OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Popular Science Monthly/Volume 56/March 1900/Ribbon Lightning

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* "RIBBON LIGHTNING."
By ORANGE COOK.
IN the summer of 1898, W. H. Osborne, of Chardon, Ohio, an amateur photographer of some experience, secured the accompanying photograph of a lightning flash which seemed to us to show certain peculiarities that entitle it to a public notice and a permanent record. The picture shows three flashes, of which the distant and faint one at the right and the bright one at the left were simultaneous, while the center one occurred a few seconds earlier. Nothing about the thunder that followed the last and bright flash suggested that it was specially near, but an examination of the picture when developed and a comparison with the features of the landscape showed that it had come to earth about fifteen rods from the place where Mr. Osborne stood with his camera. Mr. Osborne
and myself carefully searched the locality indicated, but failed to find even the slightest mark caused by the discharge upon any object or in the earth.
Measurements at this place give the width of the ribbon of light, if it stood at right angles with the line of sight, about eight feet. This ribbon of light is seen to consist of six lines, approximately parallel, of unequal brightness, a pair being at each edge and a pair near the center. The space between these pairs is crossed by many nearly horizontal lines and a few oblique ones, while that between the right-hand pair is crossed by oblique lines only. The horizontal lines at the right of the center become curved downward, which, with the increased brightness of the whole toward that side, suggests to us that the ribbon of light did not ​lie in a plane, but was concave toward a point at the observer's left. That the ribbon did not stand at right angles with the line of sight, but was nearer the observer at the right-hand edge, is also shown by the inequality of the lower termination of the six vertical lines referred to above. The ones at the left either rest upon or are hidden behind a rise of ground, whose crest can be traced for a little distance each side of the flash, while those at the right come lower, falling between the observer and the ground at that point. Probably, when measured upon this diagonal and curved line, the width of the flash was fifteen or twenty feet.
# Popular Science Monthly/Volume 55

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# Popular Science Monthly/Volume 6

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# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3817/Sidelights on the War

SIDELIGHTS ON THE WAR.
It is frequently remarked that the present war will be far-reaching in its consequences. The truth of this is apparent from the following notices, gathered at random from the column of "Personal Paragraphs" which the Editor of The Shrimpington-on-Sea Gazette publishes weekly, without charge, thereby earning the reputation of a patriot:—
   In consequence of the present crisis in the Money Market, Mrs. Pincham desires to give notice that she hereby disclaims all liability for any debts contracted by her at Bridge, and the same will not be paid.
   This is to say that, owing to the war and my pocket-money being stopped because I broke the dining-room window, if Jackson Minor does not pay me the balance of sixpence remaining for his half-share of the white rabbit we both bought last term, his half of the rabbit will be sold and the proceeds kept by the undersigned, Smith Tertius.
   Lady Straiter regrets to be obliged to announce that, in consequence of the perilous financial situation in Europe, she will be forced to discontinue her subscription of 2s. 6d. per annum to the Society for the Relief of Distressed Dustmen.
   Mr. Alured de Mortimer Talbot-Howard-St. Maur begs to inform his many friends and the general public that the above is his real name, and that he is proud to say he is by birth and descent an Englishman. The spiteful rumours which allege that he originally kept a pawnbroker's shop in Hamburg, where his name was Wilhelm Guggelheimer, are merely the inventions of malicious persons who are envious of his property and social position.
   As the Shrimpington-on-Sea Golf Course has been entirely ploughed-up (with the exception of the greens) and planted with onions, turnips, cabbages, and beetroot, to increase our national food-supply, all members are requested to play in rubber-soled shoes only during the next two months, so as not to damage the growing crops.
# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3817/The Attack on German Trade

