"We have got something out of the lines, I think, and much more is yet to be found in them; but we have done enough by way of example of the kind of word-by-word examination of your author which is rightly called 'reading,' watching every accent and expression, and putting ourselves always in the author's place, annihilating our own personality, and seeking to enter into his, so as to be able assuredly to say, 'Thus Milton thought,' not 'Thus I thought, in misreading Milton.'" 3. In reading successive poems and prose selections from different authors, strong resemblances in thought or language are frequently detected. It is a thought-provoking process to bring such similar passages to a definite comparison. Even where the same topic is treated differently by two authors, the different or contrasted points of view are suggestive. Calling such familiar passages to mind is in itself a good practice, and it is well to cultivate this mode of turning previous knowledge into use. To illustrate this point, let us call to mind some familiar passages, touching the winter snow-storm and the fireside comforts, from Whittier, Emerson, and Lowell. Whittier's description of a snow-storm in "Snow-Bound" is well known:-- "Unwarmed by any sunset light The gray day darkened into night, A night made hoary with the swarm And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, As zigzag wavering to and fro Crossed and recrossed the winged snow: And ere the early bedtime came The white drift piled the window-frame, And through the glass the clothes-line posts Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. "So all night long the storm roared on: The morning broke without a sun; In tiny spherule traced with lines Of Nature's geometric signs, In starry flake and pellicle All day the hoary meteor fell; And, when the second morning shone, We looked upon a world unknown, On nothing we could call our own. Around the glistening wonder bent The blue walls of the firmament, No cloud above, no earth below,-- A universe of sky and snow! The old familiar sights of ours Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, Or garden-wall, or belt of wood; A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, A fenceless drift what once was road; The bridle-post an old man sat With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; The well-curb had a Chinese roof; And even the long sweep, high aloof, In its slant splendor, seemed to tell Of Pisa's leaning miracle." Again the fireside joy is expressed:--