Quick Excerpts, from a Library of 492 Titles

Generated 2022-07-28 13:26:00

Excerpt #1, from The Satyricon — Complete, by Petronius Arbiter

…calling for a bowl of wine, Dama spoke up, “A day’s nothing at all: it’s night before you can turn around, so you can’t do better than to go right to the dining-room from your bed. It’s been so cold that I can hardly get warm in a bath, but a hot drink’s as good as an overcoat: I’ve had some long pegs, and between you and me, I’m a bit groggy; the booze has gone to my head.” CHAPTER THE FORTY-SECOND. Here Seleucus took up the tale. “I don’t bathe every day,” he confided, “a bath uses you up like a fuller: water’s got teeth and your strength wastes away a little every day; but when I’ve downed a pot of mead, I tell the cold to suck my cock! I couldn’t bathe today anyway, because I was at a funeral; dandy fellow, he was too, good old Chrysanthus slipped his wind! Why, only the other day he said good morning’ to me, and I almost think I’m talking to him now! Gawd’s truth, we’re only blown-up bladders strutting around, we’re less than flies, for they have some good in them, but we’re only bubbles. And supposing he had not kept to such a low diet! Why, not a drop of water or a crumb of bread so much as passed his lips for five days; and yet he joined the majority! Too many doctors did away with him, or rather, his time had come, for a doctor’s not good for anything except for a consolation to your mind! He was well carried out, anyhow, in the very bed he slept in during his lifetime. And he was…

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Excerpt #2, from The British Navy Book, by Cyril Field

…armed the decks of the Great Michael, but you will find more about these and other old-fashioned cannon in another chapter. As soon as she was afloat the King had her fired at to test the resistance of her tremendously thick sides, but, says our old writer, “the cannon deired hir not”; that is to say, could not penetrate her. This is the oldest experiment of the kind of which we have any record. But the most remarkable thing about the Great Michael–at least to my mind–is her size. According to the old account from which I have quoted, which, by the way, was written by one Robert Lindsay of Pitscottie, she must have had almost the exact dimensions of the Duke of Wellington, one of the last and finest of our steam three-deckers. Now I have a perfect idea of her size, because I had the honour of serving on board her for a couple of years. She was in the “sere and yellow leaf” then, her masts had gone, her engines had disappeared, and she had a roof which made her look much more like Noah’s Ark than a battleship, but I can remember her in all her glory when she carried the flag of the commander-in-chief at Portsmouth. I was only a boy then, but I recollect that her appearance was fine in the extreme. In reckoning the beam of the Great Michael we must remember to add 20 feet for the thickness of her sides, since Pitscottie only gives us her internal width. Having done this, I will put down the dimensions of the two ships for comparison–…

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Excerpt #3, from The Topaz Story Book: Stories and Legends of Autumn, Hallowe’en, and

…in the world. The cows would not eat them, the children would not pick them, and even the bugs did not seem to like them very well. “I don’t see what we’re here for,” said one of the weeds. “We are not any good.” “No good at all,” growled a dozen little weeds, “only to catch dust.” “Well, if that’s what we’re here for,” cried a very tall weed, “then I say let’s catch dust! I suppose somebody’s got to do it. We can’t all bear blueberries or blossom into hollyhocks.” “But it isn’t pleasant work at all,” whined a tiny bit of a weed. “No whining allowed in this field,” laughed a funny little fat weed, with a hump in his stalk. “We’re all going to catch dust, so let’s see which one can catch the most. What do you say to a race?” The little fat weed spoke in such a jolly voice that the weeds all cheered up at once, and before long they were as busy as bees, and as happy as Johnnie-jump-ups. They worked so well stretching their stalks and spreading out their fingers that before the summer was half over they were able to take every bit of dust that flew up from the road. In the field beyond, where the clover grew and the cows fed, there was not any to be seen. One morning, toward the end of summer, the weeds were surprised to see a number of people standing by the fence looking at them. Pretty…

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Excerpt #4, from Adventures of Bindle, by Herbert George Jenkins