THE ATTACK ON GERMAN TRADE.
Those mistaken persons who maintain that "music has no frontiers" have been sharply rebuked by the patriotic action of the management of certain concerts, who boldly opened the season by expelling all German music from their programmes. It is all very well to say that this is confounding the Germany that we honour and admire the the Germany of the other sort, of which we have had more than enough. The step has been taken on the highest patriotic grounds, and although the ban has been partially removed since the season began, it is clearly indicated that this conciliatory attitude will only last so long as the main German fleet continues to skulk behind the defences of Kiel. If there is any aggressive movement, then let it be understood that Tschaikowski's Pathétique Symphony will be worn threadbare by nightly repetition sooner than that we should have any truck with Brahms, Wagner or Bach. Already the occupation of Brussels has caused the scratching (at the very last moment) of the Schumann concerto.
Of course there is more in it than meets the eye. If all German music is eliminated there are bound to be prodigious gaps which must be filled up somehow. Very well. The result can only be a new state of activity in the home composing industry. This is no time for giving away secrets, but perhaps we may be allowed to say that the continued attendance last week of Sir Henry Wood at the offices of the Board of Trade can only mean that he too is taking his part in a comprehensive and well-considered plan for making way on German industries. Now is the time for the native producer to get to work. Germany must once and for all be ousted from this market. There need be no difficulty in obtaining samples, and we look to British industry and enterprise to do the rest.
We are not sure that neutrals should be allowed into this thing. An exception might be made in the case of Italy, but, apart from her, we should limit the exotic features in our programmes to the works of our allies in the field. It might give a needed fillip to the national music of Japan.
# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3817/The Column of Adventure

THE COLUMN OF ADVENTURE.
Even The Times' "agony column," my staple reading during toast-and-marmalade, suffers from the all-pervading war. Old friends have dropped out of the column on its war march. No longer does the Young Gentleman yearning for the idyllic life call on the charitable to provide him with a year of perfect ease, comfort and luxury. I had hoped to meet him some day, to draw out his confidences, perchance to edit his memoirs. "My Cheek is My Fortune" would be a catchy title. But apparently the War has put him out of business. The idyllic life has gone. Another victim.
His place is being filled by the Sportsman, eager to be up and shooting—partridges. "Either singly or with a house party" he offers. He asks only for board, lodging and ammunition. These provided, he is willing to go for the enemy all September and October.
Another Sportsman, humbler in aspiration, is prepared to specialise on rabbits. He is ready to continue the fight until "Peace terms dictated in Berlin by Allies."
There has also arisen the Professional Rescuer. He offers to go abroad—for a cash consideration—and smuggle back stranded relatives. He does not give particulars of personal appearance, but one may imagine him as essentially Williamlequeuish—small dark moustache, super-shrewd eyes, Homburg hat, a revolver in every pocket, speaking six languages more fluently than the natives, and on terms of intimacy with half the diplomats of Europe. He would his conversation with a casual: "The last time I was chatting with the Kaiser (I shall, of course, cut him in future)…"
Another occupation has been called into being by the War. It is that of Berth-Snatcher. He is apparently a City man who has realised all his securities and invested them in berths and staterooms on Atlantic Liners. These he now offers "at a small bonus"—exact amount unstated. is the
Also interesting is the occupation of Amateur Adviser. He has much well-intentioned advice to offer to all and sundry: "To the War Office. It is hoped that something is being done regarding," etc. Or: "Japan, our Ally, could easily lend us million men."
Presumably the Amateur Adviser has been denied place in the correspondence columns.
The Young Hungarian Nobleman, whose remittances have been stopped by the war, is reminiscent of the original yearner for the idyllic life. "Is supposed to be of good appearance," he states with obtrusive modesty.
But the romantic halo around these young aristocrats is rather tarnished by the Young French Vicomte. When he advertises that he "would thankfully accept some clothes from English or American gentlemen," one suspects a snug little second-hand business somewhere in savoury Soho.
# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3817/Ode to John Bradbury

