Quick Excerpts, from a Library of 492 Titles

Generated 2022-07-28 13:26:22

Excerpt #1, from The Declaration of Independence of the United States of America, by Thomas Jefferson

…a powerful challenge, at odds, and split asunder. To those new states whom we welcome to the ranks of the free: we pledge our word that one form of colonial control shall not have passed away merely to be replaced by a far more iron tyranny. We shall not always expect to find them supporting our view. But we shall always hope to find them strongly supporting their own freedom. . .and to remember that. . .in the past. . .those who foolishly sought power by riding the back of the tiger ended up inside. To those people in the huts and villages of half the globe struggling to break the bonds of mass misery: we pledge our best efforts to help them help themselves, for whatever period is required. . .not because the Communists may be doing it, not because we seek their votes, but because it is right. If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich. To our sister republics south of our border: we offer a special pledge. . . to convert our good words into good deeds. . .in a new alliance for progress . . .to assist free men and free governments in casting off the chains of poverty. But this peaceful revolution of hope cannot become the prey of hostile powers. Let all our neighbors know that we shall join with them to oppose aggression or subversion anywhere in the Americas. . .and let…

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Excerpt #2, from The Republic, by Plato

…which will enable a State to pass into the truer form; and let the change, if possible, be of one thing only, or, if not, of two; at any rate, let the changes be as few and slight as possible. Certainly, he replied. I think, I said, that there might be a reform of the State if only one change were made, which is not a slight or easy though still a possible one. What is it? he said. Now then, I said, I go to meet that which I liken to the greatest of the waves; yet shall the word be spoken, even though the wave break and drown me in laughter and dishonour; and do you mark my words. Proceed. I said: ‘Until philosophers are kings, or the kings and princes of this world have the spirit and power of philosophy, and political greatness and wisdom meet in one, and those commoner natures who pursue either to the exclusion of the other are compelled to stand aside, cities will never have rest from their evils,—nor the human race, as I believe,—and then only will this our State have a possibility of life and behold the light of day.’ Such was the thought, my dear Glaucon, which I would fain have uttered if it had not seemed too extravagant; for to be convinced that in no other State can there be happiness private or…

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Excerpt #3, from History of biology, by L. C. Miall

…It must not be supposed that the labours of Linnæus and Cuvier were bestowed in vain. All that was really valuable in their writings has been saved, and biology will never forget how much it owes to their life-long exertions. [Illustration: CARL VON LINNÉ (CAROLUS LINNÆUS). From an engraving (1779) after the portrait by Roslin.] Réaumur and the History of Insects. Réaumur was born to wealth, and made timely use of his leisure to study the sciences and win for himself a place among natural philosophers. His inclinations directed him first towards mathematics, physics, and, a little later, towards the practical arts. He took a leading part in a magnificent description of French industries, which had been undertaken by the Académie des Sciences. Not content with describing the processes in use, he perpetually laboured to improve them. The manufacture of steel, tin-plate, and porcelain, the hanging of carriages and the fitting of axles, the improvement of the thermometer, glass hives, and the hatching of fowls’ eggs by artificial heat are among the many objects to which his attention was directed. Natural History gradually took a more and more prominent place in his studies, and a great History of Insects engaged the last years of his busy life. Réaumur was neither an anatomist nor a systematist, at least he…

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Excerpt #4, from The Writing of the Short Story, by Lewis Worthington Smith

…the interest of the whole story depended upon incident or upon showing of character? e. Does this Part IV. serve in any particular way to round out our knowledge of MacLure, and if so, in what way? f. What is the especially appealing thing in the portrait of MacLure? And what in the fortune and circumstance of his life? g. Does this appeal touch in any fashion upon our sense of a something inscrutable governing our lives? h. Which of the different sorts of subject-matter (see section 9) seem to you to be the more largely employed here? So far as it is concerned with experience, is it a reviving of what we have experienced or an addition to our knowledge of life? Is there in it a truth that you could formulate into a law of life, or is the truth so much a matter of emotion as merely to touch the sensibilities and so give us a wider vision? QUESTIONS ON “LOVELINESS,” BY ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS-WARD (Atlantic Monthly, August, 1899) 1. a. Do you detect in this story any purpose beyond that of recounting a series of happenings? If so, what? b. If you were to write the story, would you think it prospectively a difficult thing to arouse interest in a dog? c. Has that been done here or not? d. If so, what are some of the author’s devices and how successfully employed? 2. a. What is the artistic purpose of the first two paragraphs? Why…

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Excerpt #5, from The Talking Horse, and Other Tales, by F. Anstey