…stewed-steak-an’-onions," and he drew his pipe from his pocket and began to charge it. “Don’t start smoking,” snapped Mrs. Bindle, rising from the chair and going over to the stove. Bindle looked up with interested enquiry on his features. “There’s an apple-pudding,” continued Mrs. Bindle. Bindle pocketed his pipe with a happy expression on his features. “Lizzie,” he said, "‘ow could you treat me like this?" “What’s the matter now?” demanded Mrs. Bindle. "An apple-puddin’ a-waitin’ to be eaten, an’ you lettin’ me waste time a-talkin’ about ‘Earty’s looks. It ain’t kind of you, Lizzie, it ain’t really." Mrs. Bindle’s sole response was a series of bangs, as she proceeded to turn out the apple-pudding. Bindle ate and ate generously. When he had finished he pushed the plate from him and once more produced his pipe from his pocket. “Mrs. B.,” he said, “you may be a Christian; but you’re a damn fine cook.” “Don’t use such language to me,” was the response, uttered a little less ungraciously than her previous remarks. "It’s all right, Mrs. B., don’t you worry, they ain’t a-goin’ to…

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Excerpt #5, from The Pirates’ Who’s Who, by Philip Gosse

…returning to New Providence, the Governor attempted, but without success, to arrest Pain and his crew. Pain afterwards appeared in Rhode Island, and when the authorities tried to seize him and his ship, he got off by exhibiting an old commission to hunt for pirates given him a long while before by Sir Thomas Lynch. When the West Indies became too hot for him, Pain made the coast of Carolina his headquarters. PAINE, CAPTAIN PETER, alias LE PAIN. A French buccaneer. He brought into Port Royal in 1684 a merchant ship, La Trompeuse. Pretending to be the owner, he sold both ship and cargo, which brought about great trouble afterwards between the French and English Governments, because he had stolen the ship on the high seas. He was sent from Jamaica under arrest to France the same year, to answer for his crimes. PAINTER, PETER. This Carolina pirate retired and lived at Charleston. In August, 1710, he was recommended for the position of public powder-receiver, but was rejected by the Upper House. “Mr. Painter Having committed Piracy, and not having his Majesties Pardon for the same, Its resolved he is not fit for that Trust.” Which only goes to show how hard it was for a man to live down a thing like piracy. PARDAL, CAPTAIN MANUEL RIVERO. Known to the Jamaicans as “the vapouring admiral of St. Jago,” because in…

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Excerpt #6, from Sir Gawayne and the Green Knight, by Richard Morris

…XXX. [A] Thenne lachche3 ho hir leue, & leue3 hym þere, For more myrþe of þat mon mo3t ho not gete; 1872 [B] When ho[1] wat3 gon, sir G. gere3 hym sone, Rises, & riches hym in araye noble, [C] Lays vp þe luf-lace, þe lady hym ra3t, Hid hit ful holdely, þer he hit eft fonde; 1876 Syþen cheuely to þe chapel choses he þe waye, [D] Preuely aproched to a prest, & prayed hym þere Þat he wolde lyfte[2] his lyf, & lern hym better, How his sawle schulde be saued, when he schuld seye heþen. 1880 [E] Þere he schrof hym schyrly, & schewed his mysdede3, Of þe more & þe mynne, & merci beseche3, [F] & of absolucioun he on þe segge calles; & he asoyled hym surely, & sette hym so clene, 1884 [G] As dome3-day schulde haf ben di3t on þe morn. & syþen he mace hym as mery among þe fre ladyes, [H] With comlych caroles, & alle kynnes ioye, As neuer he did bot þat daye, to þe derk ny3t, 1888 with blys; Vche mon hade daynte þare,…

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Excerpt #7, from A United States Midshipman in Japan, by Yates Stirling

…Takishima’s face was as unconcerned as ever. I knew mine was red, for my ears burned. He appeared to notice nothing unusual. Sydney seemed to see that something was wrong and blurted out, ‘What’s wrong, Phil?’ and I mumbled something incoherently and felt myself becoming more confused and mortified than ever.” “Do you believe Takishima really took the letter?” Helen asked anxiously. Her face showed the sympathy she felt. “I’ve thought and thought,” Phil declared, “but I can’t make up my mind what I do think. It may not have fallen into Japanese hands at all, and if it has they will believe that I have broken my word in attempting to keep it and read it, and I had no such intentions. The seal was broken, so they will naturally believe that I am the guilty one.” Phil’s head was bowed in his hands. “I am so sorry,” Helen exclaimed compassionately. She realized that nothing could comfort him. “If I only knew what to do.” Phil’s tones were almost tearful. “If I were man enough, I’d go to Taki and tell him the whole story, but I am not. I haven’t the nerve to acknowledge that I didn’t play fair.” “You shall not run yourself down that way, Phil,” she insisted indignantly. His name escaped from her lips quite naturally, and to the lad it was a soothing balm. “I don’t care what you did, you were…

