| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Mistress Wilding by Rafael Sabatini: direction, passed them at the gallop; but they had met several such
since leaving Ilminster, for indeed the news was spreading fast, and
the whole countryside was alive with messengers, some on foot and some
on horseback, but all hurrying as if their lives depended on their
haste.
They made their way to the Market-Place where Monmouth's declaration -
that remarkable manifesto from the pen of Ferguson - had been read
some hours before. Thence, having ascertained where His Grace was
lodged, they made their way to the George Inn.
In Coombe Street they found the crowd so dense that they could but with
difficulty open out a way for their horses through the human press. Not
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Weir of Hermiston by Robert Louis Stevenson: last succeeded in piecing out the situation. First he remarked that,
although Archie set out in all the directions of the compass, he always
came home again from some point between the south and west. From the
study of a map, and in consideration of the great expanse of untenanted
moorland running in that direction towards the sources of the Clyde, he
laid his finger on Cauldstaneslap and two other neighbouring farms,
Kingsmuirs and Polintarf. But it was difficult to advance farther.
With his rod for a pretext, he vainly visited each of them in turn;
nothing was to be seen suspicious about this trinity of moorland
settlements. He would have tried to follow Archie, had it been the
least possible, but the nature of the land precluded the idea. He did
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Gettysburg Address by Abraham Lincoln: Now we are engaged in a great civil war. . .testing whether
that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated. . .
can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war.
We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place
for those who here gave their lives that this nation might live.
It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate. . .we cannot consecrate. . .
we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead,
who struggled here have consecrated it, far above our poor power
to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember,
what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.
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