Quick Excerpts, from a Library of 492 Titles

Generated 2022-07-28 13:25:40

Excerpt #1, from Behind the Beyond, and Other Contributions to Human Knowledge, by Stephen Leacock

…things at once. The people who are not used to third acts are wondering what it is all about. The real playgoers know that this is atmosphere. Then presently—- “Tea?” says Mrs. Harding, “shall I ring?” “Pray do,” says Sir John. He seats himself with great weariness. The full melancholy of the third act is on him. The tea which has been made for three acts is brought in. They drink it and it begins to go to their heads. The “atmosphere” clears off just a little. “You have news, I know,” says Mrs. Harding, “you have seen him?” “I have seen him.” “And he is gone?” “Yes, he has sailed,” says Sir John. “He went on board last night, only a few hours after my return to London. I saw him off. Poor Jack. Gatherson has been most kind. They will take him into the embassy at Lima. There, please God, he can begin life again. The Peruvian Ambassador has promised to do all in his power.” Sir John sighs deeply and is silent. This to let the fact soak into the audience that Jack has gone to Peru. Any reasonable person would have known it. Where else could he go to? “He will do well in Peru,” says Mrs. Harding. She is imitating a woman being very brave….

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Excerpt #2, from Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog), by Jerome K. Jerome

…ask the cat to find anything as expect you people to find it.” And, when half an hour had been spent in tying up his finger, and a new glass had been got, and the tools, and the ladder, and the chair, and the candle had been brought, he would have another go, the whole family, including the girl and the charwoman, standing round in a semi-circle, ready to help. Two people would have to hold the chair, and a third would help him up on it, and hold him there, and a fourth would hand him a nail, and a fifth would pass him up the hammer, and he would take hold of the nail, and drop it. “There!” he would say, in an injured tone, “now the nail’s gone.” And we would all have to go down on our knees and grovel for it, while he would stand on the chair, and grunt, and want to know if he was to be kept there all the evening. The nail would be found at last, but by that time he would have lost the hammer. “Where’s the hammer? What did I do with the hammer? Great heavens! Seven of you, gaping round there, and you don’t know what I did with the hammer!” We would find the hammer for him, and then he would have lost sight of the mark he had made on the wall, where the nail was to go in, and each of us had to get up on the chair, beside him, and see if we could find…

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Excerpt #3, from My Reminiscences, by Rabindranath Tagore

…in a way which seemed to give the approaching evening a specially wonderful attractiveness for me. Even the walls of the adjoining house seemed to grow beautiful. Is this uplifting of the cover of triviality from the everyday world, I wondered, due to some magic in the evening light? Never! I could see at once that it was the effect of the evening which had come within me; its shades had obliterated my self. While the self was rampant during the glare of day, everything I perceived was mingled with and hidden by it. Now, that the self was put into the background, I could see the world in its own true aspect. And that aspect has nothing of triviality in it, it is full of beauty and joy. Since this experience I tried the effect of deliberately suppressing my self and viewing the world as a mere spectator, and was invariably rewarded with a sense of special pleasure. I remember I tried also to explain to a relative how to see the world in its true light, and the incidental lightening of one’s own sense of burden which follows such vision; but, as I believe, with no success. Then I gained a further insight which has lasted all my life. The end of Sudder Street, and the trees on the Free School grounds opposite, were visible from our Sudder Street house. One morning I happened to be standing on the verandah looking that way. The sun was…

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Excerpt #4, from Ancient, Curious, and Famous Wills, by Virgil M. Harris

…nephew Richard Hastings, then or lately living with his sister Anna Hastings, the sum of two thousand dollars each. “Third. I give to my friend Richard Watson Gilder, the watch given to me in 1893 by the said Gilder and E. C. Benedict and J. J. Sinclair–and also the chain attached to the same when last worn by me.” “Fifth. I give to Frank S. Hastings, my good friend and Executor of this will, as the most personal memento I can leave to him, the seal ring I have worn for many years, which was given to me by my dear wife, and with whose hearty concurrence this gift is made.” To his two daughters Esther and Marion, and his two sons, Richard F. and Francis G., he bequeaths the sum of two thousand dollars each, to be paid to them respectively as they each arrive at the age of twenty-one years, and until these legacies are paid, or shall lapse, they shall be kept invested, and the income derived therefrom shall be paid to his wife, and the aggregate of said income, shall be applied by her to the support, maintenance and education of the said children in such manner and in such proportions as she shall deem best, without any liability to any of said children on account thereof. If any of the said daughters, shall before her legacy becomes payable, cease for any reason to reside with her mother, then and from that time, the income arising from the investment of her legacy, shall be paid to said daughter. In case any of…

