Quick Excerpts, from a Library of 492 Titles

Generated 2022-07-28 13:25:58

Excerpt #1, from Right Ho, Jeeves, by P. G. Wodehouse

…It has been well said of Bertram Wooster that, while no one views his flesh and blood with a keener and more remorselessly critical eye, he is nevertheless a man who delights in giving credit where credit is due. And if you have followed these memoirs of mine with the proper care, you will be aware that I have frequently had occasion to emphasise the fact that Aunt Dahlia is all right. She is the one, if you remember, who married old Tom Travers en secondes noces, as I believe the expression is, the year Bluebottle won the Cambridgeshire, and once induced me to write an article on What the Well-Dressed Man is Wearing for that paper she runs–Milady’s Boudoir. She is a large, genial soul, with whom it is a pleasure to hob-nob. In her spiritual make-up there is none of that subtle gosh-awfulness which renders such an exhibit as, say, my Aunt Agatha the curse of the Home Counties and a menace to one and all. I have the highest esteem for Aunt Dahlia, and have never wavered in my cordial appreciation of her humanity, sporting qualities and general good-eggishness. This being so, you may conceive of my astonishment at finding her at my bedside at such an hour. I mean to say, I’ve stayed at her place many a time and oft, and she knows my habits. She is well aware that until I have had my cup of tea in the morning, I do not receive. This crashing in at a moment when she knew that solitude and repose were of the essence…

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Excerpt #2, from Condemned as a Nihilist: A Story of Escape from Siberia, by G. A. Henty

…police, but as little is said as possible. It is, of course, a mere rumour that a plot was discovered at the Opera-house. Probably there were an unusual number of police at all the entrances, and a very little thing gives rise to talk and conjecture. People think that the police would not have been there had they not had suspicion that something or other was going to take place, and as everything in our days is put down to the Nihilists, it was naturally reported that the police had discovered some plot; and as two of the grand-dukes were there, people made sure it was in some way connected with them. "As nothing came of it, and no one was, as far as was known, arrested, it would be supposed that the culprit, whoever he was, managed to evade the police. Such rumours as these are of very common occurrence, and it is quite possible that there is not much more truth in them this time than there is generally; however, of one thing you may be sure, the police are not fonder than other people of being outwitted, and whether the man for whom they were in search was a Nihilist or a criminal of some other sort you certainly aided him to escape. You are sure to be watched for some time, and it will be known to the police in a very few hours if you repeat this story to your acquaintances; if they find you keep silence about it, they will give you credit for discretion, while it would certainly do you a good deal of harm, and might even now lead…

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Excerpt #3, from Robot nemesis, by E. E. Smith

…generators fairly smoked and that the refractory throats of their projectors glared radiantly violet and began slowly, stubbornly to volatilize–raved out in all their pyrotechnically incandescent might, striving prodigiously to crush by their sheer power the shielding screens of the vessel of the automatons. Nor was the vibratory offensive alone. Every gun, primary or auxiliary, that could be pointed at the Dresden was vomiting smoke- and flame-enshrouded steel as fast as automatic loaders could serve it, and under that continuous, appallingly silent concussion the giant frame of the flagship shuddered and trembled in every plate and member. And from every launching-tube there were streaming the deadliest missiles known to science; radio-dirigible torpedoes which, looping in vast circles to attain the highest possible measure of momentum, crashed against the Dresden’s meteorite deflectors in Herculean efforts to break them down; and, in failing to do so, exploded and filled all space with raging flame and with flying fragments of metal. Captain Malcolm was burning his stores of fuel and munitions at an appalling rate, careless alike of exhaustion of reserves and of service-life of equipment. All his generators were running at a shockingly ruinous overload, his every projector was being used so mercilessly that not even their powerful refrigerators, radiating the…

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Excerpt #4, from English Literature, by William J. Long

…pleasure consists in two things, catching birds and throwing snowballs, and begs for the weather to be such that he can always do both. Jupiter decides that he will do just as he pleases about the weather, and everybody goes home satisfied. All these early plays were written, for the most part, in a mingling of prose and wretched doggerel, and add nothing to our literature. Their great work was to train actors, to keep alive the dramatic spirit, and to prepare the way for the true drama. 3. THE ARTISTIC PERIOD OF THE DRAMA. The artistic is the final stage in the development of the English drama. It differs radically from the other two in that its chief purpose is not to point a moral but to represent human life as it is. The artistic drama may have purpose, no less than the Miracle play, but the motive is always subordinate to the chief end of representing life itself. The first true play in English, with a regular plot, divided into acts and scenes, is probably the comedy, “Ralph Royster Doyster.” It was written by Nicholas Udall, master of Eton, and later of Westminster school, and was first acted by his schoolboys some time before 1556. The story is that of a conceited fop in love with a widow, who is already engaged to another man. The play is an adaptation of the Miles Gloriosus, a classic comedy by Plautus, and the English characters are more or less artificial; but as…

