| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Philosophy 4 by Owen Wister: but there are sometimes things which happen that we cannot help. One
time a fire--"
At this racial suggestion both boys made the room joyous with mirth.
Oscar stood uneasily contemplating them. He would never be able to
understand them, not as long as he lived, nor they him. When their
mirth Was over he did somewhat better, but it was tardy. You see, he
was not a specimen of the first rank, or he would have said at once what
he said now: "I wish to study my notes a little myself, gentlemen."
"Go along, Oscar, with your inflammable notes, go along!" said Bertie,
in supreme good-humor. "And we'll meet to-morrow at ten--if there
hasn't been a fire--Better keep your notes in the bath, Oscar."
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Lone Star Ranger by Zane Grey: Lawson won't sleep of nights now. He an' Longstreth have always
been after me."
"Laramie, what are your eyes for?" demanded Duane. "Watch out.
And now here. See your friend Morton. Tell him this game grows
hot. Together you approach four or five men you know well and
can absolutely trust. I may need your help."
Then Duane went from place to place, corner to corner, bar to
bar, watching, listening, recording. The excitement had
preceded him, and speculation was rife. He thought best to keep
out of it. After dark he stole up to Longstreth's ranch. The
evening was warm; the doors were open; and in the twilight the
The Lone Star Ranger |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from New Poems by Robert Louis Stevenson: Child of my soul, O whither now,
Unborn, unmothered, goest thou?
You came, you went, and no man wist;
Hapless, my child, no breast you kist;
On no dear knees, a privileged babbler, clomb,
Nor knew the kindly feel of home.
My voice may reach you, O my dear-
A father's voice perhaps the child may hear;
And, pitying, you may turn your view
On that poor father whom you never knew.
Alas! alone he sits, who then,
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