NATURE'S REALM. 61 
seated on the branch of a tree), and I presently 
saw the tiger slip into the bed of the river, take 
a look up and down and then begin to walk 
calmly across. Suddenly he stopped, crouched 
and then crept on toward where the calf was. 
He was rather far for a shot, and, besides, from 
my position I could not bring my rifle round. 
After creeping up to within about twenty yards 
of the Aai/a he stopped, and, gathering him- 
self together, gave two or three enormous 
bounds (I saw his footprints in the sand after- 
ward and measured them); there was a mo- 
mentary scuffle, a struggle, and the tiger 
slipped up the opposite bank and disappeared. 
So quietly had the whole thing happened that 
our syees holding the horses never even saw 
the tiger. On going up to the calf we found it 
dead, the rope that attached it to a tree 
broken and the tell-tale fang marks in its neck. 
“Now there was no apparent reason why 
this tiger should have behaved in this manner, 
for he had had a good meal the previous eve- 
ning, and I think his conduct can only be ac- 
counted for by the love of slaughter, for he 
went considerably out of his way to kill the 
wretched calf. 
‘We had to shift our camp the next day, and 
had to leave our friend, but in about a month 
we returned to find him in his old haunts, and 
after two days’ more hide and seek he for once 
made a mistake, and passing almost under the 
tree in which I was posted, fell to four drams 
of powder and a twelve-bore bullet. 
‘Need I say that tiger’s death was a sincere 
cause of congratulation, as he had cost us a 
small fortune in young buffaloes, one of which 
we considered he had sacrificed in a most 
ungentlemanly spirit.” 
TO A VIOLET FOUND BLOOMING IN NOVEMBER. 
By ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE. 
Pretty blossom, little stranger, with your modest eye of blue, 
Why in this unusual season are you bravely blossoming ? 
Did you think the other flowers all had been deceiving you, 
And because the day was sunny that it was return of spring? 
Or perhaps you wished to see how the world looked at this season, 
When companions of the springtime, birds and blossoms have all fled, 
And the woods are brown and silent—tell me, have I guessed the reason! 
And do you lament, sweet blossom, that you find your brothers dead ? 
Little violet, pretty stranger, bravely blossoming alone, 
Prize you well the fleeting moment, for so briet will be your stay 
That I fear it will have ended with the setting of the sun— 
For the frosts will gather thickly o’er you ere another day. 
You will wither, little blossom, when you feel its icy breath 
Fall upon your tender petals that were just unclosed to-day, 
As with me, in early youth-time, hope received a blow of death, 
By the frosts ot winter falling thickly on my head in May. 
I am sorry, tender floweret, that so bravely you came hither, 
When all other flowers have faded and the winter winds are nigh, 
I am sorry, but ’tis only that you must so quickly wither— 
Sorry that you left the bosom of your mother but to die. 
