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. "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. I gave it up, and we separated. There is this disadvantage about having a game preserve attached to your garden: it makes life too lively. FOURTEENTH WEEK