State, told me that he knew of two cases in the North-Eastern Division, of tigers killing bears, but in neither case did they eat them.  In the first case the bear and tiger had met at a watering-place, and in the second in the jungle.  Mr. Ball, in his “Jungle Life in India,"[21] tells us that he once came across the remains of a bear which the natives said had been killed by a tiger, and that a native shikari had sat over the carcase with the hope of getting a shot at the tiger.  We have no returns as regards bears in Mysore, but in the adjacent Bombay districts—­Kanara and Belgaum—­Colonel Peyton tells us, in the “Kanara Gazetteer,” they are fast becoming rare, except near the Sahyadris, and even there are no longer numerous.  In Belgaum, between 1840 and 1880, he tells us that no fewer than 223 bears were killed.  The steady decline of the numbers of the bears is shown by the fact that 137 were killed between 1840 and 1850, 51 between 1850 and 1860, 32 between 1860 and 1870, and 3 between 1870 and 1880.  In Kanara 51 bears were killed between 1856 and 1882, so we have a total then of 274 bears for these two districts alone.  As regards big game, the first comers obviously have the best of it.

Colonel Peyton tells us that the bear is, of all animals, most dreaded by the natives.  There can be no doubt, he says, that an untouched bear will often charge, while a tiger will rarely do so, and there are numerous instances of people having been mauled and sometimes killed by them.  I imagine, though—­in fact, I am sure—­that this must often occur from the bear constantly keeping his head down, evidently smelling and looking for things in or on the ground.  All other game animals have some motive for looking ahead and around—­deer and bison for their enemies, and tigers for their prey.  But the bear lives on insects and fruits, and flowers and honey, and as he is not apprehensive of being attacked by any animal, has no motive for keeping a lookout, and so does not do so.  He may thus, and no doubt often does, run into a man, under the mistaken idea that the man is running into or attacking him, and then the bear, naturally, does the best he can.  I can give a remarkable confirmation of this view.

One day, in a break in the monsoon, when the game lies much out of the forest, I was out in the mountains with my manager for a general stalk, when we saw, some way ahead of us, a bear walking along.  We quickly formed a plan of operation, and it was arranged that I should make a circuit and get between the bear and a jungly ravine he appeared to be making for, and that my manager should follow on the track of the bear, which would thus be pretty certain to be overhauled.  The bear was pottering along as bears do, and I had no difficulty in getting between him and the jungle he was approaching, and the moment I did so I advanced a little towards him.  When the bear got within shooting distance—­about fifty yards—­I stooped down and moved a little on one side so as