2nd. That the teaching be confined to reading, writing, arithmetic, and the ten commandments, which include all the law and the prophets, with that comprehended in a future resolution.

3rd. That the hours of teaching commence at four and continue till eight each evening, except Sundays.

4th. That each boy be required to wash and clean himself in the school lavatory before entering the school.

5th. That after two or three hours' study, as thought necessary, the attentive pupil be sent to an under adjoining room, to be taught as much of the art of tailoring, shoe-making, or other useful crafts, as would enable them to make and repair their own clothing, &c. &c.

6th. That the members of the various congregations of the different towns be requested to assist in the valuable effort.

We should like much to add another resolution, and that is—

7th. That each boy, at the termination of his labours, should receive a supper of a bason of soup, or any other kind of food that the funds may be able to supply. But this would have, of course, to depend on the monetary aid the schools may receive. We throw this out merely as a hint to those who can appreciate it.

Such resolutions, however, have not as yet, to our own knowledge, been thought of; but we confidently hope they will not long escape the active benevolence of our population. The expense for such an institution cannot be great. It may run to £50 a-year, as follows:-£20 for the rent of a large school-room, with rooms for tailor and shoemaker gratis; £10 for fire and light; £20 for books, soap, &c.; in all £50 a-year. For the teachers, we must, of course, trust to the spirit and feeling which have led so many to offer up their services to the altar of their country and of religion. That these will spring up at the slightest call, there can be no doubt; although we do somehow feel that it is not from the higher or middling classes that we are to expect them,—for these have scarcely perseverance and energy enough for such a task,— but from the poorer, enduring, patient, self-denying, and religious members of all communities. Let but a dozen or two of the right-minded meet together and express their wishes and determinations on this important point, and sure are we that a multitude of living agents will immediately respond to the call. Be up and stirring, then, ye men of Devonshire. Be active and vigilant, and let it never more be said that such a frightful proportion as four-fifths of your young and rising population, from whom, according to present appearances, much patient and quiet endurance will be demanded,—are shut out from the pale of society; and either through unwillingness or want of means, are unable to profit by those advantages for the offering of which this intellectual century is so justly celebrated.

THE SHEPHERD.

FROM THE FRENCH OF THEOPHILE GAULTIER.

TRANSLATED BY J. P. MANN.

ABOUT the middle of the summer of 1818, a young shepherd of fifteen or sixteen years old, yet so puny that he did not appear to be more

than twelve, was driving before him, with that melancholy and thoughtful air peculiar to those who pass a part of their lives in solitude, a score or two of sheep that he would have had much difficulty in keeping together, had it not been for the active vigilance of a great black, straight-eared dog, who recalled the laggard and the capricious to their place in the flock, by administering a nip, a bark, or a bite, with the greatest a-propos imaginable.

Now, novels and romances had in nowise affected the head of our Petit Pierre, so he was called, and not Lycidas or Thyrsis; for as yet he could not even read. Nevertheless, he was a day-dreamer and an indulger in reveries, and would remain whole hours leaning against a tree, scanning the horizon with a sort of ecstatic contemplation.

But of what did he dream, think you? He himself had no idea; for, contrary to the usual habits of the countryman, he looked at the rising and setting of the sun, the play of the light on the foliage, and the variety of tints in the colouring of the distance, without knowing why he did so. He even considered the empire that water, trees, and sky had over him to be, at best, but an infirmity, a weakness of the mind; and he said to himself, "There is nothing remarkable here. The trees have nothing rare about them; neither is land or sky uncommon. Yet why do I remain a whole hour before a hill, forgetting my sheep, my dog, my meals, my very self? Had it not been for my dog, Fido, ere this I should have lost a sheep or two, and have been dismissed from my place for my carelessness. Yet, why am I not like the others around me, big and strong, and always laughing and singing, instead of passing away my time in watching the grass grow whilst my sheep are feeding on it?"...... Now, Petit Pierre was simply wondering at his not being as stupid as the others, for which we certainly cannot think of blaming him.

No doubt you have already thought to yourself that Petit Pierre was in love. He will be, by-and-bye, perhaps; but now he is not. Love, in the country, is not so precocious; and our young shepherd, as yet, had not even perceived there were two sexes in the world. True, it is very possible to be deceived in this respect, in some of the cantons of France; for one meets everywhere, n' importe, the dress, the same complexion, the same bearings, the same red hands, and the same rough voice. It would seem as if nature had created but the females, and civilization the woman.

