OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# A Short Biographical Dictionary of English Literature/Hutton, Richard Holt

​Hutton, Richard Holt (1826-1897).—Essayist and miscellaneous writer, was brought up as a Unitarian, and for some time was a preacher of that body, but coming under the influence of F.D. Maurice and others of his school, joined the Church of England. He was a frequent contributor to various magazines and reviews, and assisted Walter Bagehot in ed. the National Review. In 1861 he became joint-proprietor and ed. of the Spectator. Among his other writings may be mentioned Essays, Theological and Literary (1871), Modern Guides of English Thought (1887), and Contemporary Thought and Thinkers (1894), which were more or less reprints or expansions of his work in periodicals, and a memoir of Bagehot prefixed to an ed. of his works.
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# A Short Biographical Dictionary of English Literature/Inchbald, Mrs. Elizabeth

​Inchbald, Mrs. Elizabeth (Simpson) (1753-1821).—Novelist and dramatist, dau. of a Suffolk farmer. In a romantic fit she left her home at the age of 16, and went to London, where she became acquainted with Inchbald the actor, who m. her in 1772. Seven years later her husband d., and for the next ten years she was on the stage, chiefly in Scotland and Ireland. She produced many plays, including Mogul Tale (1784), I'll Tell you What (1785), Appearance is against Them (1785), Such Things Are, The Married Man, The Wedding Day, and two novels, A Simple Story (1791), and Nature and Art (1796), which have been frequently reprinted. She also made a collection of plays, The Modern Theatre, in 10 vols. Her life was remarkable for its simplicity and frugality, and a large part of her earnings was applied in the maintenance of a delicate sister. Though of a somewhat sentimental and romantic nature, she preserved an unblemished reputation.
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# A Short Biographical Dictionary of English Literature/Huxley, Thomas Henry

​Huxley, Thomas Henry (1825-1895).—Scientific writer, s. of an assistant master in a public school, was b. at Ealing. From childhood he was an insatiable reader. In his 13th year he became a medical apprentice, and in 1842 entered Charing Cross Hospital. Thereafter he was for a few months surgeon on board the Victory at Haslar, and was then appointed surgeon on H.M.S. Rattlesnake, which was sent to make surveys at Torres Strait. While in this position he made numerous observations, which he communicated to the Linnæan Society. In 1851 he became a Fellow of the Royal Society, and in 1854 Prof. of Natural History at the School of Mines. Henceforth his life was a very full one, divided between scientific investigation and public work. He was recognised as the foremost English biologist, and was elected Pres. of the Royal Society 1883. He served on the London School Board and on various Royal Commissions. His writings are in the main distinguished by a clearness, force, and charm which entitle them to a place in literature; and besides the addition which they made to the stock of human knowledge, they did much to diffuse a love and study of science. H. was a keen controversialist, contending for the strictly scientific view of all subjects as distinguished from the metaphysical or theological, and accordingly encountered much opposition, and a good deal of abuse. Nevertheless, he was not a materialist, and was in sympathy with the moral and tender aspects of Christianity. He ​was a strong supporter of the theory of evolution. Among the more eminent of his opponents were Bishop Wilberforce and Mr. Gladstone. His pub. works, including scientific communications, are very numerous. Among the more important are those on the Medusæ, Zoological Evidences of Man's Place in Nature (1863), Elementary Lessons on Physiology (1866), Evolution and Ethics (1893), Collected Essays (9 vols. 1893-4). He was also an admirable letter-writer, as appears from the Life and Letters, ed. by his son, and to him we owe the word, and almost the idea, "Agnostic."
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# A Short Biographical Dictionary of English Literature/Ingelow, Jean

​Ingelow, Jean (1820-1897).—Poetess and novelist, dau. of a banker at Boston, Lincolnshire, pub. three vols. of poems, of which perhaps the best known individual piece is "The High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire," and several successful novels, including Off the Skelligs (1872), Fated to be Free (1875), and Sarah de Berenger (1879). She also wrote excellent stories for children, Mopsa the Fairy, Stories told to Children, etc. Her poems show a considerable lyric gift.
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# Ackermann v. United States

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.

