the creek or pond, or lying upon the
smooth places in the quiet summer afternoon, the day's grazing done,
and waiting to be summoned home to be milked; and again in the twilight
lying upon the level summit of the hill, or where the sward is thickest
and softest; or in winter a herd of them filing along toward the spring
to drink, or being "foddered" from the stack 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 domestic animals also,
expecting to find my divinity duly celebrated, but he passes her by and
contemplates the bovine qualities only as they appear in the ox and the
bull.

Neither have the poets made much of the cow, but have rather dwelt
upon the steer, or the ox yoked to the plow. I recall this touch from
Emerson:--

"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 low when deprived of her calf, or when 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. And lastly, there is the long, sonorous volley she lets off
on the hills or in the yard, or along the highway, and which seems to
be expressive of a kind of unrest and vague longing,--the longing of the
imprisoned Io for her lost identity. She sends her voice forth so that
every god on Mount Olympus can hear her plaint. She makes this sound in
the morning, especially in the spring, as she goes forth to graze.

One of our rural poets, Myron Benton, whose verse often has the flavor
of sweet cream, has written some lines called "Rumination," in which the
cow is the principal figure, and with which I am permitted to adorn my
the