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Excerpt #5, from Anne of Green Gables, by L. M. Montgomery

…and rimmed in by great palm-like clumps of water fern; and beyond it was a log bridge over the brook. That bridge led Anne’s dancing feet up over a wooded hill beyond, where perpetual twilight reigned under the straight, thick-growing firs and spruces; the only flowers there were myriads of delicate “June bells,” those shyest and sweetest of woodland blooms, and a few pale, aerial starflowers, like the spirits of last year’s blossoms. Gossamers glimmered like threads of silver among the trees and the fir boughs and tassels seemed to utter friendly speech. All these raptured voyages of exploration were made in the odd half hours which she was allowed for play, and Anne talked Matthew and Marilla half-deaf over her discoveries. Not that Matthew complained, to be sure; he listened to it all with a wordless smile of enjoyment on his face; Marilla permitted the “chatter” until she found herself becoming too interested in it, whereupon she always promptly quenched Anne by a curt command to hold her tongue. Anne was out in the orchard when Mrs. Rachel came, wandering at her own sweet will through the lush, tremulous grasses splashed with ruddy evening sunshine; so that good lady had an excellent chance to talk her illness fully over, describing every ache and pulse beat with such evident enjoyment that Marilla thought even grippe must bring its…

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Excerpt #6, from An Outcast of the Islands, by Joseph Conrad

…gesture, of action, of any outward manifestation of life; those are lost in the unearthly brilliance or in the unearthly gloom of such moments. We are absorbed in the contemplation of that something, within our bodies, which rejoices or suffers while the body goes on breathing, instinctively runs away or, not less instinctively, fights–perhaps dies. But death in such a moment is the privilege of the fortunate, it is a high and rare favour, a supreme grace. Willems never remembered how and when he parted from Aissa. He caught himself drinking the muddy water out of the hollow of his hand, while his canoe was drifting in mid-stream past the last houses of Sambir. With his returning wits came the fear of something unknown that had taken possession of his heart, of something inarticulate and masterful which could not speak and would be obeyed. His first impulse was that of revolt. He would never go back there. Never! He looked round slowly at the brilliance of things in the deadly sunshine and took up his paddle! How changed everything seemed! The river was broader, the sky was higher. How fast the canoe flew under the strokes of his paddle! Since when had he acquired the strength of two men or more? He looked up and down the reach at the forests of the bank with a confused notion that with one sweep of his hand he could tumble all these trees into the stream. His face felt burning. He drank again, and shuddered with a…

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Excerpt #7, from Aeroplanes and Dirigibles of War, by Frederick Arthur Ambrose Talbot

…weight consistent with the maximum of strength policy is carried out. Moreover the manufacture of component parts is facilitated and accelerated to a remarkable degree by the use of metal, while the tasks of fitting and repairing are notably expedited by the practice of standardisation. Germany is also manifesting commendable enterprise in the perfection of light powerful motors for these dynamic machines. The latest types of explosion-motors range from 100 to 150 horse-power; the advantages of these are obvious. Upon the outbreak of hostilities the French possessed an enormous number and variety of aeroplanes and this aerial fleet had been brought to a high standard of organisation. The aerial fleet is sub-divided into squadrons called “escadrilles,” each of which comprises six machines and pilots. These units are kept up to strength, wastage being made up from reserves, so as to maintain the requisite homogeneity. But ere the war had been in progress many weeks an official order was issued forbidding the employment of the Bleriot, Deperdussin, Nieuport, and R.E.P. monoplanes. Those which received official approval included the Caudron, Henry, and Maurice Farman, Morane-Saulnier, and Voisin machines. This drastic order came somewhat as a thunderbolt, and the reason for the decree has not been satisfactorily revealed. Suffice to say that in…

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Excerpt #8, from Thrilling Narratives of Mutiny, Murder and Piracy, by Anonymous

…had a dead calm.–We endeavored to row, but our strength was exhausted. A fourth and last distribution was made, and in the twinkling of an eye, our last resources were consumed. We were forty-two people who had to feed upon six biscuits and about four pints of water, with no hope of a farther supply. Then came the moment for deciding whether we were to perish among the breakers, which defended the approach to the shores of the Desert, or to die of famine in continuing our route.–The majority preferred the last species of misery. We continued our progress along the shore, painfully pulling our oars. Upon the beach were distinguished several downs of white sand and some small trees. We were thus creeping along the coast, observing a mournful silence, when a sailor suddenly exclaimed, behold the Moors! We did, in fact, see various individuals upon the rising ground, walking at a quick pace, and whom we took to be the Arabs of the Desert. As we were very near the shore, we stood farther out to sea, fearing that these pretended Moors, or Arabs, would throw themselves into the sea, swim out, and take us. Some hours after, we observed several people upon an eminence, who seemed to make signals for us. We examined them attentively, and soon recognized them to be our companions in misfortune. We replied to them by attaching a white…

