even scorpions and beetles--and
where the primeval forest does not afford him full rations, he will
enter the cultivated grounds and make havoc among the crops. Strange
enough, he does not meddle with the wheat; though he will ravage the
fields of buckwheat and barley! At night he enters the gardens
contiguous to the houses, and plunders them of all kinds of fruits and
vegetables. He even approaches still nearer--abstracting their honey
from the tame bees--the hives of which, according to a curious custom of
the hill people, are set in little indentations in the walls of their
dwelling-houses.

The black bear occasionally cools his chops by munching melons and
cucumbers; but he is particularly fond of a dessert of apricots--which
is the most common fruit cultivated throughout the middle ranges of the
Himalayas. The bear enters the apricot orchard at night; and climbing
the trees, will make more havoc in a single visit than a score of
schoolboys. In all the orchards, elevated crows' nests or sentry boxes
are set up, specially intended for watching the bears; and at this
season many of them are killed in the act of robbing.

The Himalayan black bear will eat flesh--either fresh or putrid--and
when once he has got into this habit he never forsakes it, but remains a
carnivorous creature for the rest of his life. He will attack the goats
and sheep on the mountain pastures; and will even make inroads to the
village enclosures, and destroy the animals in their very sheds! When a
flock of sheep falls in his way, unless he is driven off by the
shepherds, he does not content himself by killing only one, but
sometimes converts a score of them into mutton.

Those bears, however, that exhibit an extreme carnivorous propensity,
are certain to bring about their own destruction: as the attention of
the villagers being drawn upon them, snares and baited traps are set
everywhere, and they are also followed by the Shikkaries armed with
their matchlock guns.

These bears often attain to an immense size--in this respect nearly
equalling the _ursus arctos_, of which they cannot, however, be supposed
to be a variety. Eight feet is the usual length of a full-grown
specimen; and, when in a good condition, it requires a whole crowd of
men to raise the carcass of one of them from the ground.

Autumn is their season of greatest fatness; and especially when the
acorns are getting ripe, but previous to their falling from the tree.
Then