I told the man about it; but he seemed to think that he was not responsible for the cow's voice.I then told him to take her away;and he did, at intervals, shifting her to different parts of the grounds in my absence, so that the desolate voice would startle us from unexpected quarters.If I were to unhitch the cow, and turn her loose, I knew where she would go.If I were to lead her away, the question was, Where? for I did not fancy leading a cow about till Icould find somebody who was willing to pasture her.To this dilemma had my excellent neighbor reduced me.But I found him, one Sunday morning,--a day when it would not do to get angry, tying his cow at the foot of the hill; the beast all the time going on in that abominable voice.I told the man that I could not have the cow in the grounds.He said, "All right, boss;" but he did not go away.Iasked him to clear out.The man, who is a French sympathizer from the Republic of Ireland, kept his temper perfectly.He said he wasn't doing anything, just feeding his cow a bit: he wouldn't make me the least trouble in the world.I reminded him that he had been told again and again not to come here; that he might have all the grass, but he should 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 Ishall 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 taste-ful 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.Isprang 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 ir 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.
"You have no business here: what are you after?" I repeated.
"Looking for a lost hen," said the man as he strode away.
The reply was so satisfactory and conclusive that I shut the blinds and went to bed.
But one evening I overhauled one of the poachers.Hearing his dog in the thicket, I rushed through the brush, and came in sight of the hunter as he was retreating down the road.He came to a halt; and we had some conversation in a high key.Of course I threatened to prosecute him.I believe that is the thing to do in such cases; but how I was to do it, when I did not know his name or ancestry, and couldn't see his face, never occurred to me.(I remember, now, that a farmer once proposed to prosecute me when I was fishing in a trout-brook on his farm, and asked my name for that purpose.) He said he should smile to see me prosecute him.
"You can't do it: there ain't no notice up about trespassing."This view of the common law impressed me; and I said,"But these are private grounds.""Private h---!" was all his response.
You can't argue much with a man who has a gun in his hands, when you have none.Besides, it might be a needle-gun, for aught I knew.Igave it up, and we separated.
There is this disadvantage about having a game preserve attached to your garden: it makes life too lively.