| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Little Rivers by Henry van Dyke: cleared, gardens planted; half a dozen log cabins were scattered
along the river; and the old house, having grown slowly and
somewhat irregularly for twenty years, came out, just before the
time of which I write, in a modest coat of paint and a broad-
brimmed piazza. But Virgil himself, the creator of the oasis--well
known of hunters and fishermen, dreaded of lazy guides and
quarrelsome lumbermen,--"Virge," the irascible, kind-hearted,
indefatigable, was there no longer. He had made his last clearing,
and fought his last fight; done his last favour to a friend, and
thrown his last adversary out of the tavern door. His last log had
gone down the river. His camp-fire had burned out. Peace to his
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Captain Stormfield by Mark Twain: horse-doctor and knife-grinder kind, you know - clodhoppers from
goodness knows where that never handled a sword or fired a shot in
their lives - but the soldiership was in them, though they never
had a chance to show it. But here they take their right place, and
Caesar and Napoleon and Alexander have to take a back seat. The
greatest military genius our world ever produced was a brick-layer
from somewhere back of Boston - died during the Revolution - by the
name of Absalom Jones. Wherever he goes, crowds flock to see him.
You see, everybody knows that if he had had a chance he would have
shown the world some generalship that would have made all
generalship before look like child's play and 'prentice work. But
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Bickerstaff-Partridge Papers by Jonathan Swift: than to be an accomplice with a pack of rascals, that walk the
streets on nights, and disturb good people in their beds; but he
is out, if he thinks the whole world is blind; for there is one
John Partridge can smell a knave as far as Grubstreet, -- tho' he
lies in the most exalted garret, and writes himself 'Squire: --
But I'll keep my temper, and proceed in the narration.
I could not stir out of doors for the space of three months after
this, but presently one comes up to me in the street; Mr
Partridge, that coffin you was last buried in I have not been yet
paid for: Doctor, cries another dog, How d'ye think people can
live by making of graves for nothing? Next time you die, you may
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