OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Alice in Blunderland

Alice in
Blunderland
An Iridescent Dream
By
JOHN KENDRICK BANGS
Illustrated by
ALBERT LEVERING
New York Doubleday, Page & Company 1907
Copyright, 1906, by the Municipal Ownership Publishing Bureau
Copyright, 1907, by Doubleday, Page & Company Published, September, 1907
All Rights Reserved Including that of Translation into Foreign Languages Including the Scandanavian
CONTENTS
| CHAPTER | CHAPTER | PAGE |
| I. | Off to Blunderland | 3 |
| II. | The Immovable Trolley | 19 |
| III. | The Aromatic Gas Plant | 37 |
| IV. | The City-owned Police | 56 |
| V. | The Municipaphone | 73 |
| VI. | The Department of Public Verse | 92 |
| VII. | The Municipal Ownership of Children | 108 |
ILLUSTRATIONS
| | PAGE |
| The Cheshire Cat | 5 |
| The March Hare | 6 |
| "'Listen here'" | 7 |
| The municipal chewery | 11 |
| The municipal toothery | 13 |
| "Handing her a card" | 17 |
| '"Put that fellow off'" | 20 |
| "Requested the Hatter to crack a filbert for him" | 24 |
| "'Banged into the car ahead'" | 27 |
| The Chief Engineer | 30 |
| "'It came to me like a flash'" | 31 |
| "'Studying the economic theories of Dr. Wack'" | 45 |
| "The White Knight interfered" | 48 |
| "'In the matter of perfume it was fine'" | 50 |
| "'Nobody could be gas-fixturated'" | 51 ​ |
| "Wrote on the side of a convenient gas tank" | 57 |
| "'I'm the soundest sleeper in town'" | 59 |
| "'Tea is served on every corner'" | 64 |
| "'We respond immediately to the call'" | 67 |
| "Made off with the agility of an "antelope" | 69 |
| "'You can talk all you please'" | 73 |
| "'Fined five dollars'" | 84 |
| "'The dictionary we are compiling'" | 85 |
| "Alice transfixed at the phone" | 86 |
| "'The biggest jackass from Dan to Beersheba'" | 87 |
| "'Larger measure than was the custom'" | 94 |
| "Greeted by the Commissioner, the Haberdasher" | 99 |
| "'It runs this way, your honour'" | 100 |
| '"Our thinking department'" | 102 |
| "'When they think nobody's looking'" | 116 |
| "'If you get into trouble, use this'" | 119 |
| "Seizing her by the arm" | 122 |
| "'Why—have I—I really fallen?'" | 124 |
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Barnwell, Frederick

From volume 1 of the work.
​Barnwell, Frederick Lewis, 2s. Edward Lowry, of Ruthin, co. Denbigh. Magdalen Coll., matric. 17 Oct., 1868, aged 19; B.A. 1873.
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Barnwell, Edward (1)

From volume 1 of the work.
​Barnwell, Edward, s. Edward, of 'Coloniâ Demerarâ', gent. Magdalen Hall. matric. 18 Jan., 1811, aged 18.
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Barnwell, John

From volume 1 of the work.
​Barnwell, John, s. Edward, of Demerara, West Indies, gent. Pembroke Coll., matric. 9 April, 1818, aged 18; B.A. 1821.
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Barns, William

From volume 1 of the work.
​Barns, William, 'cook;' privilegiatus, 21 May, 1750.
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Barnston, Roger Harry

From volume 1 of the work.
​Barnston, Roger Harry, 1s. Roger B., of Chester (city), arm. Worcester Coll., matric. 15 May, 1821, aged 18; B.A. 1825, of Churton, Cheshire.
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Barnwell, Edward (2)

From volume 1 of the work.
​Barnwell, Edward, 1s. Edward, of Barbados, West Indies, arm. Magdalen Coll., matric. 1 Dec, 1818, aged 23.
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Barnwell, Charles Edward Benedict

