THE WILD MOTHER 



HEAR the bawling of my neighbor's 

 cow. Her calf was carried off yes- 

 terday, and since then, during the 

 long night, and all day long, her 

 insistent woe has made our hillside 

 melancholy. But I shall not hear her to-night, not 

 from this distance. She will lie down to-night 

 with the others of the herd, and munch her cud. 

 Yet, when the rattling stanchions grow quiet and 

 sleep steals along the stalls, she will turn her ears 

 at every small stirring ; she will raise her head to 

 listen and utter a low tender moo. Her full udder 

 hurts ; but her cud is sweet. She is only a cow. 



Had she been a wild cow, or had she been out 

 with her calf in a wild pasture, the mother in her 

 had lived for six months. Here in the stable it 

 will be forced to forget in a few hours, and by 

 morning will have died. 



There is a mother-principle alive in all nature 



