ay at once that
outside of story-books he has small existence. There is scarcely any
truth in this theory of hate for hate and conquest by fear. It is no
more fear that makes a lion walk on a ball than it is fear that makes a
horse pull a wagon. It is habit. The lion is perfectly _willing_ to walk
on the ball, and he has reached that mind, not by cruel treatment, but
by force of his trainer's patience and kindness and superior
intelligence.

[Illustration: BEGINNING THE TRAINING.]

Of course a wild-beast tamer should have a quick eye and a delicate
sense of hearing, so that he may be warned of a sudden spring at him or
a rush from behind; and it is important that he be a sober man, for
alcohol breaks the nerve or gives a false courage worse than folly: but
the quality on which he must chiefly rely and which alone can make him a
_great_ tamer--not a second-rate bungler--is a genuine fondness for
his animals. This does not mean that the animals will necessarily be
fond of the tamer; some will be fond of him, some will be indifferent to
him, some will fear and hate him. Nor will the tamer's fondness protect
him from fang and claw. We shall see that there is danger always,
accident often, but without the fondness there would be greater danger
and more frequent accident. A fondness for lions and tigers gives
sympathy for them, sympathy gives understanding of them, and
understanding gives mastery of them, or as much mastery as is possible.
What but this fondness would keep a tamer constantly with his animals,
not only in the public show (the easiest part), but in the dens and
treacherous runway, in the strange night hours, in the early morning
romp, when no one is looking, when there is no reason for being with
them except the tamer's own joy in it?

I do not purpose now to present in detail the methods of taming wild
beasts; rather what happens after they are tamed: but I may say that a
lion-tamer always begins by spending weeks or months in gaining a new
animal's confidence. Day after day he will stand for a long time outside
the cage, merely looking at the lion, talking to him, impressing upon
the beast a general familiarity with his voice and person. And each
time, as he goes away, he is careful to toss in a piece of meat as a
pleasant memento of his visit.

[Illustration: COMING TO CLOSE QUARTERS.]

Later he ventures inside the bars, carrying some simple weapon--a whip,
a rod, perhaps a broom, which is more formida