116 BIRDS AND POETS 
in the field upon the new snow,— surely the cow is 
a picturesque animal, and all her goings and comings 
are pleasant to behold. 
I looked into Hamerton’s clever book on the do- 
mestic animals also, expecting to find my divinity 
duly celebrated, but he passes her by and contem- 
plates the bovine qualities only as they appear in 
the ox and the bull. 
Neither have the poets made much of the cow, 
hut have rather dwelt upon the steer, or the ox 
yoked to the plow. I recall this touch from Emer- 
son: — 
“The heifer that lows in the upland farm, 
Far heard, lows not thine ear to charm.”’ 
But the ear is charmed, nevertheless, especially if 
it be not too near, and the air be still and dense, or 
hollow, as the farmer says. And again, if it be 
springtime and she task that powerful bellows of 
hers to its utmost capacity, how round the sound is, 
and how far it goes over the hills! 
The cow has at least four tones or lows. First, 
there is her alarmed or distressed | »w when deprived 
of her calf, or separated from her mates, — her low 
of affection. Then there is her call of hunger, a 
petition for food, sometimes full of impatience, or 
her answer to the farmer’s call, full of eagerness. 
Then there is that peculiar frenzied bawl she utters 
on smelling blood, which causes every member of 
the herd to lift its head and hasten to the spot,— 
the native cry of the clan. When she is gored or 
in great danger she bawls also, but that is different. 
