the element of reality in their defects before the folk-songs can be accepted as really genuine, and it adds a power and even a literary effect to them, which in its peculiar flavor the most accomplished literary art cannot produce. We seem to hear the speech of living men, to feel the thoughts of simple hearts through the imperfect utterance, and to experience all the flavor of actual and homely life. The pieces in the Sonniou collected by M. Luzel have all this quality. They have the coarse material and the patches of garments actually worn, and their charm is due to their native picturesqueness and originality. There is no false sentiment, however deep the feeling, and the homely thoughts are expressed in homely phrases, with natural imagery drawn from the aspect of nature about them and their avocations in life. Their standard of conventionality in speech differs from that of polite society, and there are words and phrases which smack of a coarse and natural life, but they are, nevertheless, singularly pure in thought, and show the soundness and honesty of the Breton character, as well as its tenderness and warmth of affection. If not great refinement, there is great depth of feeling, and actual vulgarity of thought is as rare as immoral suggestion, even in the rude satires and humorous narratives. The beginning of all folk-song is in the cooing melodies which the mothers chant by the inspiration of nature by the cradles of their drowsing infants, and in which the affections of their hearts take an articulate form as naturally as the songs of birds. The _berceuses_, or cradle songs, of the Breton peasantry have all the elements of deep feeling and childish simplicity of expression which characterize the voice of motherhood in every clime and every station in life, and unite the queen and the peasant in a common bond. The same lovely and touching images suggest themselves, and the same simple and soothing melody flows naturally from the lips. This Breton cradle song might find its parallel in thought and language in many nations:-- CRADLE SONG. Toutouie la, la, my little child, Toutouie la, la. Your mother is here, my little child, To rock you softly, little dear. Your mother is here, my little lamb, She will sing you a little song. The other day she wept sorely; Now she smiles, the little mother. Toutouie la, la, my little bird, In the sweet breast of thy rose tree. To fly to heaven, my little angel, Do not spread your little wing. There is also the element of infantile humor, as in all nursery songs, to bring smiles to the rosy cheeks, with food for the simple imagination open-ing its eyes on the birds and beasts around it, and endowing them with human life. One can feel how a child would appreciate the little story of The Fox Gallant with a sense at once of reality and hu-mor:-- THE FOX GALLANT. I had a pullet and I had but one,