The streets of the city in which he dwelt were full of gleaming statues, all open to the air, and teachers and pupils walked and talked together a great deal out of doors, where they could see the violet tinted mountains and the shining sea.

This boy had one teacher, a remarkably wise one, who loved to gather a little circle about him on almost any corner. He did not tell his pupils anything. He merely asked them questions to set them thinking. One of his puplis said that he had to put his fingers in his ears and run away or he should grow old listening, so delightful were the lessons.

This wise teacher had a dream which was so good that perhaps we ought to know it. He dreamed that he had a beautiful white swan in his bosom.

The bird was so young that it had no feathers, but he watched it and fed it with great care. As soon as the feathers came upon it, the bird stretched its wings and flew with the intrepid courage into the highest regions of air singing with inexpressible sweetness.

The teacher never doubted that the swan was his good pupil who loved to go to school, and that he should enjoy boundless fame.

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