## Dissenting Opinion

    Black
United States Supreme Court
340 U.S. 193
Ackermann v. United States
Argued: Oct. 19, 1950. --- Decided: Dec 11, 1950
Mr. E. M. Grimes, Taylor, Tex., for petitioners.
Mr. James L. Morrisson, Washington, D.C., for respondent.
Mr. Justice MINTON delivered the opinion of the Court.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Ackermann’s Repository of Arts

The Repository of Arts was a magazine published by Rudolph Ackermann from 1809 to 1828.
This periodical is most well known for its fashion plates, but, while significant, they were by no means the primary focus of the publication. The full title was The Repository of Arts, Literature, Commerce, Manufactures, Fashions, and Politics. Each issue included reports on all of these subjects, plus many other articles covering a wide variety of topics, with a heavy emphasis on history, science, and technology.
Each volume covers half a year, comprising one issue per month plus one supplementary issue.
* The first series comprised 14 volumes published from January 1809 to December 1815.
* The second series comprised 14 volumes published from January 1816 to December 1822.
* The third series comprised only 12 volumes published from January 1823 to December 1828.
Visit WikiProject Ackermann’s Repository of Arts to help proofread.

## First series

* Volume 1: Issue Numbers 1 to 6 (plus Supplement), January–June 1809 (transcription project)
* Volume 2: Issue Numbers 7 to 12 (plus Supplement), July–December 1809
* Volume 3
* Volume 4
* Volume 5
* Volume 6
* Volume 7
* Volume 8
* Volume 9
* Volume 10
* Volume 11
* Volume 12
* Volume 13
* Volume 14

## Second series

* Volume 1
* Volume 2
* Volume 3
* Volume 4
* Volume 5
* Volume 6
* Volume 7
* Volume 8
* Volume 9
* Volume 10
* Volume 11: Issue Numbers 61 to 66, January–June 1821 (transcription project)
* Volume 12: Issue Numbers 67 to 72, July–December 1821
* Volume 13: Issue Numbers 73 to 78, January–June 1822
* Volume 14

## Third series

* Volume 1
* Volume 2
* Volume 3
* Volume 4: Issue Numbers 19 to 24, July–December 1824
* Volume 5
* Volume 6
* Volume 7
* Volume 8
* Volume 9
* Volume 10
* Volume 11
* Volume 12
* Volume 13
* Volume 14
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
# A whirl-blast from behind the Hill

* "A whirl-blast from behind the Hill" in Lyrical Ballads Volume II (1800)
* "A whirl-blast" in Poems Volume I (1815)
# A word is dead

A word is dead When it is said, Some say.
I say it just Begins to live That day.
# A wounded Deer—leaps highest—

* "A wounded deer leaps highest" in Poems (1890)
* "A wounded deer leaps highest" in The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson (1924)
# A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919/The Last Post

THE LAST POST
(June, 1916)
THE bugler sent a call of high romance— Lights out! Lights out!—to the deserted square: On the thin brazen notes he threw a prayer. God, if it's this for me next time in France Spare me the phantom bugle as I lie Dead in the gas and smoke and roar of guns, Dead in a row with the other shattered ones, Lying so stiff and still under the sky— Jolly young Fusiliers, too good to die. The music ceased, and the red sunset flare Was blood about his head as he stood there.
Robert Graves
# A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919/The Kaiser and Belgium

LIÈGE
THE KAISER AND BELGIUM
HE said: "Thou petty people, let me pass. What canst thou do but bow to me and kneel?" But sudden a dry land caught fire like grass, And answer hurtled but from shell and steel.
He looked for silence, but a thunder came Upon him, from Liège a leaden hail. All Belgium flew up at his throat in flame Till at her gates amazed his legions quail.
Take heed, for now on haunted ground they tread; There bowed a mightier war lord to his fall: Fear! lest that very green grass again grow red With blood of German now as then with Gaul.
If him whom God destroys He maddens first, Then thy destruction slake thy madman's thirst.
Stephen Phillips
# A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919/The Kaiser and God

