George Combe has said, "Mankind love their young and take charge of them with common accord, yet the love of offspring is much more intense in the female than in the male, and this difference is manifested from earliest infancy. The boy wants his whip, horse, drum, top or sword, but observe the little girl occupied with her doll. She decks it in fine clothes, prepares for it night linen, puts it into the cradle, rocks it, takes it up, feeds it, scolds it, and tells it stories. When she grows older she takes charge of her younger brothers and sisters. Nothing possesses, in her estimation, greater charms than babies. When she has grown to maturity and become herself a mother, with what sweet emotion and gushing tenderness does she caress her little ones."

While the love of offspring is more or less strong in all, yet it does not manifest itself if there are other tendencies predominant in the character. Take a woman in whom the love of dress and society is most active; she will not care for offspring, if her circumstances are such that it would debar her from enjoying style or society; or if the artistic inclination is the strongest in her character she would not want offspring; or if great intellectual tastes are very strong and love of children only moderate, she would not want offspring; or where persons have consecrated themselves fully and unreservedly to a spiritual life in order to become spiritual parents to many, to them offspring would be a hindrance in their work. But where the domestic faculties are the strongest, the home is lonesome without children. In some the maternal instinct is exceedingly strong, for it manifests itself to such an extent as to become the ruling passion; nothing else but offspring can satisfy them. And this maternal passion is expressed in matchless language by Mr. Stephen Phillips:[1] "Lucrezia's sudden outburst of grief and rage against her lonely fate is, poetically speaking, one of the finest passages in the play:"

In Mrs. Charles Herne, this feeling was not quite as strong as that expressed in the play, but after they had been married two years, she did some quiet thinking in that line. She would sit alone at times, and let her imagination be active in the thought, what delight it would give her if when her husband came in the room where she was, she could take him over to a little crib and turn back the corner of a fancy worked cover and show him such a sweet, wee, little face nestled on the pillow, and what joy it would give her, when her husband came in from his work to put a little one into his arms and see how delighted he would be to take the child, and then see him sit down and hear him use language which belongs to baby talk. Again she thought what pleasure it would give her to start a little toddling form down the pathway to meet her husband, and to see the little one stand still when it met its father, and raise its little arms to be taken up. All these thoughts and many more passed through the mind of Mrs. Herne, for she now knew for a certainty that such joys would be hers, and many a pleasant laugh and joke she and her husband had over the coming of a little tot.

One day a little later there was started in the most sacred room in the house a vibration by the doctor which reached the auditory nerve of the nurse conveying to the brain a most joyous statement, "It is a boy." The nurse carried it to the kitchen, "It is a boy." The Chinaman cook carried it to the Jap chore boy, "It is a boy." The Jap chore boy carried it to the teamsters, "It is a boy." The teamsters carried it to the men on the ditches, "It is a boy." The ditch men carried it to the men in the orchard, "It is a boy." The prune trees took up the glad news and whispered it to the apricot trees, "It is a boy." The apricot trees whispered it to the peach trees, "It is a boy." The peach trees whispered it to all the other fruit trees, "It is a boy."

When Pet, Bell, Blanche and Daisy, with their large udders full of rich lacteal fluid, heard the news, "It is a boy," they gave forth an extra flow of milk that night. When the frisky mules in the barn lot heard the joyful tidings, "It is a boy," they just cut up and threw their hind feet higher than ever. You could not see them for the dust they made. The roosters crowed, "It is a boy," and the hens cackled, "It is a boy." The orioles in the mulberry trees warbled out the song, "It is a boy." The dogs, Dash and Rover, in their play that evening barked at each other, "It is a boy." The cats Tom and Malty purred, "It is a boy." It seemed as if the vibrations in all the buildings and all over the ranch rang out the glad tidings, "It is a boy."

In the evening when all Mr. Herne's men congregated in their fine quarters to have some music, Osborn sat down to the piano and played while all the men sang, that old negro song:

Osborn said to the boys when retiring, "What a feeling of joy the advent of a little boy has brought to us all on the ranch. Mr. and Mrs. Herne have got their wish now, for they both wanted a son."

Barnes said: "What a fine time we will have with the little fellow, when he is old enough to toddle. We will have him over here most of the time."

One day after dinner when the baby was about a month old, a man standing six feet three inches and weighing two hundred and twenty-five pounds, came on the porch where Mrs. Herne was sitting with the baby, and said: "Mrs. Herne, the boys want me to take the baby to them. They are all sitting under the mulberry trees."

Mrs. Herne said: "All right, Frank." But the nurse seemed to be alarmed lest he might hurt the infant, as he was so large and awkward, not used to handling a baby four weeks old, so she followed Frank and the baby to where the boys were. Frank said: "Here boys, each one of you can hold him just long enough to pass your opinion upon him." The men seemed to take as much pride and interest in the child as if he were their own. After the boy had been in each of the men's arms and they had passed their judgment on him, the nurse wanted to take the child back, but tall Frank said: "No, I took the baby from Mrs. Herne and I am going to see the child in her arms safe again." When putting the baby in her lap he said: "The boys all think he is the brightest baby they ever saw."

After he was gone the nurse said: "You ought to see how gentle those great men handled that baby."

Every day the men always inquired and talked about the baby, and were eager to watch its growth.

If you entered the house of an evening about the time the baby was put to bed, you would hear a very sweet, soft voice singing:

There is great talk made among many persons about catching different kinds of disease and sickness, but how seldom you hear people talk about the contagious qualities of hope, joy and love. Supposing on a ranch the owner gets up in the morning and starts the vibrations going, "That All is life, All is love, All is joy, and All is God," and there is a hearty response by his wife who takes up the invocation, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, and All is God." And carrying them into the kitchen, she adds to them by singing this song:

From the kitchen the chore boy takes up the sayings to the teamsters, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God." The teamsters take up those life-giving words, and instead of swearing at their teams all day, and talking about hell, their thoughts and talk is, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God." The men on the ditches and in the orchards echo the glad thought, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God." And the birds in the trees sing with gladness, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God," and that very interesting ring-neck bird, the kildee, as it runs along the ditches and moist places in the orchards, speaks in its peculiar way that, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God." And the music of the waters as it flows along, rippling in the ditches, sings "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God." The winds talk it to the trees, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God." The trees whisper it to each other, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God," and the music of the insects say the same thing, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, and All is God." When the God of day, with his effulgent brightness, rises over the hills in the morning and scatters his luminous rays on the ranch, and writes in lights and shadows his hieroglyphics that "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God." And the one grand anthem that is being sung in the hearts and lives of all on the ranch is, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God."

With an aspiration like that on the ranch, all cursing and swearing would disappear; smallness, meanness, jealousy, covetousness and greed could not live in that atmosphere. That spiritual air in circulation would kill out all lustful thoughts, pride, vanity, love of strong liquors, and of coarse animal food. Everything would manifest the fruits of the Spirit, which are peace, joy and love. All sickness and disease would disappear, because those life-giving, purifying thoughts would become incorporated and assimilated in the mind, nerve force, and enter into the blood, flowing through its veins and arteries all over the whole system, making the entire organism sound and pure, a fit temple for the dwelling of the Eternal One.