When he had reached the commencement of a pretty little dell, covered with a fine and brilliant herbage, and sprinkled with several bold clumps of trees, whose large knotty roots, grappling with the thin soil, gave a peculiar and picturesque character to the scene. He stopped, sat himself down on a piece of rock, and with his chin leaning on his staff, which was a crook somewhat resembling those of the shepherds of Arcadia, he gave himself up to his habitual reverie.

The dog, sagaciously judging that his charge would not stray very far from a spot where the grass was so plentiful and so tender, stretched himself out, at his master's feet, and with his head resting on his paws, and his eyes fixed, watched him with that passionate attention which raises this faithful creature almost to a human being. The sheep had become grouped here and there in happy disorder, and a ray

of light, darting through the foliage, lit up in sparkling brilliancy the few dew-drops,-diamonds fallen from Aurora's toilet,-which the sun had not yet gathered to himself. It was a picture already complete, designed by the hand of a Great Architect, but whose works, perhaps, would be refused at the Academy.

This reflection was no doubt made by a young lady, who, at this moment, entered at the other extremity of the dell.

"What a pretty picture this will make," said she, taking an album from the waiting-woman accompanying her.

She sat down on a mossy stone, at the risk of destroying the purity of her white dress, but of which she appeared to trouble herself very little, opened her rich album, placed it on her knees, and began with a bold and free hand to trace the outlines of the scene. The beauty of her pure and delicate features was enhanced by the transparent shade of a large straw bonnet, very much like that in the sweet sketch of a young lady by Rubens that we have in our Museum. Her hair, of a rich blond, fell in long flowing tresses over a neck whiter than snow,* heightened here and there with dimples of blushing red. Indeed, she was of rare and charming beauty.

Petit Pierre, wholly occupied with the multiform foliage of a fine chesnut tree, did not at first perceive the arrival of a new actor in his quiet and beloved scene. Fido, certainly, had once raised his head, but seeing no cause of uneasiness, he had resumed his usual attitude, that of a melancholy sphinx. The sight of the light and easy form of the intruder, singularly affected the young shepherd: he felt a sort of inexpressible compression of the heart, and as if to withdraw himself from the unknown restraint he laboured under, he whistled to his dog and made an attempt to retire.

But this did not at all suit the young lady, who had just then began to sketch the little fellow and his flock, as an indispensable part of the landscape; so she threw aside her book and pencil, and with two or three springs, soon caught our Petit Pierre, whom she brought back with a deal of assumed authority to the ledge of rock on which he had just been sitting.

"Sit you down there," said she, gaily, "until I tell you to go away. Raise your arm a little higher, and put your head a little more to the left. Just so." And whilst speaking, with her delicate and wellformed hand, she bent the brown and thin cheek of Petit Pierre to get him into the required attitude.

"Why really, Lucy, he has good eyes for a little country boy," said she, laughingly, to her maid.

Her model being once more in his position, the lively young lady ran back to her former place, and soon finished her drawing.

"You may get up and go now, if you like," said she; "but I must make you some return for the ennui I have given you, in making you stay there so long, like a wooden saint. Come hither."

The shepherd approached slowly, quite ashamed, and the young artist slid a piece of gold in his hand.

* The French author says milk. Now, although this is more correct, English fashion says snow, which of course we have kept.

"Here is something to buy you a new jacket for Sundays."

During this short moment, the young shepherd had glanced on the open book, and appeared struck with astonishment at the wonders it unfolded. His hand remained unclosed, and the bright new louis unobserved. Unknown to him, the scales had fallen from his eyes, and a sudden revelation had been made within him, and with a hesitating tone and interrupted speech, he exclaimed,

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"What do I see! trees, the rock, my dog, my sheep, even myself, on that slip of paper! Is it possible?"

The lady was amused with the simple astonishment and admiration of the young peasant, and kindly showed him many different views of castles, lakes, and rocks, and then, as night approached, retired to a country house not far distant.

