Bruno had one excellent quality, which made him a special favorite with the several boys that owned him at different times. He was willing to learn.

When you are attempting to teach a dog any new art or accomplishment, it is a great thing to have him willing to learn. It is the same, in fact, if it is a girl or a boy that is the pupil. Sometimes, however, when you are attempting to teach a dog, he shows very plainly all the time that he does not wish to learn. If you have got him harnessed into a little carriage, and wish to teach him to draw, he will stop and seem very unwilling to proceed, and, perhaps, sit right down upon the ground; or, if he has any chance to do so, he will run off and hide in the bushes, or, if it is in the house that you are teaching him, in a corner of the room or under the table. I was taking a walk once on the margin of a stream, and I met some boys who were attempting to teach their dog to dive into the water after sticks and such things, and the dog was so unwilling to make the attempt, that they were obliged every time to take him up and throw him in.

I have known children to behave just in this way in learning to read or to write. They come to the work reluctantly, and get away from it as often and as quick as they can. But it was not so with Bruno. He was glad to learn any thing that the boys were willing to teach him. A boy at one time took it into his head to teach him to walk up a flight of steps backward, and although Bruno could not conceive what possible advantage it could ever be to him to learn such an accomplishment as that, still he went to work resolutely to learn it, and though at first he found it very difficult to do, he soon succeeded in going up very well.

If any boy who reads this book should make the attempt to teach his dog to go up steps backward, and should find the dog unwilling to learn, he will know at once how hard it is for his teacher to teach him to write or to calculate, when he takes no interest in the work himself. If he then imagines that his dog were as desirous of learning to go up the steps backward as he is to teach him, and were willing to try, and thinks how easy it would be in that case to accomplish the object, he will see how much his own progress in study would be promoted by his being cordially interested himself in what he is doing.

I am always surprised when I find a dog that is willing to learn, and am still more surprised when I find a child that is not willing. A dog learns for the benefit of his master, a child learns for his own benefit. I knew a dog who was taught to go to market. His master would put the money and a memorandum of the things that were to be bought in the basket, and the dog would then carry the basket to market by the handle, which he held in his mouth. Then the market-man would take out the money and the memorandum, and would put in the things that were wanted, and the dog would carry them home. Now this was of no advantage to the dog, except from the honorable satisfaction which he derived from it in the thought that he was usefully employed, and that he was considered worthy to sustain important trusts and responsibilities. So far as his own ease and comfort was concerned, it would have been better for him never to have learned such an art, and then, instead of carrying a heavy basket to and fro along the street, he could have spent his time in basking in the sun, or playing about with other dogs. There is no necessity for a dog to learn any thing for his own advantage. Nature teaches him every thing that he requires for himself. He has to study and learn only for the benefit of his master.

It is very different from this with a child. When a child is in his earliest infancy, he is the most ignorant and helpless being imaginable. He can not speak; he can not walk; he can not stand; he can not even creep along the floor. Then, besides, he knows nothing. He does not know any of the persons around him; he does not know the light; he is bewildered, and filled with a stupid kind of wonder when he looks at it; he does not know how to open and shut his hand, or to take hold of any thing; and long after this, when he begins to learn how to take hold of things, he is so ignorant and foolish, that he is as ready to take hold of a burning candle as any thing else.

Of course, to fit such a child to perform the duties of a man in such a busy world as this, he has a great many things to learn. And what is to be particularly noticed is, that he must learn every thing himself. His parents can not learn for him. His parents can teach him—that is, they can show him how to learn—but they can not learn for him. When they show him how to learn, if he will not learn, and if they can not contrive any means to make him, there is an end of it. They can do no more. He must remain ignorant.

Here is a picture of a child that is willing to learn. His name is Josey. His parents are teaching him to walk. He is just old enough to learn to walk, and you see by his countenance, although it is turned somewhat away from us, that he is pleased with the opportunity. He is glad that he is going to learn to walk, and that his parents are going to teach him. I do not suppose that he feels grateful to his father and mother for being willing to take so much pains to teach him, for he is not old enough for that. But he is glad, at any rate, and he is willing to try.

His mother is helping him to begin, and his father is encouraging him to step along—holding out his hand, so that Josey may take hold of it as soon as he gets near enough, and thus save himself from falling. Since Josey is willing to learn, it gives his father and mother great pleasure to teach him. Thus all three are happy together.

Sometimes a child, when his father and mother wish to teach him to walk, is not willing to learn. He will not try. He sits down at once upon the ground, and will not make any effort, like the dog who does not wish to learn to draw. So far as learning to walk is concerned, this is of no great consequence, for, as his strength increases, he will at last learn to walk himself, without any particular teaching.

There are a great many things, however, which it is very important for children to know, that they never would learn of themselves. These they must be taught, and taught very patiently and carefully. Reading is one of those things, and writing is another. Then there is arithmetic, and all the other studies taught in schools. Some children are sensible enough to see how important it is that they should learn all these things, and are not only willing, but are glad to be taught them. Like Josey, they are pleased, and they try to learn. Others are unwilling to learn. They are sullen and ill-humored about it. They will not make any cordial and earnest efforts. The consequence is, that they learn very little. But then, when they grow up, and find out how much more other people know and can do than they, they bitterly regret their folly.

Some children, instead of being unwilling to learn what their parents desire to teach them, are so eager to learn, that they ingeniously contrive ways and means to teach themselves. I once knew a boy, whose parents were poor, so that they could not afford to send him to school, and he went as an apprentice to learn the trade of shoemaking. He knew how important it was to study arithmetic, but he had no one to teach him, and, besides that, he had no book, and no slate and pencil. He, however, contrived to borrow an arithmetic book, and then he procured a large shingle[6] and a piece of chalk, to serve for slate and pencil. Thus provided, he went to work by himself in the evenings, ciphering in the chimney-corner by the light of the kitchen fire. Of course he met with great difficulties, but he persevered, and by industry and patience, and by such occasional help as he could obtain from the persons around him, he succeeded, and went regularly through the book. That boy afterward, when he grew up, became a senator.

Some things are very difficult to learn, and children are very often displeased because their parents and teachers insist on teaching them such difficult things. But the reason is, that the things that are most difficult to learn are usually those that are most valuable to know.

Once I was in the country, and I had occasion to go into a lawyer’s office to get the lawyer to make a writing for me about the sale of a piece of land. It took the lawyer about half an hour to make the writing. When it was finished, and I asked him how much I was to pay, he said one dollar. I expected that it would have been much more than that. It was worth a great deal more than that to me. So I paid him the dollar, and went out.

At the door was a laborer sawing wood. He had been sawing there all the time that I had been in the lawyer’s office. I asked him how long he had to saw wood to earn a dollar.

“All day,” said he. “I get just a dollar a day.”

Now some persons might think it strange, that while the lawyer, sitting quietly in his office by a pleasant fire, and doing such easy work as writing, could earn a dollar in half an hour, that the laborer should have to work all day to earn the same sum. But the explanation of it is, that while the lawyer’s work is very easy to do after you have learned how to do it, it is very difficult to learn. It takes a great many years of long and patient study to become a good lawyer, so as to make writings correctly. On the other hand, it is very easy to learn to saw wood. Any body that has strength enough to saw wood can learn to do it very well in two or three days. Thus the things that are the most difficult to learn are, of course, best paid for when they are learned; and parents wish to provide for their children the means of living easily and comfortably in future life, by teaching them, while they are young, a great many difficult things. The foolish children, however, are often ill-humored and sullen, and will not learn them. They would rather go and play.

It is very excusable in a dog to evince this reluctance to be taught, but it is wholly inexcusable in a child.