te themselves to more distinctly woman's tasks, knitting and sewing, sometimes even spinning and weaving. Their housekeeping is very simple, for they live frugally, but they know how to

bedside that she may listen to his gentle breathing as he sleeps, and she smiles softly to herself while she sews. It is a sweet face which bends over the work,

cloak which the shepherd wraps about him in cold and stormy weather. Made from the wool grown on his own sheep, spun by his wife's own hand, it is unriva

oat-shaped vessel with the wick coming out at one end. The light gilds the mother's gentle profile with shining radiance; it

g called La Petite Hélène, which Millet's mother used to sing to him, and which he in turn taught his own children. Perhaps we could not understand the words if we could hear it. But when mothers sing to their babies, wha

, baby

r watches

shaking the

es a little

baby,

, baby

stars are

es are the la

moon is the

baby,

, baby

ur loves

Lamb of

sakes came

baby,

trange that so rude a contrivance should be in use in the nineteenth century. But this is only the practical

lo surrounding the wick, and the light would fall only on the work, instead of glorifying the face of the mother. These wond

sus, who for so many centuries have inspired the imagination of artists. Often a painter has dra

light seem to shine mysteriously from the child's body. Now our painter Millet, representing only an ordinary mother and babe, has not used any such methods. Nevertheless, without going beyond stric