CHAPTER VIII 



THE MOTHER MURRE 



I HEAR the bawling of my neighbor's cow. Her 

 calf was carried off yesterday, and since then, 

 during the long night, and all day long, her in- 

 sistent 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, ten- 

 der 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-love in her 

 would have lived for six months. Here in the barn 

 she will be forced to forget her calf in a few hours, 

 and by morning her mother-love shall utterly have 

 died. 



There is a mother-principle alive in all nature that 

 never dies. This is different from mother-love. The 

 oak tree responds to the mother-principle, and bears 

 acorns. It is a law of life. The mother-love or pas- 

 sion, on the other hand, occurs only among the higher 