THE KAISER AND GOD
["I rejoice with you in Wilhelm's first victory. How magnificently God supported him!"—Telegram from the Kaiser to the Crown Princess.]
LED by Wilhelm, as you tell, God has done extremely well; You with patronizing nod Show that you approve of God. Kaiser, face a question new— This—Does God approve of you?
Broken pledges, treaties torn, Your first page of war adorn; We on fouler things must look Who read further in that book, Where you did in time of war All that you in peace forswore, Where you, barbarously wise, Bade your soldiers terrorize,
Where you made—the deed was fine— Women screen your firing line, Villages burned down to dust, Torture, murder, bestial lust, Filth too foul for printer's ink, Crime from which the apes would shrink— Strange the offerings that you press On the God of Righteousness!
Kaiser, when you'd decorate Sons or friends who serve your State, Not that Iron Cross bestow, But a cross of wood, and so— So remind the world that you Have made Calvary anew.
Kaiser, when you'd kneel in prayer Look upon your hands, and there Let that deep and awful stain From the blood of children slain ​Burn your very soul with shame, Till you dare not breathe that Name That now you glibly advertise— God as one of your allies.
Impious braggart, you forget; God is not your conscript yet; You shall learn in dumb amaze That His ways are not your ways, That the mire through which you trod Is not the high white road of God.
To Whom, whichever way the combat rolls, We, fighting to the end, commend our souls.
Barry Pain
# A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919/The Last Hero

THE LAST HERO
WE laid him to rest with tenderness; Homeward we turned in the twilight's gold; We thought in ourselves with dumb distress— All the story of earth is told.
A beautiful word at the last was said: A great deep heart like the hearts of old Went forth; and the speaker had lost the thread, Or all the story of earth was told.
The dust hung over the pale dry ways Dizzily fired with the twilight's gold, And a bitter remembrance blew in each face How all the story of earth was told.
A. E.
# A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919/The House of Death

THE HOUSE OF DEATH
SURELY the Keeper of the House of Death Had long grown weary of letting in the old— Of welcoming the aged, the short of breath, Sad spirits, duller than their tales oft-told. He must have longed to gather in the gold Of shining youth to deck his dreary spaces— To hear no more old wail and sorrowing. And now he has his wish, and the young faces Are crowding in: and laughter fills Death's places; And all his courts are gay with flowers of Spring.
A. T. Nankivell
# A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919/The Mobilization in Brittany

THE MOBILIZATION IN BRITTANY
I
IT was silent in the street. I did not know until a woman told me, Sobbing over the muslin she sold me. Then I went out and walked to the square And saw a few dazed people standing there.
And then the drums beat, the drums beat! O then the drums beat! And hurrying, stumbling through the street Came the hurrying stumbling feet. O I have heard the drums beat For war! I have heard the townsfolk come, I have heard the roll and thunder of the nearest drum As the drummer stopped and cried, "Hear! Be strong! The summons comes! Prepare!" Closing, he prayed us to be calm . . .
And there was calm in my heart of the desert, of the dead sea, Of vast plains of the West before the coming storm, And there was calm in their eyes like the last calm that shall be.
And then the drum beat, The fatal drum beat, And the drummer marched through the street And down to another square, And the drummer above took up the beat And sent it onward where, Huddled, we stood and heard the drums roll, And then a bell began to toll.
O I have heard the thunder of drums Crashing into simple poor homes. I have heard the drums roll "Farewell!" I have heard the tolling cathedral bell ​Will it ever peal again? Shall I ever smile or feel again? What was joy? What was pain?
For I have heard the drums beat, I have seen the drummer striding from street to street, Crying, "Be strong! Hear what I must tell!" While the drums roared and rolled and beat For war!
II
Last night the men of this region were leaving. Now they are far. Rough and strong they are, proud and gay they are. So this is the way of war . . .
The train was full and we all shouted as it pulled away. They sang an old war-song, they were true to themselves, they were gay! We might have thought they were going for a holiday—
Except for something in the air, Except for the weeping of the ruddy old women of Finistère. The younger women do not weep. They dream and stare.
They seem to be walking in dreams. They seem not to know It is their homes, their happiness, vanishing so. (Every strong man between twenty and forty must go.)
They sang an old war-song. I have heard it often in other-days, But never before when War was walking the world's highways. They sang, they shouted, the Marseillaise!
The train went and another has gone, but none, coming, has brought word. Though you may know, you, out in the world, we have not heard, We are not sure that the great battalions have stirred—
​Except for something, something in the air, Except for the weeping of the wild old women of Finistère. How long will the others dream and stare?
The train went. The strong men of this region are all away, afar. Rough and strong they are, proud and gay they are. So this is the way of war . . .
Grace Fallow Norton
# A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919/The Last Rally