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Excerpt #8, from Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions, by Edwin Abbott Abbott

…_ / ____________/ A B At this period, square houses were still everywhere permitted, though discouraged by a special tax. But, about three centuries afterwards, the Law decided that in all towns containing a population above ten thousand, the angle of a Pentagon was the smallest house-angle that could be allowed consistently with the public safety. The good sense of the community has seconded the efforts of the Legislature; and now, even in the country, the pentagonal construction has superseded every other. It is only now and then in some very remote and backward agricultural district that an antiquarian may still discover a square house. Section 3. Concerning the Inhabitants of Flatland The greatest length or breadth of a full grown inhabitant of Flatland may be estimated at about eleven of your inches. Twelve inches may be regarded as a maximum. Our Women are Straight Lines. Our Soldiers and Lowest Classes of Workmen are Triangles with two equal sides, each about eleven inches long, and a base or third side so short (often not exceeding half an inch) that they form at their vertices a…

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Excerpt #9, from The Communist Manifesto, by Friedrich Engels and Karl Marx

…working class, is to raise the proletariat to the position of ruling as to win the battle of democracy. The proletariat will use its political supremacy to wrest, by degrees, all capital from the bourgeoisie, to centralise all instruments of production in the hands of the State, i.e., of the proletariat organised as the ruling class; and to increase the total of productive forces as rapidly as possible. Of course, in the beginning, this cannot be effected except by means of despotic inroads on the rights of property, and on the conditions of bourgeois production; by means of measures, therefore, which appear economically insufficient and untenable, but which, in the course of the movement, outstrip themselves, necessitate further inroads upon the old social order, and are unavoidable as a means of entirely revolutionising the mode of production. These measures will of course be different in different countries. Nevertheless in the most advanced countries, the following will be pretty generally applicable. 1. Abolition of property in land and application of all rents of land to public purposes. 2. A heavy progressive or graduated income tax. 3. Abolition of all right of inheritance….

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Excerpt #10, from History for ready reference, Volume 3 (of 6), Greece to Nibelungen, by J. N. Larned

…the citadels of Stenay and Jametz. … This treaty made little change in the condition of affairs. Charles continued to act in hostility to the Swedes, to assist Gaston [Duke of Orleans, the rebellious and troublesome brother of Louis XIII., who had married Margaret of Lorraine, the Duke’s sister], and in every way to violate the conditions of the treaty he had made. He seethed resolved to complete his own ruin, and he did not have to wait long for its accomplishment. In 1633 Louis a second time invaded Lorraine, and the Swedes, in return for the duke’s hostility to them, also entered the province. Charles’ forces were scattered and he was helpless, but he was as false as he was weak. He promised to surrender his sister Margaret, and he allowed her to escape. He sent his brother to make a treaty and then refused to ratify it. At last, he made the most disadvantageous treaty that was possible, and surrendered his capital, Nancy, the most strongly-fortified city of Lorraine, into Louis’ possession until all difficulties should be settled between the king and the duke, which, as Richelieu said, might take till eternity. In January, 1634, Charles pursued his eccentric career by granting all his rights in the duchy to his brother, the Cardinal of Lorraine. The new duke…

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Excerpt #11, from The Best British Short Stories of 1922, by Stacy Aumonier et al.

…“Don’t scurry,” he whispered, “or she’ll hear. I’m sorry for waking you, but I didn’t think you’d be asleep so soon.” “Why, what’s the time, then?” Seaton wore, what was then rather unusual, a night-suit, and he hauled his big silver watch out of the pocket in his jacket. “It’s a quarter to twelve. I never get to sleep before twelve–not here.” “What do you do, then?” “Oh, I read and listen.” “Listen?” Seaton stared into his candle-flame as if he were listening even then. “You can’t guess what it is. All you read in ghost stories, that’s all rot. You can’t see much, Withers, but you know all the same.” “Know what?” “Why, that they’re there.” “Who’s there?” I asked fretfully, glancing at the door. “Why, in the house. It swarms with ’em. Just you stand still and listen outside my bedroom door in the middle of the night. I have, dozens of times; they’re all over the place.” “Look here, Seaton,” I said, "you asked me to come here, and I didn’t mind chucking up a leave just to oblige you and because I’d promised;…

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Excerpt #12, 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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