| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Father Damien by Robert Louis Stevenson: house which could raise, and that very justly, the envy and the
comments of the passers-by. I think (to employ a phrase of yours
which I admire) it "should be attributed" to you that you have
never visited the scene of Damien's life and death. If you had,
and had recalled it, and looked about your pleasant rooms, even
your pen perhaps would have been stayed.
Your sect (and remember, as far as any sect avows me, it is mine)
has not done ill in a worldly sense in the Hawaiian Kingdom. When
calamity befell their innocent parishioners, when leprosy descended
and took root in the Eight Islands, a QUID PRO QUO was to be looked
for. To that prosperous mission, and to you, as one of its
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson by Robert Louis Stevenson: shot if he keeps me awake, I'll douse him with water if he makes a
row. - Ever your affectionate son,
R. L. STEVENSON.
Letter: TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON
WICK, SEPTEMBER 1868. SATURDAY, 10 A.M.
MY DEAR MOTHER, - The last two days have been dreadfully hard, and
I was so tired in the evenings that I could not write. In fact,
last night I went to sleep immediately after dinner, or very nearly
so. My hours have been 10-2 and 3-7 out in the lighter or the
small boat, in a long, heavy roll from the nor'-east. When the dog
was taken out, he got awfully ill; one of the men, Geordie Grant by
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Pool in the Desert by Sara Jeanette Duncan: We had spiced hump and jungle-fowl and a Normandy cheese, everybody
will understand that; but how shall I make plain with what
exultation and simplicity we ate and drank, how the four candid
selves of us sat around the table in a cloud of tobacco and cheered
each other on, Armour always far in front turning handsprings as he
went. Scraps come back to me, but the whole queer night has receded
and taken its place among those dreams that insist at times upon
having been realities. Rosario told us stories Kipling might have
coveted of the under life of Port Said. Strobo talked with glorious
gusto of his uncle the brigand. They were liberated men; we were
all liberated men. 'Let the direction go,' cried Armour, 'and give
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