THE LAST RALLY
(Under England's supplementary Conscription Act, the last of the married men joined her colours on June 24, 1916.)
IN the midnight, in the rain, That drenches every sooty roof and licks each window-pane, The bugles blow for the last rally Once again.
Through the horror of the night, Where glimmers yet northwestward one ghostly strip of white, Squelching with heavy boots through the untrodden ploughlands, The troops set out. Eyes right!
​These are the last who go because they must, Who toiled for years at something levelled now in dust; Men of thirty, married, settled, who had built up walls of comfort That crumbled at a thrust.
Now they have naked steel, And the heavy, sopping rain that the clammy skin can feel, And the leaden weight of rifle and the pack that grinds the entrails, Wrestling with a half-cooked meal.
And there are oaths and blows, The mud that sticks and flows, The bad and smoky billet, and the aching legs at morning, And the frost that numbs the toes;
And the senseless, changeless grind, And the pettifogging mass of orders muddling every mind, And the dull-red smudge of mutiny half rising up and burning, Till they choke and stagger blind.
But for them no bugle flares; No bright flags leap, no gay horizon glares; They are conscripts, middle-aged, rheumatic, cautious, weary, With slowly thinning hairs;
Only for one to-night A woman weeps and moans and tries to smite Her head against a table, and another rocks a cradle, And another laughs with flashing eyes, sitting bolt upright.
John Gould Fletcher
# A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919/The Journey

THE JOURNEY
I WENT upon a journey To countries far away, From province unto province To pass my holiday.
And when I came to Serbia, In a quiet little town At an inn with a flower-filled garden With a soldier I sat down.
Now he lies dead at Belgrade. You heard the cannon roar! It boomed from Rome to Stockholm, It pealed to the far west shore.
And when I came to Russia, A man with flowing hair Called me his friend and showed me A flowing river there.
Now he lies dead at Lemberg, Beside another stream, In his dark eyes extinguished The friendship of his dream.
And then I crossed two countries Whose names on my lips are sealed . . . Not yet had they flung their challenge Nor led upon the field
Sons who lie dead at Liège, Dead by the Russian lance, Dead in southern mountains, Dead through the farms of France.
I stopped in the land of Louvain, So tranquil, happy, then. I lived with a good old woman, With her sons and her grandchildren.
​Now they lie dead at Louvain, Those simple kindly folk. Some heard, some fled. It must be Some slept, for they never woke.
I came to France. I was thirsty. I sat me down to dine. The host and his young wife served me With bread and fruit and wine.
Now he lies dead at Cambrai— He was sent among the first. In dreams she sees him dying Of wounds, of heat, of thirst.
At last I passed to Dover And saw upon the shore A tall young English captain And soldiers, many more.
Now they lie dead at Dixmude, The brave, the strong, the young! I turn unto my homeland, All my journey sung!
Grace Fallow Norton
# A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919/The Merchantmen

THE MERCHANTMEN
THE skippers and the mates, they know! The men aloft or down below, They've heard the news and still they go.
The merchant ships still jog along, By Bay or Cape, an endless throng, As endless as a seaman's song.
The humbler tramps aloft display The English flag as on the day When no one troubled such as they.
The lesser ships—barks, schooners, brigs— A motley crowd of many rigs, Go on their way like farmers' gigs.
Where Æolus himself has thrones The big four-master Glasgow owns Through Trades and Roaring Forties drones.
The lofty liners in their pride Stem every current, every tide: At anchor in all ports they ride.
They signal Gib., which looks and winks; Grave Malta sees them as she thinks; They pass old Egypt's ageless Sphinx.
Sokotra knows them; Zanzibar Mirrors them in its oil; they are Hove to for pilots near and far.
​For them Belle Isle and bright Penmarch Shine million-candled through the dark, They're inside Ushant, or by Sark.
Perim and Ormuz and Cochin Know them and nod: the mingled din Of cities where strange idols grin.
The wharves of sea-set Singapore, Batavia and Colombo's shore, Where over palms the monsoons roar.
The opened parts of shut Japan, Chemulpo's harbour and Gensan, Strange places, Chinese, Formosan!
Head-hunters watch them in close seas, Timor, Gilolo, Celebes, They sail by the New Hebrides.
Their spars are tried by southern gales, Great alien stars shine on their sails Set for the breeze or in the brails.
To carry home their golden rape A thousand courses still they shape By the lone Horn or windy Cape.
They've seen the hot seas' dreadful drouth, The bitter gales of Sixty South, Disasters fell and greedy mouth:
The menace of the berg and floe, The blindness of the fog, and snow, All these the English seamen know.
From Sydney to San Salvador They know what they are seeking for: Their gods are not the gods of war.
​And still they calmly jog along By Bay and Cape, an endless throng, As endless as some dog-watch song.
Morley Roberts
# A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919/The Island of Skyros

