"pot-boilers" for the
respectable shopkeepers of the neighbourhood--complacent portraits,
perhaps, of a stout gentleman with a large watch-chain fully displayed,
and of a stout lady in a black silk dress and with a vacant smile; and
by hook or by crook he managed to scrape together a few hundred francs,
with which once more he might return to Paris. But before he did so,
he married again, this time more wisely. His wife, Catharine Lemaire,
was a brave and good woman, who knew how to appreciate her husband, and
to second him well in all his further struggles and endeavours. They
went for a while to Havre, where Millet, in despair of getting better
work, and not ashamed of doing anything honest to pay his way, actually
took to painting sign-boards. In this way he saved money enough to
make a fresh start in Paris. There, he continued his hard battle
against the taste of the time; for French art was then dominated by the
influence of men like Delaroche, or like Delacroix and Horace Vernet,
who had accustomed the public to pictures of a very lofty, a very
romantic, or a very fiery sort; and there were few indeed who cared for
stern and sympathetic delineations of the French peasant's unlovely
life of unremitting toil, such as Millet loved to set before them.
Yet, in spite of discouragement, he did well to follow out this inner
prompting of his own soul; for in that direction he could do his best
work--and the best work is always the best worth doing in the long run.
There are some minds, of which Franklin's is a good type, so versatile
and so shifty that they can turn with advantage to any opening that
chances to offer, no matter in what direction; and such minds do right
in seizing every opportunity, wherever it occurs. But there are other
minds, of which Gibson and Millet are excellent examples, naturally
restricted to certain definite lines of thought or work; and such minds
do right in persistently following up their own native talent, and
refusing to be led aside by circumstances into any less natural or less
promising channel.

While living in Paris at this time, Millet painted several of his
favourite peasant pictures, amongst others "The Workman's Monday,"
which is a sort of parallel in painting to Burns's "Cotter's Saturday
Night" in poetry. Indeed, there is a great deal in Millet which
strongly reminds one at every step of Burns. Both were born of the
agricultural labouring class; both remained peasants at