From volume 1 of the work.
​Barnwell, Charles Edward Benedict, 1s. Edward Lowry, of Ruthin, co. Denbigh, cler. Christ Church, matric. 12 Oct., 1866, aged 18; B.A. 1870, M.A. 1873, vicar of Southbroom, Wilts., 1883.
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Barnwell, Charles Frederick

From volume 1 of the work.
​Barnwell, Charles Frederick, 1s. Henry Lowry, of Reading, Berks, gent. Pembroke Coll., matric. 20 Oct., 1873, aged 20; vicar of Stramshall, co. Stafford, 1879.
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Barnston, Francis

From volume 1 of the work.
​Barnston, Francis, 4s. Roger Harry, of Farndon, near Chester, arm. Brasenose Coll., matric. 16 June, 1857, aged 18; lieut.-col. 55th regiment (retired).
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Barnwell, Frederick (Turnor)

From volume 1 of the work.
​Barnwell, Frederick (Turnor), s. Frederick, of Lawshall, Suffolk, cler. St. Mary Hall, matric. 10 Oct., 1788, aged 18; assumed the additional surname of Turnor in 1826, and died unmarried 24 Oct., 1843.
# All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems/Straw Paper

other versions All Quiet along the Potomac
STRAW PAPER.
Through the thousand sounds of the summer noons—
Through the cricket's chirp and the robin's tune—
Through the ceaseless talk of the brook astray,
Telling leaf and stone why she came that way,
There arose a voice. It was sweet and fine,
And its tongue unknown to such ears as mine;
But the bees and the birds, and the busy things
That have nests afield, which they roof with wings,
Waited close to hear, each with bended head,
What the moaning soul of the grain-field said,
While a friendly cricket whom once I knew
Gave a free translation she vowed was true:
"Tell me, gentle Earth, who hast loved me best,
Since I left the warmth of your loving breast,
Is it all of life—this, to live and die
As a creature dumb, when I fain would cry,
"As I count the days going one by one,
Knowing working moments are almost done,
While I long to do better work than now?—
Tell me, tender one, if I may, and how?"
On the brown Earth's waiting and glowing breast
Every golden head came at last to rest;
For they heard her say, "In your fall rejoice;
Through this seeming ill thou wilt find a voice:
"Through the sickle sharp, through the pounding
flail,
Cut and beaten down, rising crushed and pale—
Through the smirch of ink, through the tramp of lead,
Shalt thou speak to men when they deem thee dead."
It was even so. When a printed word
Had the quiet pulse of a reader stirred,
She had found her voice. Like the beaten grain,
Souls are taught to speak out of depths of pain.
# All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems/The Birds Camp-meeting

other versions All Quiet along the Potomac
THE BIRDS' CAMP-MEETING.
DID you ever hear of the bird's camp-meeting?
It was held the loveliest day of June;
Brother Blackbird wisely led the preaching,
And Bob-o'-Lincoln led off each tune.
The Magpie, out on a circuit going,
Declared himself a repentant sinner,
And then flew off and purloined a spoon
That was lying close by a poor man's dinner.
The Parrot spoke with a claw uplifted,
And told them a story as old as sin,
And exceeding dull; so the brethren whispered,
And voted it an unmeaning din.
Kingfisher came from the reedy meadow,
Piping a measure that nobody knew,
Till Robert-o'-Lincoln was quite discouraged
Before the singer was halfway through.
A Cuckoo told, with a sound of crying,
How slyly a Starling's nest she stole,
And that ever since she had been bemoaning
The weary weight on her burdened soul.
Then Elder Raven his head shook sadly;
He "hoped the bird might in earnest be;
But he didn't know; there had been confession
So oft before this— Well, we would see."
A Redbird came in his crimson jacket,
With silvery speeches and flowing words,
And his sermons all had exceeding power
Among the ranks of the lady birds.
And then commenced quite a disaffection;
Turmoil and struggle and strife ensued:
The Blackbird spoke of his accents sharply,
And Redbird declared he was old and rude.
The Owls and Hawks with the Blackbird sided,
The Sparrow picked at the crimson coat,
Until all the birds clamored loud together,
Each one with his most discordant note.
Then Bob-o'-Lincoln, the wise old singer,
Resolved to conquer this threatening phase,
Proclaimed at once that the birds should mingle
Their voices loud in a song of praise.
**** Up through the fragrant forest arches,
Afloat on breezes cloudward sent,
There rose a great, unequalled anthem
Above the green camp-meeting tent.
And quite forgotten ere 'twas ended
Were all the causes of complaint,
Till ugly Owl and sullen Raven
Grew peaceful each as patient saint.
A happy thought for birds or people
Who into hapless quarrels fall—
To leave them where they are, unsettled,
And praise the Lord who governs all.
# All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems/Out of Style