THE ISLAND OF SKYROS
HERE, where we stood together, we three men, Before the war had swept us to the East Three thousand miles away, I stand again And hear the bells, and breathe, and go to feast. We trod the same path, to the selfsame place, Yet here I stand, having beheld their graves, Skyros whose shadows the great seas erase, And Seddul Bahr that ever more blood craves. So, since we communed here, our bones have been Nearer, perhaps, than they again will be, Earth and the worldwide battle lie between, Death lies between, and friend-destroying sea. Yet here, a year ago, we talked and stood As I stand now, with pulses beating blood.
I saw her like a shadow on the sky In the last light, a blur upon the sea, Then the gale's darkness put the shadow by, But from one grave that island talked to me; ​And, in the midnight, in the breaking storm, I saw its blackness and a blinking light, And thought, "So death obscures your gentle form, So memory strives to make the darkness bright; And, in that heap of rocks, your body lies, Part of the island till the planet ends, My gentle comrade, beautiful and wise, Part of this crag this bitter surge offends, While I, who pass, a little obscure thing, War with this force, and breathe, and am its king."
John Masefield
# Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

* related portals: Children's literature.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category, quotes, Wikidata item.
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1884) is commonly accounted as one of the first Great American Novels; one of the first major American novels ever written in the vernacular, or common speech, being told in the first person by the eponymous Huckleberry "Huck" Finn, best friend of Tom Sawyer (hero of three other Mark Twain books). First published in 1884.
* The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1884) (transcription project)
* Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1885), illustrated by E. W. Kemble
* Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1944), edited by DeVoto, illustrated by Benton, revised text including "The Raft Chapter"
# Adventures of Baron Wenceslas Wratislaw of Mitrowitz

* related portals: Turkey, Prison, Travel writing, Czech literature.
* sister projects: Commons category, Wikidata item.
Account of Austrian Embassy to Turkey in 16th century, their imprisonment, life in Turkish galleys and prisons, and the final release to freedom.
ADVENTURES OF BARON WENCESLAS WRATISLAW.
BARON WENCESLAS WRATISLAW
LITERALLY TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL BOHEMIAN
BY A. H. WRATISLAW, M.A. HEAD-MASTER OF THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL, BURY ST. EDMUNDS, AND FORMERLY FELLOW AND TUTOR OF CHRIST’S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.
LONDON: BELL AND DALDY, 186, FLEET STREET. 1862.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# Adventures in the Wilds of Connemara

Serial article in Once a Week.
* Part 1
* Part 2
* Part 3
# Adams v. Nagle

United States Supreme Court
303 U.S. 532
Adams v. Nagle
Argued: March 8, 9, 1938. --- Decided: March 28, 1938
Messrs. Charles E. Wainwright, George P. Barse, and Brice Clagett, all of Washington, D.C., for petitioner.
Mr. Lemuel B. Schofield, of Philadelphia, Pa., for respondents.
[Argument of Counsel from page 533 intentionally omitted]
Mr. Justice ROBERTS delivered the opinion of the Court.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Adams v. Nashville

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
95 U.S. 19
Adams v. Nashville
ERROR to the Supreme Court of the State of Tennessee.
The facts are stated in the opinion of the court.
Mr. Edward Baxter for the plaintiffs in error.
Mr. J. E. Bailey, contra.
MR. JUSTICE HUNT delivered the opinion of the court.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse