several times.  “How do you do, dear?  Have you quite forgotten me?  Ah!  You don’t remember the times when you used to ride a cock-horse, on my knee, to Banbury Cross, to see the old lady get on her white horse!” What could I say?  I was petrified.  I could not smile, I could not speak.  My only feeling was mortification at my most awkward mistake.  Yet I ought to have become accustomed to such embarrassments, for they are of very frequent occurrence.

“Why, Julia! what is the matter?  How strangely your eyes look!” My sister at this exclamation turns round, and I discover that from the other end of the room I have been gazing at the unexpressive features of her “back hair,” which is twisted in a “pug,” or “bob,”—­which is the correct term?—­and surmounted by a tortoise-shell comb.

But in the whole course of my numerous mistakes and blunders, whether ludicrous, serious, or embarrassing, I believe I have never mistaken a cow for a human being, as was done by old Dr. E——.  It was many years ago, when Boston Common was still used as a pasture, and cows were daily to be met in the crooked streets of the city, that this gentleman, distinguished for the courtesy and old-school politeness of his manner, no less than for his extreme near-sightedness, was walking at a brisk pace, one winter’s day, and saw, just before him, a lady, as he thought, richly dressed in furs.  As he was passing her, he thought he perceived that her fur boa or tippet had escaped from her neck, and, carefully lifting the end of it with one hand, he made a low bow, raising his hat with the other, and said in his blandest tone, “Madam, you are losing your tippet!” And what thanks did the worthy Doctor receive, do you think, for this truly kind and polite deed?  Why, the lady merely turned her head, gave him a wondering stare with her large eyes, and said, “Moo-o-o-o!”

As an offset to this instance of courtesy and good-breeding lavished on a cow, let me give you, as a parting bon-bouche, another cow anecdote, where, as you will see, there was no gentle politeness wasted.

The Rev. Dr. H——­ was an eccentric old man, near-sighted of course,—­all eccentric people are,—­who lived in a small country town in this neighborhood.  Numerous are the traditionary accounts of his peculiarities,—­of his odd manners and customs,—­which I have heard; but it is only of one little incident that I am now going to speak.  A favorite employment of this good man was the care of his garden, and he might be seen any pleasant afternoon in summer, rigged out in a hideous yellow calico robe, or blouse, with a dusty old black straw hat stuck on the back of his head, hoeing and digging in that beloved patch of ground.  One day as he was thus occupied, his wife emerged from the house, dressed in a dark brown gingham, and bearing in her hand some “muslins,” which she began to spread upon the gooseberry-bushes to whiten.  She was very busily engaged, so that she was not aware that her husband was approaching her with a large stick, until she felt a smart blow across her shoulders, and heard his peculiar, sharp voice shouting in her ears, “Go ’long! old cow!  Go ’long! old cow!”