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Excerpt #9, from The Murder on the Links, by Agatha Christie

…in a position to blackmail Georges Conneau?” “Yes, but—” “And did she not very effectively blackmail M. Renauld?” “That may be true enough, but—” “And is it not a fact that we know nothing of M. Renauld’s youth and upbringing? That he springs suddenly into existence as a French Canadian exactly twenty-two years ago?” “All that is so,” I said more firmly, “but you seem to me to be overlooking one salient point.” “What is it, my friend?” “Why, we have admitted Georges Conneau planned the crime. That brings us to the ridiculous statement that he planned his own murder!” “Eh bien, mon ami__,” said Poirot placidly, “that is just what he did do!” 21 Hercule Poirot on the Case! In a measured voice, Poirot began his exposition. “It seems strange to you, mon ami__, that a man should plan his own death? So strange, that you prefer to reject the truth as fantastic, and to revert to a story that is in reality ten times more impossible. Yes, M. Renauld planned his own death, but there is one detail that perhaps escapes you—he did not intend to die.”…

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Excerpt #10, from A Breeze from the Woods, 2nd Ed., by W. C. Bartlett

…Some years ago, a pair of linnets having made their nest in the porch of another house, everything went well until the young had just appeared; then the mother disappeared one night, and the displaced vines in the morning told the whole story. Four orphan birds appealed to the sympathies of the young folk. The nest was taken into the house, the birds carefully covered with cotton, and every effort was made to save them. They would eat nothing, and, as a last resort, the nest was replaced in the vines. The father came back soon, talked with his children, brooded them, fed them day after day, brought them up to maturity, and turned out as prosperous a family of young linnets as there was in that neighborhood. Mr. Linnet can have the most positive certificate of rare domestic virtues. There is the slight drawback that he paints, does all the singing, and is rather vain; while Mrs. Linnet is a plain, unassuming bird, always clad in gray, and is not up in music. All through the realm of ornithology the male bird has the brightest colors and does the singing. But analogy is all at fault when you come to men and women. Who puts on all the bright colors here, paints, and carols upon the topmost bough of the domestic tree? By what law has this order been reversed? And yet the sum of your political economy is, that a woman who can dress more, use pigments more cunningly, and talk faster, and sing better than a man, shall not vote!…

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Excerpt #11, from Masters of the vortex, by E. E. Smith

…and so on. . . . The gangsters thought that they were being very smart and cagey in using numbers instead of names, but neither had any idea of the power of a really good telepathic mind, or of that of a really good linguist. Each of those numbers meant something to either or to both of those men, and whatever it was—a name, a picture, a storefront or address, or a fleeting glimpse of personality pattern—Nadine seized and transmitted, either in shorthand or by force of mind, or both; and Vesta taped, in machine-gun-fast Spanish, every written word and every nuance of thought. The list was long. At its end: “Three more didn’t pay up, huh? The same ones holding out as last time, and three more besides, huh?” This was Number One, thinking deeply. “I don’t like it. . . . Ninety Two, huh? I don’t like it a bit—or him, either. I’ll have to do something about him.” “Yeah. Ninety Two. The others all give the same old tear-jerker that they didn’t have it, that our assessments were too stiff for their take, and so on, but Ninety Two didn’t, this time. He simply blew his top. He was hotter than the business end of a blow-torch.” Not much to Cloud’s surprise, Nadine at this point poured into his mind the picture of excessively angry Jim. “Not only he didn’t fork over, he told me to tell…

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Excerpt #12, from Latin for Beginners, by Benjamin L. D’Ooge

…(b) «Perseus terram trīstitiā līberat» Perseus frees the land from sorrow (figurative separation–no actual motion is expressed) «181.» RULE. «Ablative of the Personal Agent.» The word expressing the person from whom an action starts, when not the subject, is put in the ablative with the preposition «ā» or «ab.» a. In this construction the English translation of «ā», «ab» is by rather than from. This ablative is regularly used with passive verbs to indicate the person by whom the act was performed. «Mōnstrum ā Perseō necātur», the monster is being slain by (lit. from) Perseus b. Note that the active form of the above sentence would be «Perseus monstrum necat», Perseus is slaying the monster. In the passive the object of the active verb becomes the subject, and the subject of the active verb becomes the ablative of the personal agent, with «ā» or «ab». c. Distinguish carefully between the ablative of means and the ablative of the personal agent. Both are often translated into English by the preposition by. (Cf. §100. b.) Means is a «thing»; the agent or actor is a «person». The ablative of means…

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