Quick Excerpts, from a Library of 492 Titles

Generated 2022-07-28 13:26:31

Excerpt #1, from Boswell’s Life of Johnson, by James Boswell

…unhospitable, troublesome, and ungracious custom of giving vails to servants. JOHNSON. ‘Sir, you abolished vails, because you were too poor to be able to give them.’ Mrs. Thrale disputed with him on the merit of Prior. He attacked him powerfully; said he wrote of love like a man who had never felt it: his love verses were college verses; and he repeated the song ‘Alexis shunn’d his fellow swains,’ &c., in so ludicrous a manner, as to make us all wonder how any one could have been pleased with such fantastical stuff. Mrs. Thrale stood to her gun with great courage, in defence of amorous ditties, which Johnson despised, till he at last silenced her by saying, ‘My dear Lady, talk no more of this. Nonsense can be defended but by nonsense.’ Mrs. Thrale then praised Garrick’s talent for light gay poetry; and, as a specimen, repeated his song in Florizel and Perdita, and dwelt with peculiar pleasure on this line: ‘I’d smile with the simple, and feed with the poor.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, my dear Lady, this will never do. Poor David! Smile with the simple;–What folly is that? And who would feed with the poor that can help it? No, no; let me smile with the wise, and feed with the rich.’ I repeated this sally to Garrick, and wondered to find his sensibility as a writer not a little irritated by it. To sooth him, I…

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Excerpt #2, from On the Anzac trail: Being extracts from the diary of a New Zealand sapper, by Anzac

…failed to get it. Notice posted that British warships have forced the Narrows and are in the Sea of Marmora. This should hasten the end. Hope so, as we are all fed up with sticking to the trenches here. Rumoured that the Russians are in the Bosphorus: don’t believe it. Heavy, distant cannonade last two days and nights. Fleet, I suppose. As I write hardly a shot being fired. Arm still queer. Got a short rifle to-day in place of the old long one I selected. (Prefer long rifle for good shooting, sniping, etc., but short one better for the trenches.) There is a history attached to the one I have now. It was picked up just outside a new sap by one of our chaps, and when found the bayonet was fixed and a single shot had been fired, the cartridge case still remaining in the breech. A dead Australian was lying beside it. Memorable event: had a shave to-day, the first since leaving the transport. The razor was a borrowed one; my beard was like a mop. Both suffered. Was detailed as one of party sent to supervise infantry digging trenches. Went out at 8 p.m. and came off at midnight. Did nothing but lie about and get miserably cold, as I had no greatcoat with me. Infantry made another attack on position they captured last Sunday and retired from. Carried it again—and again retired, owing, it is said, to lack of reinforcements at the critical moment. Truth is, it…

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Excerpt #3, from The Pirates’ Who’s Who, by Philip Gosse

…cut an innocent throat. He only had one hand, and used to fire his piece with great skill, laying the barrel on his stump, and drawing the trigger with his right hand. In all the American “plantations” there were rewards offered for him alive or dead. The end of this “penny-dreadful” pirate is unrecorded, but was probably a violent one, as this type of pirate seldom, if ever, died in his bed. JOHNSON, ISAAC. One of Captain Quelch’s crew. Tried for piracy at the Star Tavern at Boston in 1704. JOHNSON, JACOB. Taken prisoner by Captain Roberts out of the King Solomon, he joined the pirates. JOHNSON, JOHN, or JAYNSON. Born “nigh Lancaster.” Taken out of the King Solomon. One of Roberts’s crew. Hanged in 1722 at the age of 22. JOHNSON, MARCUS. One of Captain Roberts’s crew. Hanged in 1722. Stated in his death warrant to be a native of Smyrna. Died at the age of 21. JOHNSON, ROBERT….

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Excerpt #4, from Remarks, by Bill Nye

…commissioner of pensions, which trip would naturally take in eleven saloons and ten cents in car fare. “P.S.–Attach to the declaration the signature and seal of a notary public of pure character, $5, the certificate of the clerk of a court of record as to the genuineness of the signature of the notary public, his term of appointment and $5.” These documents were sent, after which there was a lull of about three months. Then the swelling in Mr. Fitznoodle’s head had gone down a little, but there was still a seal brown taste in his mouth. So he wrote the claimant that it would be necessary to jog the memory of the department about $3 dollars worth; and to file collateral testimony setting forth that claimant was a native born American or that he had declared his intention to become a citizen of the United States, that he had not formed nor expressed an opinion for or against the accused, which the testimony would not eradicate, that he would enclose $3, and that he had never before applied for a pension. After awhile a circular from the pension end of the department was received, stating that the claimant’s application had been received, filed and docketed No. 188,935,062-1/2, on page 9,847 of book G, on the thumb-hand side as you come in on the New York train. On the strength of this document the claimant went to the grocery and bought an ecru-colored ham, a sack of corn meal and a pound of tobacco. In June Mr. Fitznoodle sent a blank to be filled out by the…