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Excerpt #5, from Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, by William Shakespeare

…HAMLET. O wonderful son, that can so stonish a mother! But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother’s admiration? ROSENCRANTZ. She desires to speak with you in her closet ere you go to bed. HAMLET. We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you any further trade with us? ROSENCRANTZ. My lord, you once did love me. HAMLET. And so I do still, by these pickers and stealers. ROSENCRANTZ. Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper? You do surely bar the door upon your own liberty if you deny your griefs to your friend. HAMLET. Sir, I lack advancement. ROSENCRANTZ. How can that be, when you have the voice of the King himself for your succession in Denmark? HAMLET. Ay, sir, but while the grass grows—the proverb is something musty. Re-enter the Players with recorders. O, the recorders. Let me see one.—To withdraw with you, why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil? GUILDENSTERN. O my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly….

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Excerpt #6, from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, by Washington Irving

…a hammer; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burs; one eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral, but the other had the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still he must have had fire and mettle in his day, if we may judge from the name he bore of Gunpowder. He had, in fact, been a favorite steed of his master’s, the choleric Van Ripper, who was a furious rider, and had infused, very probably, some of his own spirit into the animal; for, old and broken-down as he looked, there was more of the lurking devil in him than in any young filly in the country. Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. He rode with short stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to the pommel of the saddle; his sharp elbows stuck out like grasshoppers’; he carried his whip perpendicularly in his hand, like a sceptre, and as his horse jogged on, the motion of his arms was not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings. A small wool hat rested on the top of his nose, for so his scanty strip of forehead might be called, and the skirts of his black coat fluttered out almost to the horses tail. Such was the appearance of Ichabod and his steed as they shambled out of the gate of Hans Van Ripper, and it was altogether such an apparition as is seldom to be met with in broad daylight. It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day; the sky was clear and…

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Excerpt #7, from Nick Carter Stories No. 143, June 5, 1915: The sultan’s pearls; or, Nick

…There is a time for everything, and the secret of success in life lies in doing things at just the right minute. A veterinary surgeon had occasion to instruct a colored stableman how to administer medicine to an ailing horse. He was to get a common tin tube–a bean blower–put a dose of the medicine in it, insert one end of the tube into the horse’s mouth, and blow vigorously into the other end, and so force the medicine down the horse’s throat. Half an hour afterward, the colored man appeared at the surgeon’s office, looking very much out of sorts. “What is the matter?” inquired the doctor, with some concern. “Why, boss, dat hoss, he–he blew fust!” THE NEWS OF ALL NATIONS. Story of “Scotty” Hero of Zinc Fields. Picture a man who has been badly bent at times–aye, even broke unto the last jitney–one who has tasted the bitter things of life along with the sweet, one who has seen a fortune swept away in a twinkling, only to be regained after a long, persistent struggle. Picture a good loser, who has lost more than most men will ever earn, and who pins his faith in the mining industry to such an extent that he laughs at failure and hangs on like a bulldog until he succeeds, and you have a mind’s-eye view of J. M. Short, the best known operator in the mining…

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Excerpt #8, from Curiosities of Human Nature, by Samuel G. Goodrich

…time, he became the object of dread to the Indians, by his bravery and resources. Many of the colonists died of hunger and disease; many were dispirited; and at last, in despair, they turned to our adventurer as their only hope in this hour of need. Like all generous spirits, he forgot his injuries, and set himself to work to remedy the evils that beset them. By his ingenuity and daring, he obtained from the Indians liberal supplies of corn, venison, and wild fowl, and, under the influence of good cheer, the colonists became, comparatively, happy. But a new and unforeseen calamity awaited our hero. Having penetrated into the country, with but few followers, he was beset by a large party of Indians, and, after a brave resistance, was taken prisoner. But the spirit and presence of mind of this remarkable man did not forsake him in this alarming crisis. He did not ask for life, for this would, probably, have hastened his death; but requesting that he might see the Indian chief, he at the same time drew from his pocket a compass, and directed attention to it, partly by signs and partly by words which he had learned. The curious instrument amused and surprised his savage captors, and averted, for a time, the fate that awaited him. They soon, however, tied him to a tree, and prepared to shoot him with their arrows. Changing their plans suddenly, they led him in a procession to a village, where they confined him and fed him so…

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Excerpt #9, from A Few Practical Suggestions, by Logan Pearsall Smith and Society for Pure English