…she’s been away!’ Priscilla burst into tears as she hid her face upon her mother’s protecting shoulder. ‘It’s true!’ she sobbed, ‘I don’t deserve that you should be glad to see me–I’ve been hateful and horrid, I know–but, oh, if you’ll only forgive me and love me and put up with me a little, I’ll try not to preach and be a prig any more–I will truly!’ And at this her father called her to his side and embraced her with a fervour he had not shown for a very long time. * * * * * I should not like to go so far as to assert that no imitation diamond, ruby, pearl, or emerald ever proceeded from Priscilla’s lips again. Habits are not cured in a day, and fairies–however old they may be–are still fairies; so it did occasionally happen that a mock jewel made an unwelcome appearance after one of Priscilla’s more unguarded utterances. But she was always frightfully ashamed and abashed by such an accident, and buried the imitation stones immediately in a corner of the garden. And as time went on the jewels grew smaller and smaller, and frequently dissolved upon her tongue, leaving a faintly bitter taste, until at last they ceased altogether and Priscilla became as pleasant and unaffected a girl as she who may now be finishing this history. Aunt Margarine never sent back the contents of that bandbox; she kept…

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Excerpt #6, from The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 1, by Edgar Allan Poe

…sung by the rabble upon the occasion of Aurelian, in the Sarmatic war, having slain, with his own hand, nine hundred and fifty of the enemy. THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, although puzzling questions, are not beyond all conjecture. —Sir Thomas Browne. The mental features discoursed of as the analytical, are, in themselves, but little susceptible of analysis. We appreciate them only in their effects. We know of them, among other things, that they are always to their possessor, when inordinately possessed, a source of the liveliest enjoyment. As the strong man exults in his physical ability, delighting in such exercises as call his muscles into action, so glories the analyst in that moral activity which disentangles. He derives pleasure from even the most trivial occupations bringing his talent into play. He is fond of enigmas, of conundrums, of hieroglyphics; exhibiting in his solutions of each a degree of acumen which appears to the ordinary apprehension præternatural. His results, brought about by the very soul and essence of method, have, in…

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Excerpt #7, from Stage Coach and Tavern Days, by Alice Morse Earle

…The story of the stage-coach begins at a much later date than that of the tavern; but the two allies reached the height of their glory together. No more prosperous calling ever existed than that of landlord of an old-time stage-tavern; no greater symbol of good cheer could be afforded. Though a popular historical novel by one of our popular writers shows us the heroine in a year of the seventeenth century conveyed away from her New England home in a well-equipped stage-coach, there were no stage-coaches at that date in New England, nor were they overfrequent in Old England. Stow says, in his Survey of London (1633): “Of old time, Coaches were not known in this Island but Chariots or Whirlicotes.” The whirlicote is described as a cot or bed on wheels, a sort of wheeled litter, and was used as early as the time of Richard II. The first coach made in England by Walter Rippen was for the Earl of Rutland, in 1555. The queen had one the next year, and Queen Elizabeth a state coach eight years later from the same maker. That splendid association–“The Company of Coach and Harness Makers,” was founded by Charles II. in May, 1667. [Illustration: English Coach, 1747.] Venomous diatribes were set in print against coaches, as is usual with all innovations, useful and otherwise. Of them the assertions of Taylor the “Water Poet” are good examples. He said that coaches dammed the streets, and aided purse-cutting; that butchers could not pass with their cattle;…

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Excerpt #8, from Kidnapped, by Robert Louis Stevenson

…in his hands flashed like quicksilver into the huddle of our fleeing enemies; and at every flash there came the scream of a man hurt. I was still thinking we were lost, when lo! they were all gone, and Alan was driving them along the deck as a sheep-dog chases sheep. Yet he was no sooner out than he was back again, being as cautious as he was brave; and meanwhile the seamen continued running and crying out as if he was still behind them; and we heard them tumble one upon another into the forecastle, and clap-to the hatch upon the top. The round-house was like a shambles; three were dead inside, another lay in his death agony across the threshold; and there were Alan and I victorious and unhurt. He came up to me with open arms. “Come to my arms!” he cried, and embraced and kissed me hard upon both cheeks. “David,” said he, “I love you like a brother. And O, man,” he cried in a kind of ecstasy, “am I no a bonny fighter?” Thereupon he turned to the four enemies, passed his sword clean through each of them, and tumbled them out of doors one after the other. As he did so, he kept humming and singing and whistling to himself, like a man trying to recall an air; only what HE was trying was to make one. All the while, the flush was in his face, and his eyes were as bright as a five-year-old child’s with a new toy. And presently he sat down upon the…

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Excerpt #9, from The Scarlet Pimpernel, by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