other versions All Quiet along the Potomac
OUT OF STYLE.
LADY LESTER sighed—such a well-bred sigh!—
As her daughter passed the piazza by,
Slender, and pallid, and drooping over,
Like the burdened bloom of the dewy clover,
Holding a volume, in childish wise,
Close to her eager and solemn eyes,
Till stumbling feet had betrayed their trust,
And, shuffling, stirred the unpolished dust.
"No style at all,"Lady Lester spoke,
As another sigh on the silence broke.
"Not a bit of style—just her pa again;
He's a clumsy soul, though the best of men.
Straighter, Rosie! straight! hold your shoulders low!
Keep your toes turned out, and your head up—so!"
There was lifting up of the great gray eyes,
With an earnest glance, full of strange surprise
That the legend sweet of the dream-lit land
Was a vision only within her hand,
Where the princes lived only wrongs to right,
And the brownies wrought through the summer night.
"Ah! yes, mamma." With her loving smile
Rosie raised her head. For a little while
Proudly trod the path like a grenadier;
Then the story grew so exceeding queer
She forgot the charge, and the time and place,
And relapsed at once into deep disgrace.
Lady Lester saw and decided then
To appeal once more to "the best of men"
Whether masters, gold, and the closest care
Could not give their Rosie "a better air."
So a new departure was planned and made,
With her soul left out of the plan they laid.
**** Braces and arguments, daily walks,
Wise emulation and worldly talks,
With all the polishing tools now used,
Were thus in a wonderful system fused.
They trained her brain, in the highest school;
They trained her feet, till she stepped by rule;
They trained her tongue, till her heart was mute
Like idle walls of a soundless lute.
All through, her soul, looking out afar,
Fought underneath golden bolt and bar,
Asked higher themes for itself the while
Than new demands of the latest style.
It loved and longed for the better things
Here daily touched by the angels' wings;
From daisy buds, as they droop and nod,
To the round of stars and their hymn of God.
In dim green woods, on the sounding shore,
'Mid songs of birds, 'mid the torrent's roar,
In churchyards dim, in the sunset glow,
Through autumn winds or the winter snow,
She listened still, for she heard the while
Old-fashioned words that are out of style—
Words rarely spoken at Lester Hall,
Forgotten soon when they fell at all;
Of grand old themes—of the world to be— Of the Open Door—and the Crystal Sea—
Or tender words that were set afloat
On the faithful air from a fisher's boat—
Of the lilies, safe in the better Care
Than the shining gems of a monarch are.—
Then the hungry soul from its harbor slipped
For a better port, and its Master shipped,
Through the Open Door to the Crystal Sea,
On the sunless light of the "time to be;"
Out of discord, pain, and misplaced endeavor,
Out of worldly care, "out of style," for ever.
Then the wounded hearts, as they saw her go,
Lighter held the earth and its shining show,
Learning all too late, as they weep to-day,
That an angel tarried, but could not stay.
# All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems/Picking Hops