ODE TO JOHN BRADBURY.
(The new notes for £1 and 10s. are signed by John Bradbury.)
When the Red Kaiser, Swoll'n with impious pride And stuffed with texts to serve his instant need, Took Shame for partner and Disgrace for guide, Earned to the full the hateful traitor's meed, And bade his hordes advance Through Belgium's cities towards the fields of France; And when at last our patient island race, By the attempted wrong Made fierce and strong, Flung back the challenge in the braggart's face, Oh then, while martial music filled the air, Clarion and fife and bagpipe and the drum, Calling to men to muster, march, and dare, Oh, then thy day, John Bradbury, was come.
John Bradbury, the Muse shall fill my strain To sing thy praises; thou hadst spent thy time Not idly, nor hadst lived thy life in vain, Unfitted for the guerdon of my rhyme. For lo, the Funds went sudden crashing down, And men grew pale with monetary fear, And in in the toppling mart The stoutest heart Melted, and fortunes seemed to disappear; And some, forgetting their austere renown, Went mad and sold Whate'er they could and wildly called for Gold!
"Since through no fault of ours the die was cast We shall go forth and fight In death's despite And shall return victorious at the last; "But how, ah how," they said, "Shall we and ours be fed And clothed and housed from dreary day to day, If, while our hearths grow cold, we have no coin to pay?"
Then thou, where no gold was and little store Of silver, didst appear and wave thy pen, And with thy signature Make things secure, Bidding us all pluck up our hearts once more And face our foolish fancied fears like men. "I give you notes," you said, "of different kinds To ease your anxious minds: The one is black and shall be fairly found Equal in value to a golden pound; The other—mark its healthy scarlet print— Is worth a full half-sovereign from the Mint."
Thus didst thou speak—at least I think thou didst— And, lo, the murmurs fell And all things went right well, While thy notes fluttered in our happy midst. Therefore our grateful hearts go forth to thee, Our British note-provider, brave John Bradbury!
R. C. L.
# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3817/Reasoning in the Ranks

REASONING IN THE RANKS.
[Several journals have pointed out that the type of recruit now offering himself is in a high degree capable of reasoning and initiative.]
"Now I want any of you who are puzzled about anything to ask questions about it," said the instructing sergeant-major... and anon:
"Right about, Number 3 of the front rank! There is no such thing as left about turn. Squad, form———"
"Excuse me," interrupted Number 3, "but why do you say that there is no such thing as left about turn?"
"Because there isn't," said the sergeant-major unsympathetically.
"But, my good man," urged Number 3, "there must be. I've just done it. Why, look here!"
He did it again.
"Such a movement is not in the drill-book," said the sergeant-major curtly.
"But," protested Number 3, "you told us yourself only yesterday that very few of the total possible commands are in the drill-book. For instance, there is no provision for lining a railway embankment, often, I understand, a salutary and even vital evolution."
The sergeant-major considered.
"There's no use," he said at last weightily, "'avin two ways of doin' anything when one will do. It is generally considered that right about turn is enough ways to turning about for any one man."
"By all means," admitted the recruit generously, "let us be frugal. Frugality is the mainspring of efficiency. One way of turning about is ample for me. But why right rather than left?"
"Because right's right, and that's all there is to it," said the sergeant-major, who was tiring of the argument.
"Exactly," admitted Number 3, "and left's left, and that leaves us just where we started. Now if the War Office had tossed up and made a general decision in favour of right I could understand the position. But my impression is that this is not so. Thus, if I were to step off with the right foot———"
"Shut your face," said the sergeant-major, "and do what you're told. Squad! A-bout———Turn!"
"Reasoning," observed Number 3, "is lost upon yonder survival of the old school of stereotyped militarism. The hour for initiative has arrived."
And by way of protest he executed a neat left about turn.
# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3817/The Avengers

