other first taught him his letters; and when she
had instructed him to the length of reading any French book that was
put before him, the village priest took him in hand. In France, the
priest comes often from the peasant class, and remains in social
position a member of that class as long as he lives. But he always
possesses a fair knowledge of Latin, the language in which all his
religious services are conducted; and this knowledge serves as a key to
much that his unlearned parishioners could never dream of knowing.
Young Millet's parish priest taught him as much Latin as he knew
himself; and so the boy was not only able to read the Bible in the
Latin or Vulgate translation, but also to make acquaintance with the
works of Virgil and several others of the great Roman poets. He read,
too, the beautiful "Confessions" of St. Augustine, and the "Lives of
the Saints," which he found in his father's scanty library, as well as
the works of the great French preachers, Bossuet and Fenelon. Such
early acquaintance with these and many other masterpieces of higher
literature, we may be sure, helped greatly to mould the lad's mind into
that grand and sober shape which it finally acquired.

Jean Francois' love of art was first aroused by the pictures in an old
illustrated Bible which belonged to his father, and which he was
permitted to look at on Sundays and festivals. The child admired these
pictures immensely, and asked leave to be permitted to copy them. The
only time he could find for the purpose, however, was that of the
mid-day rest or siesta. It is the custom in France, as in Southern
Europe generally, for labourers to cease from work for an hour or so in
the middle of the day; and during this "tired man's holiday," young
Millet, instead of resting, used to take out his pencil and paper, and
try his hand at reproducing the pictures in the big Bible. His father
was not without an undeveloped taste for art. "See," he would say,
looking into some beautiful combe or glen on the hillside--"see that
little cottage half buried in the trees; how beautiful it is! I think
it ought to be drawn so--;" and then he would make a rough sketch of it
on some scrap of paper. At times he would model things with a bit of
clay, or cut the outline of a flower or an animal with his knife on a
flat piece of wood. This unexercised talent Francois inherited in a
still greater degree. As time went on, he progressed to making little
drawings