other versions All Quiet along the Potomac
PICKING HOPS
ON the hills of old Otsego,
By her brightly gleaming lake, Where the sound of horn and hunter Sylvan echoes love to wake, Where the wreaths of twining verdure Clamber to the saplings' tops, I sat beside sweet Minnie Wilder In the great field picking hops.
Then the clusters green and golden Binding in her sunny hair, Half afraid, yet very earnest, Looking in her face so fair; Speaking low, while Squire Von Lager Talked of past and coming crops, Said I, "Minnie, should a soldier
Stay at home here, picking hops?
"While the country, torn asunder, Calls for men like me to fight, And the voice of patriots pleading Asks for hands to guard the right; While from hearts of heroes slaughtered Still the life-blood slowly drops, Can I—shall I stay beside you, Minnie darling, picking hops?"
Very pale the cheek was growing, And the hand I held was cold;
But the eye was bright and glowing, While my troubled thought was told;
Yet her voice was clear and steady, Without sigh, or tear, or stops,
When she answered, speaking quickly, "'Tis women's work, this picking hops.   "Men should be where duty calls them— Women stay at home and pray
For the gallant absent soldier, Proud to know he would not stay."
"Bravely spoken, darling Minnie!"
Then I kissed her golden locks,
Breathed anew a soldier's promise,
As we sat there picking hops.
"Now I go away to-morrow, And I'll dare to do or die, Win a leader's straps and sword, love, Or 'mid fallen heroes lie. Then, when all of earth is fading, And the fluttering life-pulse stops, Still, 'mid thoughts of home and heaven,
I'll remember picking hops."
# All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems/Scattered Roses

other versions All Quiet along the Potomac
SCATTERED ROSES.
TIS a pretty German story,
Fresh as falling mountain-dews,
Told us, merely as an item,
In the page of foreign news.
Gretchen, with her banded tresses
Braided close like ropes of gold,
Comely skirt, and snowy kerchief
Blossomed from the bodice fold,
Walks beside the cart of flowers,
Dreamy, sad, and full of thought ;
Thinking all the while of Gottlieb,
Not of business, as she ought.
"Franz," the rough old dog who loved him,
Harnessed in the shafts to draw,
Turning round to look at Gretchen, But a tearful visage saw.
Bright upon the bridal finger Shone the unaccustomed ring; Scarcely worn ere, called to battle, Gottlieb left her sorrowing.
**** Now the bitter fight is over; Soldier bands with flag and drum Come marching home. But Gretchen whispers, "Alas! my Gottlieb does not come.
"What care I for German glory? One I love is lost to me; In the trench a ghastly vision Of his pallid face I see.
"Ah, when strangers buy a posy, Calling it meantime Too dear, Do they guess the rose's dewdrop Is the while a woman's tear?
"Slowly, Franz! Why bound so wildly? Why that cry so loud and glad? Down, I say! Alas! my flowers! Art wicked, Franz, or growing mad?"
**** Far and wide lie scattered blossoms; Hark! a cry, a dog's low whine; A dusty soldier clasping Gretchen, While bugles blow "Watch on the Rhine."
And passing bands go by them softly; Weary eyes grow moist and glad, As, touching sleeves, the soldiers whisper, "The little one has found her lad."
# All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems/Songs under the Ice