THE AVENGERS.
(To our Soldiers in the field.)
Not only that your cause is just and right— This much was never doubted; war or play, We go with clean hands into any fight; That is our English way;—
Not this high thought alone shall brace your thews To trample under heel those Vandal hordes Who laugh when blood of mother and babe imbrues Their damnéd craven swords.
But here must be hot passion, white of flame, Pure hate of this unutterable wrong, Sheer wrath for Christendom so sunk in shame, To make you trebly strong.
These smoking hearths of fair and peaceful lands, This reeking trail of deeds abhorred of Hell, They cry aloud for vengeance at your hands, Ruthless and swift and fell.
Strike, then—and spare not—for the innocent dead Who lie there, stark beneath the weeping skies, As though you saw your dearest in their stead Butchered before your eyes.
And though the guiltless pay for others' guilt Who preached these brute ideals in camp and Court;
Though lives of brave and gentle foes be spilt, That loathe this coward sport;
On each, without distinction, worst or best, Fouled by a nation's crime, one doom must fall; Be you its instrument, and leave the rest To God, the Judge of all.
Let it be said of you, when sounds at length Over the final field the victor's strain:— "They struck at infamy with all their strength, And earth is clean again!"
O. S.
# Priority Frogs

​Priority Frogs
The Threatened Species Action Plan identifies 6 frog species found across a range of Australian environments.
Each priority species will have a profile page to help interested Australians understand more about the species, including key actions needed for the species to be on track in 2027 for an improved trajectory by 2032. These profiles will include a brief description of the species, a shortlist of its key threats and high priority actions that are guided by conservation plans. As programs and projects to support the species get underway (or continue) over the course of the Action Plan, profile pages will be updated to track progress.
Preliminary profiles for priority frogs are still being developed and will be available in 2023.
6 priority frogs
* Growling Grass Frog, Southern Bell Frog Litoria raniformis
* Kroombit Tinker Frog Taudactylus pleione
* Mountain Frog Philoria kundagungan
* Mountain-top Nursery-frog Cophixalus monticola
* Southern Corroboree Frog Pseudophryne corroboree
* White-bellied Frog Anstisia alba
This work is released under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International license, which allows free use, distribution, and creation of derivatives, so long as the license is unchanged and clearly noted, and the original author is attributed—and if you alter, transform, or build upon this work, you may distribute the resulting work only under the same license as this one.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Prison Memoirs of an Anarchist

Prison Memoirs of an Anarchist is Alexander Berkman's account of his experience in prison in the U.S. from 1892 to 1906. First published in 1912 by Emma Goldman's Mother Earth press, it has become a classic in autobiographical literature. -- from Prison Memoirs of an Anarchist at Wikipedia

# Table of Contents
## Part I

* Chapter 1: The Call of Homestead
* Chapter 2: The Seat of War
* Chapter 3: The Spirit of Pittsburgh
* Chapter 4: The Attentat
* Chapter 5: The Third Degree
* Chapter 6: The Jail
* Chapter 7: The Trial

## Part II

* Chapter 1: Desperate Thoughts
* Chapter 2: The Will to Live
* Chapter 3: Spectral Silence
* Chapter 4: A Ray of Light
* Chapter 5: The Shop
* Chapter 6: My First Letter
* Chapter 7: Wingie
* Chapter 8: To the Girl
* Chapter 9: Persecution
* Chapter 10: The Yegg
* Chapter 11: The Route Sub Rosa
* Chapter 12: "Zuchthausbluethen"
* Chapter 13: The Judas
* Chapter 14: The Dip
* Chapter 15: The Urge of Sex
* Chapter 16: The Warden's Threat
* Chapter 17: The "Basket" Cell
* Chapter 18: The Solitary
* Chapter 19: Memory-Guests
* Chapter 20: A Day in the Cell-House
* Chapter 21: The Deeds of the Good to the Evil
* Chapter 22: The Grist of the Prison-Mill
* Chapter 23: The Scales of Justice
* Chapter 24: Thoughts That Stole Out of Prison
* Chapter 25: How Shall the Depths Cry?
* Chapter 26: Hiding the Evidence
* Chapter 27: Love's Dungeon Flower
* Chapter 28: For Safety
* Chapter 29: Dreams of Freedom
* Chapter 30: Whitewashed Again
* Chapter 31: "And By All Forgot, We Rot and Rot"
* Chapter 32: The Deviousness of Reform Law Applied
* Chapter 33: The Tunnel
* Chapter 34: The Death of Dick
* Chapter 35: An Alliance With the Birds
* Chapter 36: The Underground
* Chapter 37: Anxious Days
* Chapter 38: "How Men Their Brothers Maim"
* Chapter 39: A New Plan of Escape
* Chapter 40: Done to Death
* Chapter 41: The Shock at Buffalo
* Chapter 42: Marred Lives
* Chapter 43: "Passing the Love of Woman"
* Chapter 44: Love's Daring
* Chapter 45: The Bloom of "The Barren Staff"
* Chapter 46: A Child's Heart-Hunger
* Chapter 47: Chum
* Chapter 48: Last Days