…for his sake; but I might be powerless, for I might arrive too late, and nothing would be left for you but lifelong remorse, and . . . and . . . for me, a broken heart.” “But, Lady Blakeney,” said the young man, touched by the gentle earnestness of this exquisitely beautiful woman, “do you know that what you propose doing is man’s work?—you cannot possibly journey to Calais alone. You would be running the greatest possible risks to yourself, and your chances of finding your husband now—were I to direct you ever so carefully—are infinitely remote.” “Oh, I hope there are risks!” she murmured softly. “I hope there are dangers, too!—I have so much to atone for. But I fear you are mistaken. Chauvelin’s eyes are fixed upon you all, he will scarce notice me. Quick, Sir Andrew!—the coach is ready, and there is not a moment to be lost. . . . I must get to him! I must!” she repeated with almost savage energy, “to warn him that that man is on his track. . . . Can’t you see—can’t you see, that I must get to him . . . even . . . even if it be too late to save him . . . at least . . . to be by his side . . . at the last.” “Faith, Madame, you must command me. Gladly would I or any of my comrades lay down our lives for your husband. If you will go yourself . . .”…

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Excerpt #10, from The Principles of Biology, Volume 1 (of 2), by Herbert Spencer

…in parents. Proof of this is given by the fact that, among progeny of the same parents, there is more difference between those begotten under different constitutional states than between those begotten under the same constitutional state. It is notorious that twins are more nearly alike than children borne in succession. The functional conditions of the parents being the same for twins, but not the same for their brothers and sisters (all other antecedents being constant), we have no choice but to admit that variations in the functional conditions of the parents, are the antecedents of those greater unlikenesses which their brothers and sisters exhibit. Some other antecedent remains, however. The parents being the same, and their constitutional states the same, variation, more or less marked, still manifests itself. Plants grown from seeds out of one pod, or animals produced at one birth, are not alike. Sometimes they differ considerably. In a litter of pigs or of kittens, we rarely see uniformity of markings; and occasionally there are important structural contrasts. I have myself recently been shown a litter of Newfoundland puppies, some of which had four digits to their feet, while in others there was present, on each hind-foot, what is called the “dew-claw”–a rudimentary fifth digit. Thus, induction points to three causes of variation, all in action together. We have heterogeneity among progenitors, which, did it act uniformly and alone in generating, by composition of forces, new…

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Excerpt #11, from A Study in Scarlet, by Arthur Conan Doyle

…these accomplishments, and discovering a calling which needs them all,” I said to myself, “I may as well give up the attempt at once.” I see that I have alluded above to his powers upon the violin. These were very remarkable, but as eccentric as all his other accomplishments. That he could play pieces, and difficult pieces, I knew well, because at my request he has played me some of Mendelssohn’s Lieder, and other favourites. When left to himself, however, he would seldom produce any music or attempt any recognized air. Leaning back in his arm-chair of an evening, he would close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle which was thrown across his knee. Sometimes the chords were sonorous and melancholy. Occasionally they were fantastic and cheerful. Clearly they reflected the thoughts which possessed him, but whether the music aided those thoughts, or whether the playing was simply the result of a whim or fancy was more than I could determine. I might have rebelled against these exasperating solos had it not been that he usually terminated them by playing in quick succession a whole series of my favourite airs as a slight compensation for the trial upon my patience. During the first week or so we had no callers, and I had begun to think that my companion was as friendless a man as I was myself. Presently, however, I found that he had many acquaintances, and those in the most different classes of society. There was one little sallow rat-faced,…

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Excerpt #12, from Peter Pan, by J. M. Barrie

…He regretted now that he had given the birds of the island such strange names that they are very wild and difficult of approach. There was no other course but to press forward in redskin fashion, at which happily he was an adept. But in what direction, for he could not be sure that the children had been taken to the ship? A light fall of snow had obliterated all footmarks; and a deathly silence pervaded the island, as if for a space Nature stood still in horror of the recent carnage. He had taught the children something of the forest lore that he had himself learned from Tiger Lily and Tinker Bell, and knew that in their dire hour they were not likely to forget it. Slightly, if he had an opportunity, would blaze the trees, for instance, Curly would drop seeds, and Wendy would leave her handkerchief at some important place. The morning was needed to search for such guidance, and he could not wait. The upper world had called him, but would give no help. The crocodile passed him, but not another living thing, not a sound, not a movement; and yet he knew well that sudden death might be at the next tree, or stalking him from behind. He swore this terrible oath: “Hook or me this time.” Now he crawled forward like a snake, and again erect, he darted across a space on which the moonlight played, one finger on his lip and his dagger at the ready. He was frightfully happy….

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