than there if it 's to be a wasp's life. Do you understand me?'

I replied, 'I think I do, if I may dare to'; and catching breath: 'Herr
Professor, dear friend, forgive my boldness; grant me time to try me;
don't judge of me at once; take me for your pupil--am I presumptuous in
asking it?--make of me what you will, what you can; examine me; you may
find there's more in me than I or anybody may know. I have thoughts and
aims, feeble at present--Good God! I see nothing for me but a choice of
the two--"most unfortunate" seems likeliest. You read at a glance that I
had no other choice. Rather the extremes!--I would rather grasp the
limits of life and be swung to the pits below, be the most unfortunate of
human beings, than never to have aimed at a star. You laugh at me? An
Englishman must be horribly in earnest to talk as I do now. But it is a
star!' (The image of Ottilia sprang fountain-like into blue night heavens
before my eyes memorably.) 'She,' was my next word. I swallowed it, and
with a burning face, petitioned for help in my studies.

To such sight as I had at that instant he appeared laughing outrageously.
It was a composed smile 'Right,' he said; 'you shall have help in a
settled course. Certain Professors, friends of mine, at your University,
will see you through it. Aim your head at a star--your head!--and even
if you miss it you don't fall. It's that light dancer, that gambler, the
heart in you, my good young man, which aims itself at inaccessible
heights, and has the fall--somewhat icy to reflect on! Give that organ
full play and you may make sure of a handful of dust. Do you hear?
It's a mind that wins a mind. That is why I warn you of being most
unfortunate if you are a sensational whipster. Good-night Shut my door
fast that I may not have the trouble to rise.'

I left him with the warm lamplight falling on his forehead, and books