other versions All Quiet along the Potomac
SONGS UNDER THE ICE.
ONCE the shining King of the winter frost
And he laughed with pride as he came to see
How the wildwood rose and the great oak tree
Alike were sleeping.
Over empty nests in the maples hung,
Where the summer birds their songs had sung,
Noisy and jolly;
Over stubble-fields, where the plover's call
Had piped, in tune with the waterfall,
Notes melancholy.
Then the fir tree buttoned its dark-green coat,
With the brown cones, close to its dusky throat,
Grim and dreary;
While the sober pine, as the sunshine paled,
To the patient side of the mountain wailed
Its Miserere.
So the King was proud, till he came to look
At the saucy face of a laughing brook,
Shining so merry,
Gay, as when the leaves through the summer days
Drifted to and fro, bearing errant fays
Across their ferry.
Then he frowned and stormedj as he bid her stay;
But she louder sang, as she kept her way,
Merry and sparkling,
Singing bars of sunshine and rests of shade,
Of the Northern brave nor the spear afraid,
Shining and darkling.
He worked all the night by the starry gleams;
He laid a raft, made of crystal beams,
Over rift and eddy;
And he planked it over with drifts of snow,
And he nailed it fast to the weeds below,
Staunch and steady.
But the rebel brook sang the same old tune,
And blinked, through a flaw in the midst, at the
moon,
Slyly once or twice:
"You may chain me under and keep me fast,
But you ll hear a song as I hurry past
Underneath the ice."
There are hidden lives in this world unseen;
You may never see through their polished sheen,
Nor their fetters know;
But the soul chants on what it needs must say,
In its rhythm rude, in its freeborn way,
Underneath the snow.
# All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems/St. John's Wort

other versions All Quiet along the Potomac
ST. JOHN'S WORT.
IN the valleys of the Tyrol, When the twilight waxes dim, And the elves are all exorcised By the tender vesper-hymn;
When the grim Walpurgis witches, Balder's host, are lying dead,— Then they whisper tale and legend, Half in earnest, half in dread,
Of the dim St. John's wort shining Through one mystic summer night— Of its branch across the doorway, Barring elfin curse and blight;
Whisper, too, a pleasant story, That its leaves within the shoe Thus can make a journey tireless, Though its leagues be not a few.
**** If I gather from the meadow Slippers full to keep and wear, Shall I never more be weary, Though I wander here and there?
Shall I falter on my pathway
Never more as I do now?
Tell me then, O elfin legend,
Where to gather, when, and how.
Must I go for it at midnight,
When the witches gather fast?
Must I walk alone, and backward,
Till the mystic leaf is passed?
Tell me, for I grow aweary,
On the pathway of my life—
Weary of its sombre shadows,
Weary of its aimless strife.
And I falter, fearful often;
Tell me, legend, witch, or fay,
How to gather the St. John's wort,
So I faint not by the way.
# All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems/The Doorway of Sleep

other versions All Quiet along the Potomac
THE DOORWAY OF SLEEP.
THERE'S a strangely solemn moment
When, outside the tent of sleep,
We lay out beyond its circle,
All we love for God to keep.
Then, before the doorway waiting,
Must we bid a day good-bye,
Knowing that its shifting moments
Crystallized for ever lie.
Then, through tangled, tattered fringes,
Made of dreams, the soul must creep,
Ere it find the soft enrobing
Of the fleecy folds of sleep.
Then the sentinels He gave us,
Warders willing, strong and true,
Ask for furloughs until morning,
That their strength they may renew,
Wearing yet both arms and armor,
Low they lie about the door,
Pillowed on the bending poppies
Till the dawn shall come once more.
Will they all, these loyal Senses,
Waken at my lightest call?
Will I find that new to-morrow
Like this vanished day at all?
Will the love I covet meet me?
Will the health I boast be mine?
And the golden sun in heaven
Gladden eyes that love its shine?
With a strange reluctant footstep
Bid I world and life good-night,
Knowing never, what the morrow
May illumine with its light.
Yet I ll trust to Him the morning,
Life and love and sense to spare,
Drop the curtain at the doorway
And pin it with a childish prayer.
# All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems/The Captive Cloud