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Excerpt #5, from The Writing of the Short Story, by Lewis Worthington Smith

…character, we do not have a sense of organic unity in the narrative. We become confused in trying to establish the dependence of incident and feeling upon something preceding, and our interest flags. Everything that happens in a well-told story gives us feelings which we look to find in those whom the happenings affect in the tale, feelings which should call forth some sort of responsive action for our satisfaction. Clearly, if the characters are cold, if we cannot find in them moods of the kind and intensity that to us seem warranted, the story will be a disappointment. LITERARY DIVISIONS AND GENERAL PRINCIPLES =8. The Conceptual and Emotional.=–Theoretically all writing is divided easily into two classes, conceptual and emotional, the literature of thought and the literature of feeling. In the actual attempt to classify written composition on this basis, however, no sharp distinction can be maintained. Even matters of fact, certainly such matters of fact as we care to write about, are of more or less moment to us; we cannot deal with them in a wholly unemotional way. In our daily lives we are continually reaching conclusions that differ from the conclusions reached by others about the same matters of fact, and are trying to make these matters of fact have the same value for others that they have for us. This is true of our business life as well as of our social and home…

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Excerpt #6, from Ocean Steam Navigation and the Ocean Post, by Thomas Rainey

…TRANSPORT FREIGHT TO AUSTRALIA: REASONS FOR THE SAME: MOTION HER NORMAL CONDITION: MUST NOT BE MADE A DOCK: DELIVERY OF FREIGHTS: MAMMOTH STEAMERS TO BRAZIL: LARGE CLIPPERS LIE IDLE: NOT EVEN THIS LARGE CLASS OF STEAMERS CAN LIVE ON THEIR OWN RECEIPTS: EFFICIENT MAIL STEAMERS CARRY BUT LITTLE EXCEPT PASSENGERS: SOME HEAVY EXTRA EXPENSES IN REGULAR MAIL LINES: PACIFIC MAIL COMPANY’S LARGE EXTRA FLEET, AND ITS EFFECTS: THE IMMENSE ACCOUNT OF ITEMS AND EXTRAS: A PARTIAL LIST: THE HAVRE AND COLLINS DOCKS: GREAT EXPENSE OF FEEDING PASSENGERS: VIEWS OF MURRAY AND ATHERTON ON THE COST OF RUNNING STEAMERS, AND THE NECESSITY OF THE PRESENT MAIL SERVICE. From the foregoing Section it is evident that the cost of running ocean steamers is enormous, and that in the chief element of expenditure it increases as the cube of the velocity. This, although true, is certainly a startling ratio of increase, and calculated to arouse attention to the difficulties of postal marine navigation. Seeing that ocean speed is attainable at so high a cost, we naturally conclude that fast mail steamers can not live on their own receipts upon the ocean. Since Great Britain established her first ocean steam mail in 1833, she has gone on rapidly increasing the same facilities, until her noble lines of communication now extend to every land and compass…

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Excerpt #7, from A Princess of Mars, by Edgar Rice Burroughs

…flanked us on either side. Every one but myself—men, women, and children—were heavily armed, and at the tail of each chariot trotted a Martian hound, my own beast following closely behind ours; in fact, the faithful creature never left me voluntarily during the entire ten years I spent on Mars. Our way led out across the little valley before the city, through the hills, and down into the dead sea bottom which I had traversed on my journey from the incubator to the plaza. The incubator, as it proved, was the terminal point of our journey this day, and, as the entire cavalcade broke into a mad gallop as soon as we reached the level expanse of sea bottom, we were soon within sight of our goal. On reaching it the chariots were parked with military precision on the four sides of the enclosure, and half a score of warriors, headed by the enormous chieftain, and including Tars Tarkas and several other lesser chiefs, dismounted and advanced toward it. I could see Tars Tarkas explaining something to the principal chieftain, whose name, by the way, was, as nearly as I can translate it into English, Lorquas Ptomel, Jed; jed being his title. I was soon appraised of the subject of their conversation, as, calling to Sola, Tars Tarkas signed for her to send me to him. I had by this time mastered the intricacies of walking under Martian conditions, and…

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Excerpt #8, from Famous Modern Ghost Stories, by Dorothy Scarborough et al.

