. 75 cts.

Employment Seeker’s Guide.—Gives advantages and objections of different trades and professions; how to succeed in business; how to get good situations, new openings, and much valuable practical information. 25 cts.

Detectives’ Club.—A most interesting book of detective life and adventure. Curious, amusing and thrilling. Large illustrated volume. 25 cts.

Rogues and Rogueries of New York.—Exposes all frauds and swindles of the great cities, from confidence operators to quack doctors, and swindles and humbugs by mail. Illustrated, 25 cts.

Common Sense Cook Book.—A large and excellent collection of approved cooking and domestic recipes. 25 cts.

Fun Everlasting.—Collection of capital stories, comic yarns, jokes, &c., with over 100 side splitting pictures. 15 cts.

☞For sale by booksellers generally, who will be glad to take orders even if they have not the book in stock, or will be mailed, postage paid to any address on receipt of marked price. Direct plainly to

JESSE HANEY & CO., 119 Nassau Street, (P.O. Box 719,) New York.

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$250

OF ADVERTISED INFORMATION

For 50 Cents.

By means of circulars and newspaper advertisements a thriving business is done in selling recipes, rights to make or use wonderful discoveries, and various secrets, &c. Some of them are good, some worthless, some fraudulent. Many invest a few shillings or dollars out of mere curiosity or in hopes of money making or gaining knowledge. We have collected at cost of over $250 all the prominent of these advertised things. Their sellers we find have no exclusive right to them, so we propose to give our $250 worth to the public in a neat little book which we call the

BOOK OF ADVERTISED WONDERS.

This gives the good, bad and indifferent, but with comments explaining the real character of each. The following list will give an idea of the contents:

It tells you how to make vinegar in ten hours from molasses, sorghum cider, &c. without drugs or chemicals; American gin without any distillation at 16 cts. per pint; Premium mead; Ale without malt or hops; Cure for asthma; Imitation cognac brandy equal to finest French genuine; Glycerine cement; Chinese art of dwarfing trees; How to raise the vinegar plant; Bee-keeper’s secret for securing fertilization of young queens by any drones desired; How to secure nearly double the usual product in artificial fish raising; Chemical paint, durable and odorless, of any color, without oil; Great water-proof varnish for boots and shoes; Kapnophyte, the new departure in fertilizers; Great art of chemicalizing manure; Great vegetable remedy for burns, scalds. &c.; Food for mocking birds; Death to the cotton worm; India-rubber cement, Pound of butter from a pint of Milk; Ottawa beer; Artifinol rubber from milkweed.

Nickel plating without a battery; Art of saw-filing; Remedy for love of strong drink; Hunter’s secrets and private guide to trappers; “Mad-stones,” how to find, how to prepare and how to use the great natural remedy for bites of poisonous or rabid animals; Seltzer aperient; Excelsior axle grease; Art of sharpening saws; Magical British washing powder; Printer’s indispensable, improving and drying inks of all kinds and colors—greatest help to good printing ever invented; Imperial fly paper, or “catch ’em alive oh!” Soluble blues, or liquid bluing; English harness blacking; Preserving grapes in their natural condition all winter; How to make brandy from shavings; Apple butter without apples; Old orchards made new, Kainite, or tree medicine; Safety gunpowder; 100 pounds of soap for one dollar. How to keep apples fresh and sound all winter; Tyler’s permeating powder; How to restore vitality of seeds; Hunter’s secret; How to make honey from tomatoes; Chinese art of catching fish; Infallible remedy for potato rot; Liquid black lead polish; “All farmers and horse owners”; Barrel of soft soap for 75 cts.; Dead shot for rose slugs; Scrofula ointment; Rat killing without traps or poison; Baking powder; Maple sugar without maple trees.

Fifty methods of making money; Fire-proof paint; Premium black writing ink; Maic copying; Vegetable salve; Counterfeit detector; Art of painting on glass; Celebrated chemical compound; Hunter’s secret; Soft soap; Starch polish; Cider better than from apples and not intoxicating; Rheumatic liniment; Magnetic ointment; Indian pills; Red ink; Blue ink; Indelible ink, without preparation; Luminous ink; Red ruling ink; Yellow ink; Invisible ink; Water-proof Composition; Gunpowder; Shaving soap; Hard solder; Soft solder; Silver plating fluid; Great pain extractor; Matches; Horse taming; Oil-paste blacking; Metals preserved from rust; Sealing wax; Cologne water; Hair restorative; Curling liquid for the hair; Excelsior hair oil; Celebrated tooth powder; Cough syrup; Universal liniment; Brick paint; Wood paint; Best varnish; Leather varnish, Almond soap; Fancy soap; Non-explosive burning fluid; Florida water; Macassar oil; Lavender perfumed water; Buffalo oil.

Sun-light oil; Corassa compound; Inman’s cure for nervous weakness, &c.; Clover vinegar; Curing pork without brine; Sure and safe remedy for warts; Electric blacking; How to add 50 per cent. to yield of grain at trifling labor and expense; Hardening gloss for printer’s inks; Whiskers in six weeks; Beautiful art of transferring any kind of pictures to glass; Great American washing fluid; Liebig’s great fertilizer; Gilding without a battery; Water witching, or art of finding hidden water, oil or other valuable fluids beneath the ground, with the forked switch; Yeast from grape leaves; How to soften hard water; Butter without milk or cream—artificial butter which cannot be told from genuine; Chinese cure for neuralgia; Pain paint; Artificial fruit syrups for soda water and a secret for adding largely to profits; Meat preserving in hot weather; Bordeaux wine imitation; Art of waterproofing cloth; Phycometic fascination, or art of soul charming; Colored fires for theatrical and other purposes; Boiler incrustation preventive; Vegetable cure for hydrophobia; Egg preserving secret; Laundry secrets; Art of pickling meat in one day. 100 pages. Price Fifty Cents.

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