seat, shall be my study cell; here I can feast my eyes by turns on
the big lime tree and the animals of my alphabet. And this was
what I did.

And now, my precious picture, it is our turn, yours and mine. You
began with the sacred beast, the ass, whose name, with a big
initial, taught me the letter A. The boeuf, the ox, stood for B;
the canard, the duck, told me about C; the dindon, the turkey, gave
me the letter D. And so on with the rest. A few compartments, it
is true, were lacking in clearness. I had no friendly feeling for
the hippopotamus, the kamichi, or horned screamer, and the zebu,
who aimed at making me say H, K and Z. Those outlandish beasts,
which failed to give the abstract letter the support of a
recognized reality, caused me to hesitate for a time over their
recalcitrant consonants. No matter: father came to my aid in
difficult cases; and I made such rapid progress that, in a few
days, I was able to turn in good earnest the pages of my little
pigeon book, hitherto so undecipherable. I was initiated; I knew
how to spell. My parents marveled. I can explain this unexpected
progress today. Those speaking pictures, which brought me amongst
my friends the beasts, were in harmony with my instincts. If the
animal has not fulfilled all that it promised in so far as I am
concerned, I have at least to thank it for teaching me to read. I
should have succeeded by other means, I do not doubt, but not so
quickly nor so pleasantly. Animals forever!

Luck favored me a second time. As a reward for my prowess, I was
given La Fontaine's Fables, in a popular, cheap edition, crammed
with pictures, small, I admit, and very inaccurate, but still
delightful. Here were the crow, the fox, the wolf, the magpie, the