| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Mistress Wilding by Rafael Sabatini: won, towards the end of that same month of July we find him not only
back at Lupton House, but once again the avowed suitor of Mr. Wilding's
widow. For effrontery this is a matter of which it is to be doubted
whether history furnishes a parallel. Indeed, until the circumstances
are sifted it seems wild and incredible. So letus consider these.
On the morrow of Sedgemoor, the town of Bridgwater became invested -
infested were no whit too strong a word - by the King's forces under
Feversham and the odious Kirke, and there began a reign of terror for
the town. The prisons were choked with attainted and suspected rebels.
>From Bridgwater to Weston Zoyland the road was become an avenue of
gallows, each bearing its repulsive gemmace-laden burden; for the King's
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Criminal Sociology by Enrico Ferri: continuous solitary immurement in cells, and to a life which may
be worse than death itself. . . . This most wretched condition,
which the free man cannot realise without horror, is to last ten
years; and it is not to be in the power of man to bring it to an
end sooner, if the prisoner, broken down by physical weakness, or
threatened by loss of reason, cannot endure it any longer.''
After this description, I am not sorry that I denounced the
cellular system as one of the madnesses of the nineteenth century.
This useless, stupid, inhuman, costly ``tomb of the living'' must
be repudiated, even when reduced to its lowest terms by the new
Italian code, wherein Parliament, accepting part of my amendment,
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Frankenstein by Mary Shelley: consolation for his miseries or excitements to his vengeance, that they are
not the creations of his fancy, but the beings themselves who visit him from
the regions of a remote world. This faith gives a solemnity to his reveries
that render them to me almost as imposing and interesting as truth.
Our conversations are not always confined to his own history and misfortunes.
On every point of general literature he displays unbounded knowledge
and a quick and piercing apprehension. His eloquence is forcible and touching;
nor can I hear him, when he relates a pathetic incident or endeavours to move
the passions of pity or love, without tears. What a glorious creature must
he have been in the days of his prosperity, when he is thus noble and godlike
in ruin! He seems to feel his own worth and the greatness of his fall.
Frankenstein |
