Pretty soon I struck into a sort of path […]. It twisted and turned,[…]and opened out into a big clear space like a lawn. And, back of the lawn, was a big, old-fashioned house, with piazzas stretching in front of it, and all blazing with lights. 'Twas the house I'd seen the roof of from the beach.

Their Guitars, if not their Sole, are their darling Instruments, and what they most delight in: Tho’ in my Opinion our English Sailors are not much amiss in giving them the Title of Strum Strums.

The man who was so devoted to fandom and fannish pursuits was among the elders who ushered me as a young neofan through my fanling stages of blunders and ignorance.

As a rough Water-Dog, New-England’s Breed, Fresh plaister’d from some Pond with Mud and Weed, Round from his Fleece the dirty Puddle shakes Rejoicing in the Spatter that he makes: