Saturday, 4 April 2009

The Royal Society for the Preservation of Sub-Literature presents a Series of Fragements from Lost Novels

It is with great honour that I and my noble companion Professor. Samuel Horatio Bridgett of The Royal Society for the Preservation of Sub-Literature present the following: a series of extracts from the scant (often slightly burnt) remaining fragments of some notable novels that are, Alas, all but lost to world

The Textual Reconstruction was produced by my colleague Prof. Bridget while I performed the Restoration of the Illustrations shown.

Please note that no Illustrators were credited for the works presented as this would give them ideas above their station.

From Culp and Culpability by Fanny Door

“Why, Mr Footingwaite-Smythly,” responded Joanna coyly, “if only the performance of your rams could match that of your tongue, your flock would be the finest in all Buckinghamshire.”
“Madam, you do me a disservice,” said that gentleman, “and I will request you not to force me to go upside your head.”
“Sir, I beg you to attempt it, for it would give me no greater pleasure than to demonstrate how a man’s skull may fit quite admirably into a man’s rear.”
Before Footingwaite-Smythly could respond, the music came to an end and the dancers bowed and curtseyed to each other. Some did both, to be on the safe side.

From The Case of the Smugglers’ Booty by Iris Spiffing

“By jingo, they’re going into Hobson’s Cave!” cried Philip.
“We’ve got them now, there’s no way out but the way in!” crowed Alice.
“But I think one of them had a gun!” warned Rebecca. “I should think being shot in the head would be jolly unpleasant!”
“Pshaw, it’s easy to dodge a bullet!” pshawed Crispin. “Besides, I hear that being kneecapped is an oddly agreeable experience."

The four friends crept quietly down towards the cave. But when they peered inside...
“They’re gone!” yelped Alice.
“But how?” pondered Philip.
“I can tell you!” called out a cheery voice.
“Gypsy Jack!” cried the intrepid investigators, as their cheery gypsy pal gambolled down the rocks, his gold earring sparkling in the sun.

From The Castle of Skegness by Emilia Bludthrust

There was a great crashing from without, and Catherine clasped a hand to her breast with horror. A second crashing!...a third!...Catherine suddenly realised that it was merely the grandfather clock in the entrance hall. But wait!...did not the Duchess say that the clock was broken, and had not chimed since that night seven years ago?

Though she shivered in her nightgown, Catherine resolved to see with her own innocent eyes whatever there was to be seen, and crept to the door. Easing it open, her first thoughts that were such activities could not be advantageous to the quality of the upholstery.

From The Ruby of Jaboodoo by Huntingdon Flintwhistle

“As an officer of Her Majesty’s army, I, Corporal Hetheringly Percival Maurice Swasherman the third, order you to lower your weapons and submit!” I proclaimed. Sadly, it seemed that these swarthy natives did not commune in God’s own English, and I was forced to shoot the lot of them.

Upon returning to base camp, the other scout patrols offered similar tales, with the exception of Johnson, who had succeeding in befriending a group of the blighters via the offering of sweet biscuits and the like. As such, three males and five females were now milling about the place in a state of scandalous undress. I was heartily relieved that Barbara had opted to stay in Gibraltar, as such sights were not for a woman’s eyes.

From The Marvellous Mechanical Man by Frederic Saucisson

“Behold,” cried the professor, “the greatest marvel of this or any age!” And with that, he threw a large switch, causing a pulse of sizzling electricity to shoot through the form. A moment’s silence – and then – it moved! – To our astonishment, a great clanking of gears and hissing of pistons accompanied the figure’s movements as it raised itself from the table and stood of its own accord! – But the wonders were not to stop there, for then it turned its head and looked directly at me, and spoke! Its voice was harsh, rasping, halting and without any human feeling, but nonetheless it addressed me directly. I attempt to transcribe its particular method of articulation as best I can with my pen.

1 comment:

Sam said...

Now I wish my middle name really was Horatio.

To the deed poll office!