…appeared, that is, with moral in the same type as the rest, and they are enough to suggest how easy it is for real doubts to arise about which word is being used–‘An astounding increase in the moral discipline and patriotism of German soldiers.’ Has, or has not, a comma dropped out after moral? ‘It is, indeed, a new proof of the failing moral and internal troubles of the German people.’ Moral and internal? or moral and troubles? ‘A true arbitrator, a man really impartial between two contendants and even indifferent to their opposing morals.’ ‘The Russian army will recover its moral and fighting power.’ ‘The need of Poland, not only for moral, but for the material support of the Allies.’ H. W. FOWLER." * * * * * ‘SPELLING PRONUNCIATIONS’ Many writers on English pronunciation are accustomed to pour undiscriminating censure on the growing practice of substituting for the traditional mode of pronouncing certain words an ‘artificial’ pronunciation which is an interpretation of the written form of the words in accordance with the general rules relating to the ‘powers’ of the letters. This practice is especially common among imperfectly educated people who are ambitious of speaking correctly, and have unfortunately no better standard of ‘correctness’ than that of conformity with the…

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Excerpt #10, from Not that it Matters, by A. A. Milne

…a wasp gun indicates a lack of silver spoons suitable for lethal uses. Perhaps it shows too careful a consideration of the marmalade. A man of money drowns his wasp in the jar with his spoon, and carelessly calls for another pot to be opened. The poor man waits on the outskirts with his gun, and the marmalade, void of corpses, can still be passed round. Your gun proclaims your poverty; then let it be avoided. All the same I think I shall have one. I have kept clear of hat- guards and Richards and made-up ties without quite knowing why, but honestly I have not felt the loss of them. The wasp gun is different; having seen it, I feel that I should be miserable without it. It is going to be excellent sport, wasp-shooting; a steady hand, a good eye, and a certain amount of courage will be called for. When the season opens I shall be there, good form or bad form. We shall shoot the apple-quince coverts first. “Hornet over!” A Slice of Fiction This is a jolly world, and delightful things go on in it. For instance, I had a picture post card only yesterday from William Benson, who is staying at Ilfracombe. He wrote to say that he had gone down to Ilfracombe for a short holiday, and had been much…

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Excerpt #11, from The call of Cthulhu, by H. P. Lovecraft

…possess it. On November 1st, 1907, there had come to New Orleans police a frantic summons from the swamp and lagoon country to the south. The squatters there, mostly primitive but good-natured descendants of Lafitte’s men, were in the grip of stark terror from an unknown thing which had stolen upon them in the night. It was voodoo, apparently, but voodoo of a more terrible sort than they had ever known; and some of their women and children had disappeared since the malevolent tom-tom had begun its incessant beating far within the black haunted woods where no dweller ventured. There were insane shouts and harrowing screams, soul-chilling chants and dancing devil-flames; and, the frightened messenger added, the people could stand it no more. So a body of twenty police, filling two carriages and an automobile, had set out in the late afternoon with the shivering squatter as a guide. At the end of the passable road they alighted, and for miles splashed on in silence through the terrible cypress woods where day never came. Ugly roots and malignant hanging nooses of Spanish moss beset them, and now and then a pile of dank stones or fragments of a rotting wall intensified by its hint of morbid habitation a depression which every malformed tree and every fungous islet combined to create. At length the squatter settlement, a miserable huddle of huts, hove in…

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Excerpt #12, from The Talking Horse, and Other Tales, by F. Anstey

…punishment was sufficient already, for, of course, I guessed that she had only accepted the Colonel under the first intolerable sting of desertion. No: I reserved all my wrath for Brutus, who had betrayed me at the moment of triumph. I planned revenge. Cost what it might I would ride him once more. In the eyes of the law I was his master. I would exercise my legal rights to the full. The afternoon came at last. I was in a white heat of anger, though as I ascended to the saddle there were bystanders who put a more uncharitable construction upon my complexion. Brutus cast an uneasy eye at my heels as we started: ‘What are those things you’ve got on?’ he inquired. ‘Spurs,’ I replied curtly. ‘You shouldn’t wear them till you have learnt to turn your toes in,’ he said. ‘And a whip, too! May I ask what that is for?’ ‘We will discuss that presently,’ I said very coldly; for I did not want to have a scene with my horse in the street. When we came round by the statue of Achilles and on to the Ride, I shortened my reins, and got a better hold of the whip, while I found that, from some cause I cannot explain, the roof of my mouth grew uncomfortably dry. ’I should be glad of a little quiet talk with you, if you’ve no…

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