116 MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN. 



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 &quot;blessed 

 damozel&quot;) flew to another window, 



&quot; The blessed damozel leaned out 

 From the gold bar of heaven,&quot; 



and reconnoitred from behind the 







blinds. 



&quot; The wonder was not yet quite gone 

 From that still look of hers,&quot; 



when an armed man and a legged dog 



