| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Father Goriot by Honore de Balzac: hounds of justice were after him, and he already heard the baying
of the pack.
"Well?" shouted Bianchon, "you have seen the Pilote?"
The Pilote was a Radical sheet, edited by M. Tissot. It came out
several hours later than the morning papers, and was meant for
the benefit of country subscribers; for it brought the morning
news into provincial districts twenty-four hours sooner than the
ordinary local journals.
"There is a wonderful history in it," said the house student of
the Hopital Cochin. "Young Taillefer called out Count
Franchessini, of the Old Guard, and the Count put a couple of
Father Goriot |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Trooper Peter Halket of Mashonaland by Olive Schreiner: young and keep them away from their own people; but if once a nigger
woman's had a nigger man and had children by him, you might as well try to
hold a she-devil! they'll always go back. If ever I'm shot, it's as likely
as not it'll be by my own gun, with my own cartridges. And she'd stand by
and watch it, and cheer them on; though I never gave her a blow all the
time she was with me. But I tell you what--if ever I come across that
bloody nigger, I'll take it out of him. He won't count many days to his
year, after I've spotted him!" Peter Halket paused. It seemed to him that
the eyes under their heavy, curled lashes, were looking at something beyond
him with an infinite sadness, almost as of eyes that wept.
"You look awfully tired," said Peter; "wouldn't you like to lie down and
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Betty Zane by Zane Grey: Indian's lodge, where a warrior might point with grim pride and say: "No more
does the Deathwind blow over the hills and vales." We could tell of how his
keen eye once again saw Wingenund over the sights of his fatal rifle, and how
he was once again a prisoner in the camp of that lifelong foe, but that's
another story, which, perhaps, we may tell some day.
To-day the beautiful city of Wheeling rises on the banks of the Ohio, where
the yells of the Indians once blanched the cheeks of the pioneers. The broad,
winding river rolls on as of yore; it alone remains unchanged. What were
Indians and pioneers, forts and cities to it? Eons of time before human beings
lived it flowed slowly toward the sea, and ages after men and their works are
dust, it will roll on placidly with its eternal scheme of nature.
Betty Zane |