## Part III

* The Workhouse

## Part IV

* The Resurrection
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1936, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 87 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Prison Memoirs of an Anarchist/Part I/Chapter 4

First published in 1912

### Chapter 4: The Attentat

THE DOORS OF Frick's private office, to the left of the reception-room, swings open as the colored attendant emerges, and I catch a flitting glimpse of a black-bearded, well-knit figure at a table in the back of the room.
"Mistah Frick is engaged. He can't see you now, sah," the negro says, handing back my card.
I take the pasteboard, return it to my case, and walk slowly out of the reception-room. But quickly retracing my steps, I pass through the gate separating the clerks from the visitors, and brushing the astounded attendant aside, I step into the office on the left, and find myself facing Frick.
For an instant the sunlight, streaming through the windows, dazzles me. I discern two men at the further end of the long table.
"Fr-," I begin. The look of terror on his face strikes me speechless. It is the dread of the conscious presence of death. "He understands," it flashes through my mind. With a quick motion I draw the revolver. As I raise the weapon, I see Frick clutch with both hands the arm of the chair, and attempt to rise. I aim at his head. "Perhaps he wears armor," I reflect. With a look of horror he quickly averts his face, as I pull the trigger. There is a flash, and the high-ceilinged room reverberates as with the booming of cannon. I hear a sharp, piercing cry, and see Frick on his knees, his head against the arm of the chair. I feel calm and possessed, intent upon every movement of the man. He is lying head and shoulders under the large armchair, without sound or motion. "Dead?" I wonder. I must make sure. About twenty-five feet separate us. I take a few steps toward him, when suddenly the other man, whose presence I had quite forgotten, leaps upon me. I struggle to loosen his hold. He looks slender and small. I would not hurt him: I have no business with him. Suddenly I hear the cry, "Murder! Help!" My heart stands still as I realize that it is Frick shouting. "Alive?" I wonder. I hurl the stranger aside and fire at the crawling figure of Frick. The man struck my hand,-I have missed! He grapples with me, and we wrestle across the room. I try to throw him, but spying an opening between his arm and body, I thrust the revolver against his side and aim at Frick, cowering behind the chair. I pull the trigger. There is a click-but no explosion! By the throat I catch the stranger, still clinging to me, when suddenly something heavy strikes me on the back of the head. Sharp pains shoot through my eyes. I sink to the floor, vaguely conscious of the weapon slipping from my hands.
"Where is the hammer? Hit him, carpenter!" Confused voices ring in my cars. Painfully I strive to rise. The weight of many bodies is pressing on me. Now-it's Frick's voice! Not dead? ... I crawl in the direction of the sound, dragging the struggling men with me. I must get the dagger from my pocket-I have it! Repeatedly I strike with it at the legs of the man near the window. I hear Frick cry out in pain-there is much shouting and stamping-my arms are pulled and twisted, and I am lifted bodily from the floor.