Petit Pierre followed her with his eyes long after the last fold of her robe had disappeared behind the hill; and in vain did Fido thrust his wet and icy-cold nose against his master's hand. He was not to be roused from his meditation. The young shepherd began to understand, although indistinctly, the use it was to contemplate the rich variety of form presented him by all around; that rocks, and trees, and clouds offered a lesson to be received by all capable of appreciating its value; and he fully comprehended that the emotions he had formerly experienced at the sight of a fine landscape, were dictated by some secret feeling, more powerful than mere wonder, and that he was, consequently, neither stupid nor foolish. No doubt, he had seen the pictures stuck up over the chimney piece of the few farm houses he had entered, such as the portraits of Isaac Laquedem, Genevieve de Brabant and the Mother of Grief, with the seven swords buried in her breast; but these common wood-cuts, rudely coloured in yellow, red, and blue, and only worthy of the savages of New Zealand, or of the Papuas of the South Seas, could never have awakened in his mind any ideas of art. The correct and forcible sketches in the album of the young lady were, on the contrary, something extraordinary to him. The simple picture of the parish church was so black and so smoky, that neither form nor picture could be distinguished; besides, he had scarcely ever dared to look at it from the porch where he usually knelt at his devotions.

Evening had now arrived. Petit Pierre penned his sheep and sat himself down on the threshold of the moveable cabin that formed his usual summer residence. The sky was a dark blue. The seven stars of the chariot shone like golden-headed nails in the heavenly canopy. Cassiope and Bootes sparkled brilliantly, and the young shepherd with his hands buried in the shaggy hide of his four-footed companion, who was sitting near him, felt himself quite enchanted at the glorious spectacle which he alone contemplated in the splendid fête the heavens then offered with boundless magnificence to the sleeping world.

Nor was the young lady long absent from his reverie; and on thinking of that light velvet hand that had but just touched his rough cheek, he felt an inexpressible sensation glance through his veins. He had great difficulty to get composed; but, although long prayed for, sleep came at last. Petit Pierre dreamt.

He thought he was sitting on a piece of rock, and that a splendid

landscape lay before him. The sun was just then rising; the hawthorn trembled under its snowy bloom, and the meadows and hills appeared to have donned a robe of blue, shot with silver. In a very short time Petit Pierre saw the lady of the vale once more approach him. She addressed him and said,

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It is not enough to contemplate; you must act."

Having pronounced these words, she placed a piece of rich satin paper and a sharpened pencil on the knees of the astonished shepherd, and remained standing near him. He immediately began tracing a few outlines, but his hand trembled like the aspen leaf, and all his strokes became mingled and confused. The excitement of the scene, the desire of doing well, and the shame he felt at succeeding so badly, covered him with perspiration. He would have given ten years of his life not to have shown himself so awkward before so beautiful a person; but to his distress, his nerves became more and more agitated, and the lines he endeavourd to trace, degenerated into ridiculous zigzags. His anguish at last was so great that he almost awoke; however, the lady, seeing his agitation, gave him a gold pencil-case, the point of which sparkled with a brilliant and penetrating light. Petit Pierre now felt no difficulty whatever. The masses were arranged and grouped with the greatest ease; the trunks of trees sprang up bold and hastily with a mere touch of the pencil; the leaves were readily hit off; and each plant received the foliage, bearing, and detail which belonged to it. The lady, bending over the shoulder of our dreamer, followed the progress of his work with evident satisfaction, saying, from time to time, Good, very good; just so, go on."

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After awhile, one of the curls of her long and rich hair, agitated by the wind, lightly brushed the cheek of the young shepherd, and from the contact sprang, as from an electric machine, a thousand bright sparks, one of which chanced to fall on his heart. This immediately appeared to become lit up within him, and to shine in his breast as brilliantly as a rich carbuncle. The lady perceived it, and said to him, "You have now the spark.

Adieu!"

This dream had a strange effect on Petit Pierre. In reality, both his head and heart were touched by the supernatural fire, and from that day he left the chaotic track of the multitude.

The next morning, he took a piece of charcoal from the hearth, determined to commence his studies of the picturesque immediately; the exterior planks of his cabin furnished him paper and canvas.

With what should he begin? Naturally, with the portrait of his best, or, to speak more correctly, of his only friend, Fido; for he was an orphan, and his dog formed his whole household.

His first sketch resembled rather a hippopotamus than a dog; but through his continual alterations and improvements, for Fido was the most patient of models, he was enabled to pass from the hippopotamus to the crocodile, thence to the sucking pig, and at last to an outline of which it would have been very ill-natured not to have said that there was a resemblance to something of the canine species.

It would be extremely difficult to recount the satisfaction felt by our Petit Pierre on seeing his drawing completed. Michael Angelo, even at the moment when he had given the last touch to his magnificent