other versions All Quiet along the Potomac
THE CAPTIVE CLOUD.
A CLOUD crept low in the valley's breast,
Like a weary bird in its cradle nest;
Its soft white arms round the forest flung,
Whilst its dusky feet to the streamlet clung.
When, lo! Ranger Westwind shook the leaves
And unloosed the zone of the cloudy sheaves—
Bore away, unblest by priest or charm, The unwilling cloud on his lifted arm.
Backward the mist as it stooped was swayed, Till its snowy robe on the crag was frayed, And her tears were thick on the tasselled corn, On the spider's web and the sweet hawthorn.
Heavenward going, the ravished mist Still wept as she vanished, and softly kissed Each living thing on the valley-side, With the last good-bye of the mountain-bride.
The valley sighed as it saw her go In her bridal robing of shining snow; The streamlet muttered a troubled prayer That his parted love might be happy there.
Upward, still upward, the soaring cloud Drew her bridal veil like a fun'ral shroud, Shrinking away from her bridegroom's clasp, Till she struggled out from his stalwart grasp.
***** Then upward, still upward, she floated away Before Heaven's court this injustice to lay; The wind whistled shrilly to call her again, But whistle and bluster were idle and vain.
The Lord of the winds heard the sorrowful tale, And pitied the mourner so weary and pale; So gave her permission, as sweet summer rain, To kiss her old love in the valley again.
She called to a shadow, who cloaked her about
With a storm-suit of gray; but still shining out
Gleamed the hue of her robe, the scarf in her hair,
In spite of all shadowy counsel and care.
Then the Lord set his seal ('twas a radiant bow),
And bid the fair summer rain valley-ward go,
Down, down to the heart of the whispering corn,
Down, down to the stream by the blossoming thorn.
# All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems/Our Folks

other versions All Quiet along the Potomac
OUR FOLKS.
HI! Harry Holly! Halt! and tell A fellow just a thing or two; You've had a furlough—been to see How all the folks in Jersey do. It's months agone since I was there— I, and a bullet from Fair Oaks. When you were home, old comrade, say, Did you see any of our folks?
"You did? Shake hands. Oh, ain't I glad?
For if I do look grim and rough,
I've got some feelin'. People think
But, Harry, when the bullets fly,
And hot saltpetre flames and smokes,
While whole battalions lie afield,
One's apt to think about his folks.   "And so you saw them? When? and where?
The old man—is he lively yet?
And mother—does she fade at all,
Or does she seem to pine and fret
For me? And Sis—has she grown tall?
And did you see her friend—you know That Annie Moss? (How this pipe chokes!)
Where did you see her? Tell me, Hal, A lot of news about our folks.
"You saw them in the church, you say; It's likely, for they're always there." "Not Sunday." "No? A fun'ral? Who? Why, Harry, how you shake and stare! 'All well,' you say, and all were out.
What ails you, Hal? Is this a hoax? Why don't you tell me, like a man,
What is the matter with our folks?"
"I said all well, old comrade, true;
I say all well, for He knows best Who takes the young ones in his arms Before the sun goes to the west. The axe-man Death deals right and left,
And flowers fall as well as oaks;
And so—fair Annie blooms no more! And that's the matter with your folks.
"See, this long curl was kept for you; And this white blossom from her breast; And here, your sister Bessie wrote A letter telling all the rest.
Bear up, old friend."
Nobody speaks;
Only the old camp-raven croaks, And soldiers whisper: "Boys, be still; There's some bad news from Granger's folks."
He turns his back (the only foe That ever saw it) on this grief, And, as men will, keeps down the tears Kind Nature sends to Woe's relief.
Then answers he: "Ay, Hal, I'll try;
But in my throat there's something chokes,
Because, you see, I've thought so long
To count her in among our folks.
"I s'pose she must be happy now, But still I will keep thinking too
I could have kept all trouble off
By being tender, kind, and true. But maybe not. She's safe up there; And when the Hand deals other strokes,
She'll stand by heaven's gate, I know,
And wait to welcome in our folks."
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Bree, Robert

From volume 1 of the work.
​Bree, Robert, s. Robert, of Solyhull, co. Warwick, gent. University Coll., matric. 6 April, 1775, aged 16; B.A. 1778. M.A. 1781, B.Med. 1782, D.Med. 1791, died 6 Oct., 1839. See Munk's Roll.
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Bree, William (1)

From volume 1 of the work.
​Bree, William, s. Thomas, of Allesley, co. Warwick, cler. Balliol Coll., matric. 4 June, 1771, aged 17; B.A. 1775.