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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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