Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 236, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 October 1913 — Incubator Mothers [ARTICLE]

Incubator Mothers

DID YOU KNOW that Incubator chickens are of a more confiding nature than the hen-raised chickens! An Incubator chicken being motherless, has no one to warn it that the big creature In a Mother Hubbard, or the larger creature In overalls, that comes out to feed U, Is not an angel, as It Imagines, but a monster who will some day grab it, wrtags its little neck and eat It. Therefore, it trusts the big creature in a Mother Hubbard, and the larger creature In overalls, tags It all over the yard, and jumps on its lap, and feeds out of its hand. And when the little head of this trusting incubator chicken Is under Its wing In the brooder at night the heaven of Its dreams is peopled with big angels in Mother Hubbards, or larger angels in overalls, carrying ears of corn. But the little hen-raised chicken Is taught the day It breaks Its shell to run as fast as Its legs win carry It from all big creatures in Mother Hubbards and all larger creatures In overalls, and because of these warnings It lives longer. The little incubator orphan has no one to warn It of danger, that being the mission of the mother, whether in the barnyard or house, and meets its tragedy earlier In life. Just two words explain the difference between the hen and the incubator —maternal instinct. The hen, possessing It in a degree that has made her a model of motherly devotion, warns her chickens against all who make chickens their prey, and this warning ie sounded in their ears from the day they are hatched till they reach an age of discretion. The incubator’s interest ends the day the brood Is hatched. Its task is ended and some other wooden mother —a brooder —takes It up. There are mothers like the hen and mothers like the wooden Incubator. Which are you? The mother who lets her daughter trail the streets with a man whose morals are an unknown quantity, is an incubator mother. Her Interest in her offspring ended the day it was bora, and she turned it over to some other -Wooden mother—a nurse or the etreets.| There are beasts of prey roaming around looking for the sons and "daughters of incubator mothers, and when they catch them the mother is not a bit less guilty than they, for the beasts of prey have the plea that It is their nature, and she violates every law of nature In her neglect. With motherhood, there should come keen eyes, an Instinct of danger a passion to warn and protect. She knows in what guise and form her children will be tempted, and unless she guards them with her love and protects them with her wisdom, she is of no more use in the progress of the world than a wooden frame, containing an alcohol lamp and warranted to hatch.