…roast beef and ale, motor-cars, policemen, brass bands, and a dozen other things that proclaimed the soul of ordinariness or utility. The effect was immediate and astonishing even to myself. Psychologically, I suppose, it was simply a sudden and violent reaction after the strain of living in an atmosphere of things that to the normal consciousness must seem impossible and incredible. But, whatever the cause, it momentarily lifted the spell from my heart, and left me for the short space of a minute feeling free and utterly unafraid. I looked up at my friend opposite. “You damned old pagan!” I cried, laughing aloud in his face. “You imaginative idiot! You superstitious idolator! You—-” I stopped in the middle, seized anew by the old horror. I tried to smother the sound of my voice as something sacrilegious. The Swede, of course, heard it too–that strange cry overhead in the darkness–and that sudden drop in the air as though something had come nearer. He had turned ashen white under the tan. He stood bolt upright in front of the fire, stiff as a rod, staring at me. “After that,” he said in a sort of helpless, frantic way, “we must go! We can’t stay now; we must strike camp this very instant and go on–down the river.” He was talking, I saw, quite wildly, his words dictated by abject…

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Excerpt #9, from Recollections and impressions of James A. McNeill Whistler, by Arthur Jerome Eddy

…forget. We have not the faintest idea what they really are. We would not insult Mr. Whistler by supposing he tried to draw a horse with the customary equine legs, and so failed as to produce these marvels. Perhaps Dr. Wilson knows of some animal limbed thus strangely. “It is because of such insults as these to common sense and common understanding, and from no ill-will we bear him, that we refuse seriously to criticise such work as Mr. Whistler has recently brought before the public. Whatever in it is good adds to his offence, for it shows the offence to be wilful, if not premeditated.”[16] Poor etchings,–condemned for their virtues, condemned for their faults,–there is no health in them. * * * * * And these and many similar things were written, only twenty years ago, of the greatest etchings the world has known since the days of Rembrandt. When one thinks of the obscurity of Rembrandt to the day of his death, and how little his work was known for long after, of the passing of Meryon without recognition, it must be conceded that Whistler is coming into his own amazingly fast….

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Excerpt #10, from Under the White Ensign: A Naval Story of the Great War, by Percy F. Westerman

…landing expedition had been properly ambushed. Treachery had been at work. The Greek who, fortunately, was still detained on board the Portchester Castle had deliberately misled the British. Instead of the operations being directed against a secret petrol depot, the boats found themselves up against a powerful and well-organized system of shore batteries and a strong force of troops to oppose their landing. Clearly Osborne knew his duty. At all costs the steamboat must dash in and rescue her consorts or perish in the attempt. Suddenly one of the seaward-directed searchlights swung rapidly past the steam cutter and, hesitating, played fairly upon the hull of a large torpedo-boat that was making at full speed in the direction of Akhissareli. For a brief instant Osborne hesitated. He knew that British destroyers were in the vicinity, and possibly this was one tearing to the assistance of the Portchester Castle’s boats. He dare not make a private signal lest the shore batteries should spot the steamboat’s presence. On the other hand, there were two factors that tended to upset the friendly destroyer theory. The Turks ashore had made no attempt to fire upon the approaching craft; her outlines, as shown up by the search-lights, were unfamiliar. As she drew nearer, Osborne…

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Excerpt #11, from The Foolish Dictionary, by Gideon Wurdz

…=DEADEST= Philadelphia. * * * * =DEADBEAT= One who makes a soft living by sponging it. * * * =DEBT= A big word beginning with Owe, which grows bigger the more it is contracted. * * * =DEE-LIGHTED= [Illustration] An Oyster Bay localism, derived from delighted. * * * (Patent and Dramatic rights to this word are, until March 4, 1905, the exclusive property of T. Roosevelt, Esq., Subsequent editions of The Foolish Dictionary will define the word at length). * * * =DELEGATE= From Eng. dally, to loaf, and Fr. gate, spoiled. A spoiled loafer. * * * * =DEMAGOGUE= From Grk. demos, people, and Eng. gag. One who gags the people….

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Excerpt #12, from Journal of Researches into the Natural History and Geology of the Countries

…summit of a post, darted forth four or five threads from its spinners. These, glittering in the sunshine, might be compared to diverging rays of light; they were not, however, straight, but in undulations like films of silk blown by the wind. They were more than a yard in length, and diverged in an ascending direction from the orifices. The spider then suddenly let go its hold of the post, and was quickly borne out of sight. The day was hot and apparently quite calm; yet under such circumstances, the atmosphere can never be so tranquil as not to affect a vane so delicate as the thread of a spider’s web. If during a warm day we look either at the shadow of any object cast on a bank, or over a level plain at a distant landmark, the effect of an ascending current of heated air is almost always evident: such upward currents, it has been remarked, are also shown by the ascent of soap-bubbles, which will not rise in an indoors room. Hence I think there is not much difficulty in understanding the ascent of the fine lines projected from a spider’s spinners, and afterwards of the spider itself; the divergence of the lines has been attempted to be explained, I believe by Mr. Murray, by their similar electrical condition. The circumstance of spiders of the same species, but of different sexes and ages, being found on several occasions at the distance of many leagues from the land, attached in vast numbers to the lines, renders it probable that the habit of…

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