| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Lin McLean by Owen Wister: the yellow, vanishing plains.
"Variety, you bet!" young Lin repeated, aloud.
He unrolled himself from his bed, and brought from the garments that made
his pillow a few toilet articles. He got on his long boy legs and limped
blithely to the margin. In the mornings his slight lameness was always
more visible. The camp was at Bull Lake Crossing, where the fork from
Bull Lake joins Wind River. Here Lin found some convenient
shingle-stones, with dark, deepish water against them, where he plunged
his face and energetically washed, and came up with the short curly hair
shining upon his round head. After enough looks at himself in the dark
water, and having knotted a clean, jaunty handkerchief at his throat, he
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Letters from England by Elizabeth Davis Bancroft: CHRISTMAS, covered with holly and mistletoe; there was APRIL FOOL'S
DAY, dressed as Harlequin; there was, above all, SHROVE TUESDAY,
with her frying-pan of pancakes, dressed as a little cook; there was
a charming boy of fourteen or fifteen, as ST. VALENTINE'S DAY with
his packet of valentines addressed to the young ladies present;
there was the 5TH OF NOVEMBER, full of wit and fun, etc.; the
longest day, an elder brother, of William's height, with a cap of
three or four feet high; and his little sister of five, as the
shortest day. This was all arranged to music and each made little
speeches, introducing themselves. The OLD YEAR, after introducing
his successors, and after much pathos, is "going, going--gone," and
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Little Rivers by Henry van Dyke: praise. Every land has its nightingale, if we only have the heart
to hear him. How distinct his voice is--how personal, how
confidential, as if he had a message for us!
There is a breath of fragrance on the cool shady air beside our
little stream, that seems familiar. It is the first week of
September. Can it be that the twin-flower of June, the delicate
Linnaea borealis, is blooming again? Yes, here is the threadlike
stem lifting its two frail pink bells above the bed of shining
leaves. How dear an early flower seems when it comes back again
and unfolds its beauty in a St. Martin's summer! How delicate and
suggestive is the faint, magical odour! It is like a renewal of
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