72 WILD LIFE IN NORTH CANARA. 



grew tall and thick enough for the 

 mower. No great thoroughfare passed 

 through the quiet streets, and an air of 

 sleepy cheerfulness pervaded the whole 

 place. 



Some years before I reached Canara, 

 the town of Ancola had passed through 

 a brief reign of terror and grief. A 

 man-eater had taken up its abode in the 

 neighbourhood, and for some time, at 

 intervals of a few days, one victim after 

 another, generally a woman or a child, 

 was carried off. Sometimes a sleeping 

 person, in a position of fancied security, 

 was seized and dragged away, and for 

 a time all attempts to intercept and 

 kill the murderer were baffled by its 

 cunning and boldness. The little com- 

 munity was beside itself with grief and 



