not bring his cow upon the premises.  The imperturbable man assented to everything that I said, and kept on feeding his cow.  Before I got him to go to fresh scenes and pastures new, the Sabbath was almost broken; but it was saved by one thing:  it is difficult to be emphatic when no one is emphatic on the other side.  The man and his cow have taught me a great lesson, which I shall recall when I keep a cow.  I can recommend this cow, if anybody wants one, as a steady boarder, whose keeping will cost the owner little; but, if her milk is at all like her voice, those who drink it are on the straight road to lunacy.

I think I have said that we have a game-preserve.  We keep quails, or try to, in the thickly wooded, bushed, and brushed ravine.  This bird is a great favorite with us, dead or alive, on account of its tasteful plumage, its tender flesh, its domestic virtues, and its pleasant piping.  Besides, although I appreciate toads and cows, and all that sort of thing, I like to have a game-preserve more in the English style.  And we did.  For in July, while the game-law was on, and the young quails were coming on, we were awakened one morning by firing, —­musketry-firing, close at hand.  My first thought was, that war was declared; but, as I should never pay much attention to war declared at that time in the morning, I went to sleep again.  But the occurrence was repeated,—­and not only early in the morning, but at night.  There was calling of dogs, breaking down of brush, and firing of guns.  It is hardly pleasant to have guns fired in the direction of the house, at your own quails.  The hunters could be sometimes seen, but never caught.  Their best time was about sunrise; but, before one could dress and get to the front, they would retire.

One morning, about four o’clock, I heard the battle renewed.  I sprang up, but not in arms, and went to a window.  Polly (like another ‘blessed damozel’) flew to another window,—­

   “The blessed damozel leaned out
    From the gold bar of heaven,”

and reconnoitered from behind the blinds.

   “The wonder was not yet quite gone
    From that still look of hers,”

when an armed man and a legged dog appeared in the opening.  I was vigilantly watching him.

    . . . .  “And now
    She spoke through the still weather.”

“Are you afraid to speak to him?” asked Polly.

Not exactly,

    . . . ."she spoke as when
    The stars sang in their spheres.

“Stung by this inquiry, I leaned out of the window till

   “The bar I leaned on (was) warm,”

and cried,—­

“Halloo, there!  What are you doing?”

“Look out he don’t shoot you,” called out Polly from the other window, suddenly going on another tack.

I explained that a sportsman would not be likely to shoot a gentleman in his own house, with bird-shot, so long as quails were to be had.