| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Tattine by Ruth Ogden [Mrs. Charles W. Ide]: towards home, and the little ford by way of a farm-lane, and which saved a
good mile on the road home, was soon reached. Barney knew the place well and,
always enjoying it, picked his way carefully to the middle of the ford, and
then he took it into his stubborn little head to stand stock still, and to
plant his four hoofs firmly in the nice soft mud at the bottom of the stream.
"Go on," urged Tattine; "Go on," urged Mabel, and Rudolph applied his sapling
whip with might and main, but all to no effect. Meantime some geese from a
neighboring farm had come sailing out into the ford, to have a look at their
friends in the crate, and the geese in the crate, wild to be out on the water
with their comrades, craned their long necks far out between the laths, and
set up a tremendous squawking. It was rather a comical situation, and the
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Art of Writing by Robert Louis Stevenson: first speech of all, Orlando's speech to Adam, with what
passage it shall please you to select - the Seven Ages from
the same play, or even such a stave of nobility as Othello's
farewell to war; and still you will be able to perceive, if
you have an ear for that class of music, a certain superior
degree of organisation in the prose; a compacter fitting of
the parts; a balance in the swing and the return as of a
throbbing pendulum. We must not, in things temporal, take
from those who have little, the little that they have; the
merits of prose are inferior, but they are not the same; it
is a little kingdom, but an independent.
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Maitre Cornelius by Honore de Balzac: securely in a joint between two stones, fastened a silken ladder to
it, threw the ladder down the chimney and risked himself upon it,
trusting to his good blade, and to the chance of not having mistaken
his mistress's room. He knew not whether Saint-Vallier was asleep or
awake, but one thing he was resolved upon, he would hold the countess
in his arms if it cost the life of two men.
Presently his feet gently touched the warm embers; he bent more gently
still and saw the countess seated in an armchair; and she saw him.
Pale with joy and palpitating, the timid creature showed him, by the
light of the lamp, Saint-Vallier lying in a bed about ten feet from
her. We may well believe their burning silent kisses echoed only in
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