| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Call of the Canyon by Zane Grey: others, with white wreathes or ripples around the rocks evidently placed
there as a means to cross. Carley drew back aghast.
"Glenn, I could never make it," she called.
"Come on, my Alpine climber," he taunted. "Will you let Arizona daunt you?"
"Do you want me to fall in and catch cold?" she cried, desperately.
"Carley, big women might even cross the bad places of modern life on
stepping stones of their dead selves!" he went on, with something of
mockery. "Surely a few physical steps are not beyond you."
"Say, are you mangling Tennyson or just kidding me?" she demanded slangily.
"My love, Flo could cross here with her eyes shut."
That thrust spurred Carley to action. His words were jest, yet they held a
The Call of the Canyon |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Fairy Tales by Hans Christian Andersen: someone knocked at his door. It was his neighbor, a young Divine, who lived on
the same floor. He walked in.
"Lend me your Galoshes," said he; "it is so wet in the garden, though the sun
is shining most invitingly. I should like to go out a little."
He got the Galoshes, and he was soon below in a little duodecimo garden, where
between two immense walls a plumtree and an apple-tree were standing. Even
such a little garden as this was considered in the metropolis of Copenhagen as
a great luxury.
The young man wandered up and down the narrow paths, as well as the prescribed
limits would allow; the clock struck six; without was heard the horn of a
post-boy.
Fairy Tales |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Across The Plains by Robert Louis Stevenson: but to me the coming of day is less fresh and inspiriting in the
latter; it has a duskier glory, and more nearly resembles sunset;
it seems to fit some subsequential, evening epoch of the world, as
though America were in fact, and not merely in fancy, farther from
the orient of Aurora and the springs of day. I thought so then, by
the railroad side in Pennsylvania, and I have thought so a dozen
times since in far distant parts of the continent. If it be an
illusion it is one very deeply rooted, and in which my eyesight is
accomplice.
Soon after a train whisked by, announcing and accompanying its
passage by the swift beating of a sort of chapel bell upon the
|
