The Portland daily press., 1883-11-19
The Quail.
Turgenef's Last Work.

The last sketch written by TurgeDefs pen
before it dropped from his hand forever is
given below. 1t is remembrance of his
childhood, tender, simple and touching:
was about ten years of age when what I
am about to relate occurred
It was summer time. In those days
lived with my father on farm in Southern
Russia Around us for distance of many
versts the steppe extended in every direc
ton. No forest, no stream could be found
in the neighboring country; only shallow ra-
vines, covered by brushwood and looking
like immense green snakes, here and there
made their way through the otherwise uu-
broken surface of the plains. Tiny rivulets
flowed at the bottom of these ravines; in
places to which well-beaten foot paths gen.
orally led you could see, very near the top
of the bank, small springs of limpid water,
like tears, issue from the ground, and on
their edges in the damp clay the tracks of
numberess birds and other animals. Man
and beast alike need fresh, pure water.
My father was passionately fond of hunt
ing. Every moment that he could spare
from his Work-ps divided the weather was
fine-would see him take down his rifle,
strap his pouch about his waist, whistle for
his old dog Tresor, and start to hunt quail
or partridge. Hare he thought little of; fit
only, he would say with an air of contempt,
to make hunter run. These and snipe,
which came in the autumn, were all the
game found in the neighborhood.
But quails and cartridges were quite nu-
merous; especially the latter. In following
the banks of the ravines you would encoun-
ter at every step little hollows in the dry
ground where they love to squat. Old Ire
sor would then come to a sudden stop, his
tail wagging furiously, saEd his forehead
gathering in wrinkles, while my father, pale
with excitement, would cautiously raise the
hammer of his gun.
AT times, to my great joy, would be per-
mitted to accompany him. L used to tuck
the legs of my trousers into the tops of my
boots, hang my little flask over my shout
ders and, SO equipped, would imagine my
self true sportsman. Though perspiration
might cover me from head to foot, and grav-
ell and dust enter my shoes, never felt the
least fatigued, and never in single instance
allowed myself to drop behind. At each le-
port of the gun, and as soon as the bird fell
bounded forward with a joyous shout
felt so happy! The wounded quail might
struggle, flap its wings, sometimes on the
ground, at other times in Tresor's mouth,
its blood fowl only became enthusiastic;
never felt the least sentiment of pityl
What wouldn't / have given to be able TO
fire gun myself, to kill quail and cartridges
with my own hand! But my father had re-
peatedly explained to me that was not to
have gun until had reached the age of
welve, and that then was to have a single
arrelled gun, and tina 1 would be allowed
to shoot larks only. Large numbers of
these were found near our house; on sunny
days you could see them by the dozens in
the clear sky, mounting higher, with chirps
resembling the tinkling of little bells.
looked upon them as my future spoil,
and aimed at them with a stick which / car
ried over my shoulder like gun. It is very
easy to get close to them, when they hover
with quivering wings perhaps five or six feet
above the ground, before suddenly plunging
into the grass
Sometimes, in the distance, on stubble
fields or the green prairie, bustard could be
seen. "Ahp would sigh; ''to kill big
bird like that, and dep
pointed them out to my father with my
finger, but he would invariably answer that
the bustard was a very shy bird, which
would not permit anybody to get near it.
Once, however, he attempted to steal upon
solitary bustard, thinking that it had been
wounded perhaps, and was tagging behind
the rest of the flock. He ordered Tresor to
keep behind him, and babe me not TO stir.
Charging his gun with buckshot he turned
to the dog and exclaimed in low voice,
shack, back.' Then covering as low as
possible he advanced cautiously upon the
bustard. Tresor would not crouch down,
but assumed a gait something like that of a
bandy-legged person, wagging his tail and
holding one of his lips between his teeth.
couldn't keep still any longer, and followed
my father and Tresor, crawling carefully all
the way. But the bustard wouldn't allow
us to get within three hundred yards; It
started on run first, then Tapping its wings
few away. Tresor made bound forward
and stared at it. I, too, looked at it-with
such a disappointed heart! Couldn't it
have stayed just little longer? We should
certainly have killed the bird.
One day started with my father to go
hunting. 1t was on the eve of St. Peters
day. At that season of the year the young
patridges are still very small, and my father
would not Shoot any. He therefore entered
patch of oak trees GU the edge of a rye
field, where you were always sure to find
quail. AS it was rather difficult to cut the
grass in this piece of wood, it had been al
lowed to grow freely and had attained a
great height. Myriads of flowers, vetch,
cover, harebell, mouse ear and sweet will
liam throve there in abundance. Whenever
came to this spot with my sister or the
maid servant carried home whole armfuls
but when in the company of my father
did not think of picking flowers. I con-
sidered that occupation unbecoming a
sportsman.
Suddenly Tresor came to stop. My ia
ther made a signal to me to be cautious.
Right in front of Tresor hen-quail rose
and flew away. But she few in strange
manner, turning and tum5ling over and
over again in the air, and then falling to the
ground as if she had been wounded. Tresor
made for her as fast as possible-a thing he
never did when the bird few in its usus
manner.
My father could not take aim for fear Of
hitting the dog. Presently Tresor made 9
sudden dash, aud, before we knew it, he
had seized the quail, and brought her to my
father. My father took the bird from him
and laid it on Its back on the palm of his
hand. ran up to him.
"What's the matter?" l cried; sis she
wounded?'
"No,' replied my father; ''sbe must
however, have her nest with her little ones
close by. She acted as if she were wounded
so that the dog might think he could catcf
bar aaeilu-S