door
we have a view of a great square. Spring lives down there; it has come
to Paris, and arrived at the same time with us. It has come in the
shape of a glorious young chestnut tree, with delicate leaves newly
opened. How the tree gleams, dressed in its spring garb, before all
the other trees in the place! One of these latter had been struck
out of the list of living trees. It lies on the ground with roots
exposed. On the place where it stood, the young chestnut tree is to be
planted, and to flourish.

It still stands towering aloft on the heavy wagon which has
brought it this morning a distance of several miles to Paris. For
years it had stood there, in the protection of a mighty oak tree,
under which the old venerable clergyman had often sat, with children
listening to his stories.

The young chestnut tree had also listened to the stories; for
the Dryad who lived in it was a child also. She remembered the time
when the tree was so little that it only projected a short way above
the grass and ferns around. These were as tall as they would ever
be; but the tree grew every year, and enjoyed the air and the
sunshine, and drank the dew and the rain. Several times it was also,
as it must be, well shaken by the wind and the rain; for that is a
part of education.

The Dryad rejoiced in her life, and rejoiced in the sunshine,
and the singing of the birds; but she was most rejoiced at human
voices; she understood the language of men as well as she understood
that of animals.

Butterflies, cockchafers, dragon-flies, everything that could
fly came to pay a visit. They could all talk. They told of the
village, of the vineyard, of the forest, of the old castle with its
parks and canals and ponds. Down in the water dwelt also living
beings, which, in their way, could fly under the water from one
place to another--beings with knowledge and delineation. They said
nothing at all; they were so clever!

And the swallow, who had dived, told about the pretty little
goldfish, of the thick turbot, the fat brill, and the old carp. The
swallow could describe all that very well, but, "Self is the man," she
said. "One ought to see these things one's self." But how was the
Dryad ever to see such beings? She was obliged to be satisfied with
being able to look over the beautiful country and see the busy
industry of men.

It was glorious; but most glorious of all when the old clergyman
sat under the oak tree and talked of France, and of t