| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Talisman by Walter Scott: negro, is he not, De Neville, with black skin, a head curled like
a ram's, a flat nose, and blubber lips--ha, worthy Sir Henry?"
"Let not your Grace forget the shin-bones," said another voice,
"bent outwards like the edge of a Saracen scimitar."
"Rather like the bow of a Cupid, since he comes upon a lover's
errand," said the Queen.--"Gentle Neville, thou art ever prompt
to pleasure us poor women, who have so little to pass away our
idle moments. We must see this messenger of love. Turks and
Moors have I seen many, but negro never."
"I am created to obey your Grace's commands, so you will bear me
out with my Sovereign for doing so," answered the debonair
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The $30,000 Bequest and Other Stories by Mark Twain: no doubt, or seemed to mean something; but it is useless for us to try
to divine what it was. Ambulinia comes--we don't know whence nor why;
she mysteriously intimates--we don't know what; and then she goes
echoing away--we don't know whither; and down comes the curtain.
McClintock's art is subtle; McClintock's art is deep.
Not many days afterward, as surrounded by fragrant flowers she sat
one evening at twilight, to enjoy the cool breeze that whispered
notes of melody along the distant groves, the little birds perched
on every side, as if to watch the movements of their new visitor.
The bells were tolling, when Elfonzo silently stole along by the wild
wood flowers, holding in his hand his favorite instrument of music--
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Padre Ignacio by Owen Wister: the recent stress in his voice. "And now I have talked to you about
myself quite enough. But you must have my confession." He had now resumed
entirely his half-playful tone. "I was just a little mistaken, you see--
too self-reliant, perhaps--when I supposed, in my first missionary ardor,
that I could get on without any remembrance of the world at all. I found
that I could not. And so I have taught the old operas to my choir--such
parts of them as are within our compass and suitable for worship. And
certain of my friends still alive at home are good enough to remember this
taste of mine and to send me each year some of the new music that I should
never hear of otherwise. Then we study these things also. And although
our organ is a miserable affair, Felipe manages very cleverly to make it
|
