=Stars=.—­Nor must his world lack stars.  He needs these to draw his thoughts away from sordid things out into the far spaces.  He would not spend a lifetime thinking of nothing beyond the weather, the ball-score, his clothes, and his ailments.  He wants to think big thoughts, and he would have stars to guide him.  He knows that a man is as high, as broad, and as deep as his thoughts, and that if he would grow big in his thinking he must have big objects to engage his thoughts.  He would explore the infinite spaces, commune with the planets in their courses, attain the sublime heights where the masters have wrought, and discover, if possible, the sources of power, genius, and inspiration.  He would find delight in the colors of the rainbow, the glory of the morning, and the iridescence of the dewdrop.  He would train his thoughts to scan the spaces behind the clouds, to transcend the snow-capped mountain, and to penetrate the depths of the sea.  He would visualize creation, evolution, and the intricate processes of life.  So he must have stars in his world.

=Books.=—­In addition to all these he must have books in his world, and he is cognizant of the fact that his neighbors judge both himself and his world by the character of the books he selects.  He may select Mrs. Wiggs or Les Miserables.  If he elects to have about him books of the cabbage patch variety, he condemns himself to that sort of reading for a whole lifetime.  Nor is any redemption possible from such standards save by his own efforts.  Neither men nor angels can draw him up to the plane of Victor Hugo if he elects to abide in the cabbage patch.  If he prefers Graustark to Macbeth, all people, including his dearest friends, will go on their way and leave him to his choice.  If he says he cannot read Shakespeare, Massinger, Milton, or Wordsworth, he does no violence to the reputation of these writers, but merely defines and classifies himself.

=Authors as companions.=—­Having learned or sensed these distinctions, he elects to consort with Burns, Keats, Shelley, Southey, Homer, Dante, Virgil, Hawthorne, Scott, Maupassant, Goethe, Schiller, and George Eliot.  In such society he never has occasion to explain or apologize for his companions.  He reads their books in the open and gains a feeling of elation and exaltation.  When he would see life in the large, he sits before the picture of Jean Valjean.  When he would see integrity and fidelity in spite of suffering, he sits before the portrait of Job.  When he would see men of heroic size, he has the characters of Homer file by.  If he would see the panorama of the emotions of the human soul, he selects Hugo as his guide.  If he would laugh, he reads Tam O’Shanter; if he would weep, he reads of the death of Little Nell.  If he would see real heroism, he follows Sidney Carton to the scaffold, or Esther into the presence of the King.  He goes to Shelley’s Skylark to find beauty, Burns’s Highland Mary to find tenderness, Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter to find tragedy, and the Book of Job to find sublimity.  Through his books he comes to know Quasimodo and Sir Galahad; Becky Sharp and Penelope; Aaron Burr and Enoch Arden; and Herodias and Florence Nightingale.