D. E. F. [Illustration] BOSSY'S FRIGHT. OLD Bossy had been on the farm many years. She was a very fine cow in her prime; but as she grew old she learned some bad tricks. Although gentle and kind in the stable, she would push down fences, and open every gate on the farm. She would get into the cornfields, make herself at home in the wheat and oats, and do a great deal of mischief. Some check had to be put upon her. So one day she went to the pasture with her head tied down to her foot by a strong rope. In about three hours a man came running up to the house, to tell us that old Bossy had fallen over a log, and was lying on her back. Now, if a cow gets down on her back, in this way, in a place where she cannot turn over, she is in great danger. It is called being "cast." This man said, "Come quickly, for old Bossy is cast." Every one ran to the pasture, and by much pulling and lifting got the cow up. She looked very happy to be on her feet once more; but as soon as the rope was cut she was at her old tricks again. The very next day she was found quietly eating down a neighbor's corn. Something must be done. We did not like to tie her head down again: so we concluded to put a board over her eyes. The board was brought, and fastened with cords to her horns. She stopped chewing her cud at once and stood still. The men left her in the lane that led to the pasture, and went to their work. She did not move. I don't think she even whisked her tail to drive away the flies. When the men came home to dinner, they were surprised to see her still standing in the very place where they left her. They patted her kindly, took the board off, and saw on her forehead a spot as large as a man's hand, where the hair had turned grayish-white. There was not a bit of white on her forehead before the board was put on. The poor thing had begun to turn gray from sheer fright. We all felt sorry for her; and the board was never again tied to her horns. After a time she began to chew her cud, and seemed all right; and she went on pushing down the fences, and opening the gates, just as often as before. This is a true story. ROYALSTON, WIS. MRS. LUCY EASTMAN ERMINE. A BLUEBIRD'S SONG. [Illustration] THERE'S a glad merry voice, children, calling to you, A gay burst of song from a wee bit of blue, Poised daintily there on the maple-twig now, Like a bright little blossom upon the bare bough,-- "Tu-ra-la, tu-ra-lee, We're coming, you see: I'm building my nest in the old apple-tree. "To you, little children, this message I bring, The birds, every one, will return with the spring. What care I if cold winds are blowing around! The flowers are already awake under ground. Tu-ra-la, tu-ra-lee: If snowflakes I see, I'll dream they are blooms shaken off from the tree.