aster the art. He has not the simplest
standards of literary judgment nor even the ideas from which such
standards are to be formed. Elegance of style and skill in the choice of
words are entirely lost upon him, as is the delicate meaning involved in
the play of appropriate figures and in the brilliance of the pictures
limned in colors to which his eye is blind. Such a person can come to
enjoy the pleasures of literature, but it is by way of a long and
careful course of study, and it is probable that his appreciation will
never be as keen as it would have been if he had gathered his literary
stock in trade at the same time that his senses were first opening to
the world. Then the skies and the flowers, the song of birds and the
hum of insects, the quiet reaches of still lakes and the roaring surge,
gave to him the sensations to which literature appeals.

There is no need for one to feel discouragement when at first he does
not admire all that the critics say is beautiful, but prefers some of
the simple things that he knew in his childhood. The critic is right
from his point of view, but there is merit, too, in the judgment of the
humble reader. A person would hesitate to say the critic's judgment is
the higher were it not for the fact that anyone reading carefully will
find his tastes changing and constantly approximating higher standards.
Each year brings him nearer to the critic's position and he sees
excellence and is touched by beauty in selections that before have been
devoid of any interest. It is to aid this growth in power of
comprehension, this refinement of taste, that one reads.

_The Author._ When the study relates to a specific selection it is wise
to create an interest by looking for all the contributory aids that can
be found. Sometimes a knowledge of the life of the author or of the
circumstances under which the selection was written will stimulate a
desire to know what has been said and will moreover assist to make the
meaning clear and to create the same sentiment that inspired the writer.
To know that _Snow-Bound_ is a description of Whittier's own home, that
the people about the fireside are his own parents, brothers, sisters,
and that he paints them with a loving touch after all but the one
brother have passed to the other side, is to make the poem appeal to our
emotions with an intensity which the beautiful lines alone could not
effect. _Ichabod_ we read once, but when we know the meaning of its
s