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.

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.

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.